There were numerous artistic renderings of the scene from before the Fall, when Trollus had dominated the valley below the monstrous triangular peak, and the gardens had been full of color instead of glass, and the port had been filled with ships, and Trollus had been the center of the world. Now it was a sea of barren rock, lifeless and insignificant beyond its natural marvel. It was the center of nothing – had been reduced to the inconsequential cage of a sick and dying race. Seeing it this way infuriated me, and for the first time I felt of a like mind with my father.

“That’s Esmeralda Montoya’s ship,” Chris said, pointing to a vessel sailing south, likely headed to Courville.

“How can you tell?”

“Seen it enough times to recognize it.” He squinted at the ship. “Have to say, I’m surprised to see her on the move. It’s been anchored in the Trianon harbor for at least a month, and I’ve crossed paths with her a time or two. Though she didn’t seem too keen on chatter, if you catch my meaning.”

I nodded. Esmeralda had sworn the traders’ oaths to my father, and as such, her ability to speak about anything to do with Trollus was limited. But she could still listen. The least I could do would be to track her down and let her know the girls had been well enough when I left. It might ease her mind enough for her to carry on with her business. I did not care to see her come to ruin for fear of missing the chance to enter Trollus should my father reopen the gates.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Chris steered the horses off to the side of the road.

“No.” I jumped off the carriage. “Keep watch for anyone coming. This isn’t a conversation I want anyone walking into the middle of.” I started towards the beach, then paused. “Keep an eye on the dog. Cécile is fond of him, but he makes a mess everywhere he goes.” Smiling at Chris’s muttered oaths about the consequences of damaging the carriage and the ridiculousness of small dogs, I continued on my way.

The snow was compressed where countless wagons and feet had packed down a track, but I walked along the edge of it, enjoying the way it crunched beneath my feet. There was no snow on the beach, as the water rose high enough to wash away any tracks with each tide, and to the casual eye, the uneven cliff of rock concealing the entrance to the River Road appeared entirely innocuous.

I strode across the rocks and sand and into the shade of the overhang marking the entrance to the tunnel, the river flowing fresh and clean down to the ocean. At high tide, the ocean reached right up to the barrier of the curse, and bits of flotsam littered the path. Ahead, it appeared as though I were walking toward massed boulders from which the water flowed, but I knew it was an illusion. And I knew only a handful of trolls could account for the power lurking just beyond it.