“You mean if you’re dead.” My eyes burned.

Marc sat back. “Yes.”

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip. “Then we need to even the odds.” I turned to Tristan. “I’m going with them.”

I expected a knee-jerk reaction from him. An instantaneous no. But he had expected this. “You’re in the same circumstance as I am, Cécile. She wants to get her hands on you, so she can get to me. They’ll be watching for you, and not just the fey, but the trolls as well. You’re too recognizable.”

I pulled the knife from my belt. “I can remedy that.” I sliced the blade across my braid, as close to my head as I could get without risking my neck. Then I dropped the slowly unraveling crimson plait on the table. “I’m going with them. End of story.”

“Oh, Cécile.” Sabine stood back to inspect her handiwork, giving a slight shake of her head.

“It’s just hair.” I said the words, but as I tugged the black locks hanging just above my shoulders, I knew I was lying. It was vain and foolish, but my hair had meant a lot. “It will grow back.”

“And the black will come out, I promise.” She hugged me, the long plait of my hair falling over her shoulder. It would be the other part of our deception: Sabine, disguised as me, going out onto the towers with Tristan.

I rubbed the dark that had transferred from my hair to her shoulder, and took one final glance in the hand mirror, confirming that the cosmetics she’d applied had satisfactory darkened my lashes and brows. I wore trousers and a coat that had been hastily altered to fit, and the scarf Sabine handed me completed my disguise. It wasn’t as good as troll magic, but unlike magic, it was firmly in place.

“Sabine, I need to speak with Cécile.”

I’d felt Tristan enter the room, but I took my time turning around, not entirely desirous of him seeing me like this.

“You look dreadful,” he said, stepping aside so that Sabine could leave the room, seemingly oblivious to the dark glare she cast his direction.

“I didn’t realize your feelings were so dependent on my appearance,” I said, crossing my arms.

“They aren’t.” And before I could blink, he was across the room, lifting me up and against him. “But I’m tired of disguising you and sending you off while I wait to see if you’ll return.”

“I always come back,” I murmured, gently kissing his forehead, the heat of his skin against my lips making me burn hot in other places. “I will always come back. And besides, you aren’t sending me. I…” Frowning, I straightened so I could meet his gaze, seeing his self-satisfaction even as I felt it. “You knew I’d insist on going.”

“Of course I knew,” he said. “Why do you think your brother was in such a foul temper?”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Predictable? No.” He buried his face in my neck, teeth catching at the skin of my throat. “Steadfast and constant? Yes. Brave? Always.”