“What you’re doing is cooking me alive,” I muttered, pulling off my coat and throwing it carelessly over the back of the chair. “It’s aggravating.”

“Oh?” Her voice brightened. “I mean… I thought it rather cool in here.”

I shook my head. “Come, Souris. Let’s get some fresh air.” I led him up into the tower, leaning over the parapet and then drumming my fingers against the edge. Taking a deep breath, I paced swiftly back and forth across the tower, stopping from time to time to look in the direction of Trollus. And my father.

Because if my plan for Winter succeeded, he’d be my next target.

I’d always known that ridding the world of King Thibault would be a complicated task, and it was no less so with the curse broken. I might be slightly more powerful than him, but he was more experienced, and he knew most of my tricks. Remaining in Trollus was a clever tactic, because I couldn’t attack him from a distance without putting the entire city in jeopardy, which he knew I’d never do. If I managed to get close to him, he’d be ready and wary, and beating him would be no sure thing. What I needed was a way to lower his guard, to make him think I wasn’t a threat.

Which, if everything went according to plan, would happen soon enough.

Suitably cooled and certain that Joss had accomplished her task, I trotted back down the stairs to find her standing in front of the fire, expression intent.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped. “Nothing. Just warming my hands.” A bead of sweat formed on her forehead, and she brushed it away as the black marble decoys she’d dumped in the fire exploded with twin cracks. “Sap in the wood,” she explained, and I gave her a dour glare.

“It’s too hot,” I said, then added, “Pour me some wine, would you.” I was being rude, but she only nodded. And when she turned her back, I glanced at the clock, watching it strike the hour. Everyone and everything should be in place.

She filled both wine glasses to the brim, walking carefully back to the table and depositing one next to the plate containing the remains of my meal. I ignored it in favor of picking at a loose thread on my shirt, and as predicted, Souris leapt onto the table, knocking the wine glass as he went for the scraps of food. The red liquid sloshed over my trousers, and I swore.

“Damn it, Souris!” I shouted at him, then picked up the empty glass and hurled it across the room where it smashed against a particularly ugly tapestry. He barked once, then scuttled under the table where he eyed me with a toothy grin.

“Tristan,” Joss said, her face pale. “I think Cécile’s spell is wearing off.”

I stood staring at her for a long moment, then I dived toward my discarded coat, ripping the pocket as I extracted the handkerchief the seeds – and, more recently, the marbles – had been wrapped in.