“She is consort to the mortal prince,” the man said, and the meadow filled with whispers. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I can’t remember.”

The woman at his side laughed, her voice cruel. “Come to beg a favor, but forgot what it is?”

The creatures in the meadow echoed her laughter. The golden man did not. “Is it a favor when our purposes are aligned, wife?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” I cringed at the harshness of her voice. “A favor given is a favor owed.”

“But I don’t even know what I need,” I said.

The man smiled and I fell to my knees at his feet. “What you seek is the name of that which you most desire.” He tilted his head in a way that was oddly familiar to me. “If you choose to use it, then you will be in my debt.” He bent down, the warmth of his breath like a summer wind against my cheek, and he whispered a single word in my ear.

“Cécile, wake up!”

Tristan was leaning over me, his eyes wide and wild.

“We’re here.”

I blinked at him. “I was dreaming. Of a place of endless summer…” I trailed off, taking in our surroundings through bleary eyes. It was the entrance to the labyrinth that Luc had brought me through what seemed a lifetime ago. Water lapped against the rocks, but it was much lower than before, the heat of summer drying up the pond, making the cavern seem huge. Tristan sat at the edge with me cradled in his lap, my little light following his larger one around the rocky ceiling like a lost puppy.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked.

“Dawn,” he replied. “Look.”

Faint light was glowing in the water, growing in strength with each passing moment. The lip of the cave wall was only barely submerged. I could see that now. During times of drought, it might even be possible to enter the cave without getting one’s feet wet. I thought I could hear the sound of voices; the loud whinny of a horse.

“Is it time, then?”

“Yes.” But he didn’t move, only held me tighter, his face buried in my hair.

“Tristan?”

He turned his face to me, and it was streaked with tears. I wanted to wipe them away, tell him that everything would be all right, but my body was locked stiff with pain.

“Promise me you’ll get better,” he whispered. “Tell me you’ll grow strong again. That you’ll gallop on horseback through summer meadows. Dance in spring rains and let snowflakes melt on your tongue in winter. That you’ll travel wherever the wind takes you. That you’ll live.” He stroked my hair. “Promise me.”

Confusion crept over me. “You’ll be with me, though. You’ll do those things too?”

He kissed my lips, silencing my questions. “Promise me.”

“No,” I said, struggling against him. “No, you said you were coming with me. You said. You promised.” He had to be coming with me – he said he was, and Tristan couldn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie.