I couldn’t even defend myself or offer up the truth. Lessa had gagged me before anyone arrived on the scene, warning the guards who took me away not to allow me to speak lest I use my witch magic upon them. They’d taken her words to heart – though in truth, I did not need to say a word to work with troll magic – guiding me at arm’s length with steel shackles, eyes wary and watching. I might have struggled still, but they were taking me in Tristan’s direction, and where he was, I needed to be.

“Put her in here,” one of the trolls muttered. His light gleamed against the heavy steel door, which swung open on oiled hinges to reveal mildew covered stone walls of a tiny space. Then he shoved me inside, and all there was to see was blackness. The shackles on my arms clinked, but they were nothing compared to the walls closing in on all sides, the space barely larger than a coffin.

Stay calm! I ordered myself, but I didn’t know how I was to do so when I’d been effectively buried alive. Tristan was very close, but what good was that with us both entombed and me gagged? Snot bubbles snapped and splattered against my cheeks as I struggled to breathe through my nose, through my tears, but I couldn’t get enough air.

My lungs fluttered like the wings of a sparrow, and I clawed at the liquid magic filling my mouth. But it did no good. I was drowning on my own tears, on my own panic, and my elbows slammed against the walls, tearing my skin and bruising the bone.

“Cécile?”

His voice did as much as a mouthful of air to calm me, and I rested my forehead against the door, my breathing steadying.

“There’s a gap at the base of your cell,” he said. “Reach down, and you will feel my hand.”

I dropped to my knees, scrabbling around until my fingers found his, warm and familiar. Fresh tears threatened, and I bowed my head, pressing my face against our linked hands.

“Say something. Tell me you’re all right.”

My nails dug into his skin, and I shook my head, strands of my hair brushing against our fingers.

He was silent, then, “They’ve gagged you? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

I squeezed once for yes.

“They told me that you killed my mother and my aunt–” He broke off. “Is it true?”

He didn’t want to believe it, I could feel it. But there was doubt there, too, and I couldn’t blame him for it. Maybe I’d done it in a desperate attempt to save him, or maybe I’d decided to finally have my revenge. I squeezed twice. No.

His relief was staggering, but short lived. “Lessa?” he asked.

No.

Then reluctantly, “Roland?”

I didn’t want to answer, because he already shouldered too much of the blame for his brother’s actions.

“Cécile?”

A tear dripped off my nose. Yes.