“I didn’t think it worked,” I whispered. “I used the wrong magic.”

He swayed slightly, seeming unsteady on his feet. “Tristan?” I asked, unable to keep the concern from my voice. My tarnished bonding marks told me he was deathly ill, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. He didn’t answer, only lifted a hand as though to brush the hair out of his face, but lowered it without finishing the gesture. I didn’t miss the gleam of metal at his wrists. And it was then that I recognized the smell in the air.

Blood. And this time, it wasn’t my imagination.

“God in heaven,” I said, choking the words out. “Please tell me those haven’t been on this entire time?”

His silence was all the answer I needed.

“I’m taking them off.” I reached for his arm, but he jerked away from me, blindingly fast.

“No!”

“Why not?” What was wrong with him?

“He’ll put four more in their place.” He looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. But of course, it made sense.

“How long do we have until they find us?”

His gaze flicked up to meet mine. “They aren’t free.”

I stared back at him, unable to comprehend what he was telling me. “What do you mean? How is it that you…” I couldn’t even form a question.

“I don’t know. It could be…” he trailed off and shook his head. “All I know is that I’m the only troll no longer bound by the curse.”

Could I have asked for more? It was a circumstance so perfect, yet so improbable that I’d never even dreamed of it. Tristan free, and all the trolls I despised and feared still caged by the curse. The dilemma I’d grappled with for so long seemed solved – I was sacrificing nothing and no one to be with Tristan. Our lives were safe without me unleashing the likes of Roland upon the world. I should feel giddy, euphoric, even. But I didn’t. Instead I felt the sense that we stood in the eye of the storm, and that a step in any direction would plunge us back into chaos.

A door slammed, and we both jumped. “We can’t stay here,” I said. “They know I have escaped and they’ll be after me.”

“Who?”

“Lord Aiden du Chastelier. He’s been running messages for your father.” I motioned for him to follow me backstage, noting the way his eyes jumped from lamp to painting to ladder, trying to see everything and yet focusing on nothing.

“The Regent’s son.” Tristan’s voice was toneless, but I felt the dull force of his shock. “Did he relay my message?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said with a shaky laugh. “Though he intended to use it to his own advantage, not mine. And he enlisted my brother to help him.”

Leading him up the stairs to one of the windowless rooms where the dancers practiced, I explained Aiden and Catherine’s plan. My words were jumbled, and perhaps only half of what I said made any sense, but he did not interrupt. Tristan was tense beyond measure, but you’d never know it to look at him. His face was smooth with composure as he wandered the room, examining the sparse furnishings. It was not comfortable between us and our reunion was not going as I’d imagined, but to focus on such things now would be foolish. He was rattled, that was all. What I’d done must have come as quite a shock.