“What is the meaning of this?” the King shouted.

“Her hand, look at her hand. The darkness is fading.” It was Marc’s voice shouting and I smiled, already knowing in my heart what had happened. He, along with several others, approached the dais to inspect my fingers.

“He’s alive,” I whispered, looking up at Marc. No one seemed inclined to move the blade and I was afraid if I moved much against the edge that I would do myself in.

Marc gave a half-nod. “Someone run to the palace. We need to be certain.” He hesitated and then added, “Before we finish this.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t take your head off for this interruption, Marc,” the King shouted, but there was relief in his voice.

Marc turned. “If Tristan is still clinging to life, killing her will surely push him over the edge. He won’t survive the shock.”

“Wait, wait!” This time it was a woman’s voice calling from a distance. “He’s alive. Tristan’s alive.” The Queen’s voice. The crowd parted, and she ran towards me with surprising speed, skirts pulled up to her knees. The blade rose, and a hand grabbed the back of my dress, pulling me down the steps and out of harm’s way.

“Tristan’s alive, and you will leave that girl alone if you know what’s good for you, Thibault.” The tiny Duchesse was speaking now and shaking her tiny fist at the King. “Leave her be!”

“Why should I?” the King said, his voice like ice.

“Kill her and you doom us all.”

The crowd slowly grew silent as her words passed in a wave through their ranks.

“Kill her, and you lose the chance of ever seeing the light of day. Of ever regaining Trollus’s previous glory.”

The King grew still. The crowd fell silent.

“So be it,” he said. “She lives.” His eyes met mine, and he softly added, “For now.”

A servant ran up. “Prince Tristan is asking for the lady Cécile.”

“Then it is a good thing her head is still attached,” the Duchesse muttered. “Come with me, girl.”

I nodded and stayed close to her arm as we walked back towards the palace, though it took every ounce of self-control to keep from running to Tristan. It would certainly have been easier if I’d hurried, because our stately pace only gave me time to think; and with thinking came doubt. What if I had imagined it all? Not the sluag and Tristan nearly dying – I knew I wasn’t delusional – but what about the emotions I’d felt from him in the moments before the sluag attacked? Had he really felt as strongly as I remembered, or were my feelings and desires coloring my memory?

I could feel his anger. What if that was the reason he’d asked for me? Not to profess his love as I might wish, but to tell me that he hated me for what I’d done and that he wanted me gone? Exiled from Trollus and his side forever.