Tips must have felt our power, because he was watching our direction rather than where his crew was working.

“Vincent,” he said with a nod. Vincent didn’t reply, only went over to where the half-bloods were rooting around in piles of blasted rock.

“My Lord Comte.” Tips bowed low to Marc. Then he turned to me. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

His fist flew forward, catching me hard in the cheek. I staggered back, more out of surprise than pain. With one hand, I touched my face and my fingers came away bloody. Tips’s fingers glinted with metal, and for a swift, angry moment, I thought he wore iron. Then I felt the itch of my flesh healing and realized it was only silver.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he said, a cocky grin smeared across his face.

“Satisfied?” I demanded, my voice colder than I intended. You deserved that and more.

“Not even close.”

We glared at each other, seemingly at an impasse before we even started.

“This passage is supposed to be closed,” Marc said, breaking the standoff. “It’s dangerous.”

Tips’s eyes flicked his direction. “Was,” he corrected. “Lord Vincent’s got the knack for shoring things up.”

I didn’t really hear the last bit. All that registered in my head was that the rock overhead was unstable. Sweat trickling down my cheek, I searched the ceiling above us for cracks, my magic manifesting, ready to form a shield in an instant. Whatever Tips and Marc were arguing about went unheard, my ears peeled for the sound of moving rock.

“Bloody stones, what do you think you’re doing!” Tips’s voice caught my attention.

“Is this passage stable?” I demanded, hating the way my voice sounded.

“Stable enough.” Tips cocked his head, and then he started laughing. “You’re scared. You, the most powerful troll alive, scared to be in the mines.”

“I’m not…” I broke off with a scowl. “I don’t like it down here.”

“Poor pretty prince.” He rubbed the corner of his eye like he was wiping away a tear. “You realize that makes no sense. You’ve lived your whole life under a mountain of rock. I’ve seen you go into the labyrinth, which is a far worse place than here, and come out looking like you’ve just been for tea with your mother. It’s ridiculous for you to be afraid.”

“It’s actually perfectly logical,” I retorted, hating everything that was coming out of his mouth.

“A rock on the head is a rock on the head.” There was laughter in his voice, and he leaned on his crutch, looking at me like I was the most amusing thing he’d seen all year.

“I can hold up the rocks in the labyrinth and those above the city,” I snarled at him. “But this is too much. Even for me.”

Everyone and everything went silent. Swearing, I swung a fist into the wall and instantly regretted it when dust rained down on my head and pain lanced through my arm. Why had Marc said anything about the passage being unstable? He had to have known it would throw me off, make me say things I’d regret.