“Joss, go warm up some of that broth for your sister.”

The door opened and shut.

“When Christophe and Jérôme brought you here, you were almost beyond my power to save. You’ve been unconscious nigh on three days now.”

Three days! My heart leapt. The King had been far from dead when we left him, and there was nowhere in Trollus safe from his wrath. My breath came in short little gasps. I couldn’t feel him. Tristan wasn’t there. My mind was empty.

“Cécile, calm down. You’re safe now.”

Gran’s words barely registered as I fumbled with the blankets, my eyes stinging and watering in the sunlight. Finally I got my hand free of the sheets, my gaze latching onto the silver lacework gleaming across my knuckles. “Thank God,” I whispered and collapsed back against the sheets. As my panic receded, I realized I could feel Tristan in my mind, just faintly. He was miserable though, and in pain.

“Cécile, where have you been? We searched everywhere for you; for weeks, months! We thought you were dead!” Gran said.

“I… I…” I didn’t know what to say. “Can you please close the drapes?”

She did as I asked and, in the dimmer light, I could see my grandmother had aged. Deep lines creased her face and her normally upright shoulders were slumped. “Christophe told me they found you on their front porch and brought you straight here,” she said softly. “But your dress was soaked through.” Her eyes met mine. “It hasn’t rained in more than a week. And you hadn’t any shoes, but your feet were clean.” A shudder ran through her and she turned away. I’d never seen her cry before.

“Luc took me,” I said softly. “He caught me on my way home from town.”

Gran spun around. “You’ve been in Trianon this whole time?”

“No,” I said. “He sold me.”

Her eyes widened. “But who…” Whirling around, she crossed my room and flung open the chest of drawers. Rifling around, she extracted something from a leather purse and examined it closely. Her breath hissed through her lips and a coin bounced against the floorboards. “Troll gold. I know it by the weight.”

“Yes.” I awkwardly pushed myself into a seated position, my ribs stiff and sore.

“They’re monsters.” Her voice trembled with fear.

“Some of them,” I agreed, swinging my legs around. “But most of them are rather charming.”

Gran stared at me in horror. “What did they want with you?”

The door swung open and Joss stuck her head in. “Girards are here.”

“You should go down and greet them,” I said. “I’ll dress and be down shortly.”

“You shouldn’t be up,” Gran said. “You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

I waited until they were down the steps and then pulled on one of my old dresses, my body stiff and uncooperative. There was a long scar running down my rib cage, pink and fresh. Magic had been used to heal me. My grandmother’s magic, if what the King had said was true. But I had no time to think about that now. Stepping quietly across the floor, I made my way down the hall and into my father’s room. I pushed open the window, climbed out onto the shed and jumped to the ground. My knees buckled and I tumbled into a heap, breathing hard. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to get back to Trollus now. Tristan was hurt because of me. I had to help him.