He was quiet for a long time, and I dared not break the silence.

“We were together for sixty-three glorious days. Then she miscarried. The child died. Pénélope died.”

Tears streamed down my face, but Marc’s eyes stayed dry. He had long since run out of tears for his pain, I thought. Pain I could well imagine because I’d felt it myself. “How did you survive it?”

“I didn’t want to live. I wanted to throw myself from the highest precipice. Cut my heart out with a knife. Dash my brains against the rocks. Anything. I didn’t think I could live without her.”

“So how did you?” I remembered how easily I had knelt down before the guillotine, ready to die rather than to live without Tristan. And ours was a new love, not one built over a lifetime.

“Tristan was there with me when she died. The instant her heart stopped, he tied me up with magic so I couldn’t move. I fought him with everything I had, but even at fifteen, he was one of the strongest living. In the few moments he took to sleep, it required both the twins to hold me. He kept me tied up for weeks, forcing me to eat and to drink when I tried to starve myself. When I’d finally calmed down enough, he made me swear that I would live. Said I was his best friend, and his family and he needed me alive.”

We were quiet for a long time, Marc remembering and me trying to take in what he had just told me.

“Does it get better?” I finally asked. “The pain? The feeling that a part of you is missing?”

Marc shook his head. “You just learn to live with it.”

Fresh tears flooded my eyes and dripped down to stain the silk of my skirts. He had known she would die and the pain it would cause him, but he had bonded her anyway. It was the most incredibly brave and selfless thing I had ever heard – a love story such as songs were written about.

“Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?”

He smiled, eyes growing distant. “In a heartbeat.”

We sat in silence for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“Cécile, you asked me if I dreamed of the outside.”

I nodded.

“Everything I have known and loved has been in Trollus. All my memories are of here. I belong here, in the dark. But you…” He took my hand. “You don’t belong here, Cécile. This place is no good for you – you belong in the sun. And so does he.”

Coming around the fountain, Marc gently kissed my forehead. “You must find a way.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to struggle with a burden that seemed to grow heavier by the hour.

“How much of that did you hear?” I asked, once Marc was out of earshot.

Tristan stepped out from around a glass fir tree. “A fair bit,” he admitted.