She was my father’s daughter. Any doubt that might have existed in my mind about that was gone after hearing those words. There was no desire to do good pushing her toward the crown. No thought that she might change Trollus so that what had happened to her would never happen to another child. No hope that she might prove that half-bloods were worth as much as any full-blooded troll. Because I saw now that she hated the human part of her more than my father, than Angoulême, than me. Blamed it for all that she had suffered. She’d stolen Anaïs’s face to fool everyone else, but more than that, she’d taken it because she well and truly wanted to become the other girl.

Her pursuit of power had nothing to do with overthrowing all the limitations her human blood had placed on her – it was to create a circumstance where she could pretend those limitations didn’t exist because they didn’t apply to her. She cared nothing but for herself, and Trollus had seen enough of that sort of ruler on its throne.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “A thousand times, no. I will have nothing to do with this madness of yours, and rest assured, I will do everything in my power to ensure you are never crowned. And it is not because you are bastard born or that human blood runs in your veins.” I walked forward, leaning in so that we were almost nose to nose. “It is because you are not worthy.”

The blood rushed out of Lessa’s face. “You shouldn’t have said that, Tristan. You really shouldn’t have said that at all.” Before I could so much as blink, a noose of fire wrapped around my neck and jerked me off my feet, stealing my chance to respond. And my ability to breathe.

Anaïs-mask firmly in place, she smiled up at me. “Now I’m going to make you pay.”

Thirty-One

Cécile

Sabine’s face contorted with effort and she spat out the rag shoved between her teeth. Shifting closer, she bit down on the edge of the rag protruding from my mouth, then moved backwards, pulling it out.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“No,” I whisper-mumbled, my tongue dry. “Fred is helping them – Catherine gave him a spell to put me to sleep. Where’s Chris?”

Sabine’s face tightened. “He went to find Fred, in the hopes he knew where you were.” She moved closer so that both our faces were caught in a faint beam of light. “Oh, Cécile. You heard what they are planning? What are we to do?”

I licked my lips in a futile attempt to moisten them as I considered what I’d learned. My instant reaction to hearing the messenger’s plan was fury that he would use me to manipulate Tristan – it made him no better than the troll king. “I need to think.”

Lord Aiden hated King Thibault – that much was clear. He’d made promises to the troll that he had cause to regret, and he knew the only way to win free of them was to see the King dead. The only troll who could reasonably accomplish this was Tristan, but only if he was alive. Except his life hung in the balance as the result of some twisted effect of my ongoing failure to fulfill my promise.

Aiden needed to help me take advantage of the loophole for his plan to work. There was nothing to stop him from slitting my throat after the King was dead in order to take down Tristan, but why should he? Another troll would only assume control, and whoever it was would be a complete wild card. Better to keep me alive and a prisoner for as long as possible. It was a clever plan.

And one I could appropriate if only we managed to break free in time. “We need to escape,” I whispered. “We need to warn Chris and get the grimoire back.”

If we could escape, subdue Catherine, and retrieve the grimoire, I could perform the map spell again. Then I’d have a few precious hours before Aiden realized I’d escaped in which to track down the witch and attempt to take advantage of the loophole myself. It was far from a perfect plan, but it put control back in my hands, and that was where I wanted it.

“Roll over,” I whispered. “We need to try to get these ropes untied.”

Squirming around in the dirt, we managed to both roll over so we were back to back. Running my fingers over the knot binding Sabine’s wrists to see how it worked, I started picking at the rope. It was harder than I’d imagined it to be, working blind, my numb fingers with their bitten-down nails struggling against the well-tied knot.

Sensing my frustration, Sabine knocked my hands back with hers. “Let me try.”

She worked silently, but there was no missing the shudder in her breath or clammy damp of her fingers. I thought to say something reassuring, but then Catherine passed across the floor above us, her stride full of purpose. Sabine’s fingers froze and I shifted away from her in case the witch decided to check on us. But it was the back door to the shop, not the trapdoor above us, that opened and closed, the bolt turning a second later.

“She’s gone!” Sabine’s voice was shaking.

“Hurry,” I hissed. “We need to catch her!” I was certain she would keep the grimoire on her; it was too dangerous to let out of her sight.

Sabine clawed at the ropes on my hand, letting out an exclamation of triumph when they loosened. Slipping my hands free, I turned on the rope wound about my ankles.

“Go!” Sabine said once I was free. “Catch her! I’ll be fine.”

“No.” There was no way I was leaving my best friend tied up in a cellar. Dropping onto my forearms, I braced her hands with mine, then sank my front teeth into the knot and pulled. My jaw ached with the pressure, but slowly, the knot loosened. Letting go with my teeth, I shoved my finger in the gap that I’d loosened and jerked it free.