I needed my father’s help, and I needed it soon – or she was going to pull the entire palace down. And without the walls to contain her, there was the very real chance she might damage the magic of the tree and put all of Trollus in danger. If she did, then I’d be forced to hurt her to stop her, and that I didn’t want to do.

Holding her back was akin to containing a storm. Magic ceaselessly buffeted and slammed up against me, employing no strategy, only mindless force. Smoke and heat blew into my face, rubble piling up beneath my feet and threatening to trip me up. I didn’t know how to stop her. If it had been a duel, I could have killed her easily, but stopping her without hurting her seemed impossible. If I hit her too hard, I might harm her, but if I didn’t hit her hard enough, it would only infuriate her more. All I could think of was keeping her focus on trying to hurt me and minimizing what collateral damage I could.

Please hurry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d desired my father’s presence, but I needed him now. He’d know what to do.

The walls of the adjoining rooms fell in around us, and the floor beneath my feet began to shake. The whole wing of the palace was going to collapse.

“Matilde!”

My mother’s head jerked up at the sound of my father’s voice, and as abruptly as it had begun, it was over. She looked around in bewilderment, seemingly unable to comprehend that she had been the cause of the destruction. “What has happened?”

“Move.” My father shoved me aside, striding through the rubble. With the sleeve of his coat, he wiped the blood off her face, his expression surprisingly anxious. “Are you hurt, darling?”

She shook her head, tears turning pink as they ran down her cheeks. “I was so angry. So angry.” She pressed one hand to her forehead, and my heart ached watching her struggle to remember, her shoulders beginning to shake as the little pieces fit themselves together. “Tristan?” She choked out my name.

“He’s fine.” My father turned his head to look at me as though to prove to himself that I was unharmed. “He’s fine,” he repeated again, pulling her close. “Sylvie?”

“I was looking to redecorate anyway,” my aunt replied. Her words might have been blasé, but not even my mother missed the tremble in her voice.

She broke into racking sobs, and collapsed against my father’s chest. A shimmer of magic appeared around my aunt as she walled herself off from them. I should have left or done the same, but instead I sat down in the rubble and dust, watching my parents.

“I’m sorry, love. This was not your fault – it was mine.” He picked bits of broken rock out of her hair, tried fruitlessly to smooth away the dust, before resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m so sorry to have put you through this. I will make everything right.”