“Tristan,” I said. “I think I need help. From a doctor. It hurts to breathe.”

He bit his lip. “We don’t have doctors.”

I knew that. Trolls didn’t need them. “It hurts.”

His jaw tightened. “It will get better.”

I gave a slight shake of my head. “I’m not a troll,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “I am only human. Mortal and breakable. There is no one here with the skills to help me. I’m afraid…” I broke off, coughing weakly.

He took a deep shuddering breath, and his trepidation grew thick as he slowly pulled the glove off his left hand. His lovely eyes fixed on the golden lace tattooing his hand. The vines, once so bright and vital, were dull and tarnished. “I was afraid to look,” he said. “I was afraid this is what I would see.”

“I’m dying,” I whispered. My voice was calm and completely incongruous with the riot of terror and anger in my head. I did not want to die. Only a day ago, it had seemed my future spread ahead of me like a wild, passionate, and unexplored sea, and I was the captain at the helm, eager to see where the winds would take me. I was in love, and I was loved. I’d never felt more alive and happy, and now it was all going to be over. My lower lip trembled and I clenched my teeth to make it stop. It wasn’t fair. Trollus was full of magic – magic capable of doing the impossible, but powerless to help me in this. An angry noise escaped my lips. “It isn’t bloody fair,” I swore. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

My chest spasmed, and I hissed in pain. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth. Because that was the worst of it – not only was I going to die, I was going to bring Tristan down with me.

“No,” he said, rising to his feet. “No!” He picked up a decanter and threw it, then backhanded a vase off his desk. I watched in horror as he set to destroying everything fragile in sight.

“Tristan, stop!”

He froze, turning back towards me. A shard of glass had sliced open his cheek and one drop of blood trickled down his skin before the cut sealed over. “There isn’t anyone here with the skill to help you. But somewhere else there is?” He turned. “Could other humans help you?”

“I don’t know. Possibly a surgeon could.” There is always hope, I thought, remembering Pierre’s words. Hope that I might live, and that my future with Tristan wouldn’t be cut short. But my hope was diminishing.

“There are always humans coming and going. They’re always wanting to sell something. Always wanting our gold.” His face set in determination. “One of them will be able to help you.”

Anaïs must have been waiting outside, because she came in right after Tristan left.

“Tristan said he was going to find you a surgeon,” she said, sitting next to the bed. “And medicines to help you heal.”