“She lived in my home her entire life, you blathering fool,” Angoulême snarled. “Do you think I don’t understand how her little mind works? How to dangle the carrot? How to use her like a tool?”

The only time the Duke lost his temper was when he was not in control. “As you say, Your Grace, your family owned her for most of her life. Used her as a servant, and, I think, as your whore. How long do you think she’ll suffer you to live once she is queen?”

“She’s no fool. She knows she needs me to control Roland.”

I drew on my power, letting it seep through the cracks in the granite, knowing how it would prickle and burn on his skin. “And yet courtesy of my dearest sister, here I am.”

They had to be inside by now. I could feel Cécile moving, her nerves and anticipation. But was she ready? If I stalled any longer, Angoulême would know I was up to something, and that would put everything in jeopardy.

Sighing, I polished the last remaining button on my coat. “Enough of this, Your Grace. You know Roland won’t make it in time, so quit the stalling.”

A chuckle rolled through the mountains. “No, I don’t suppose he will be arriving here anytime soon. But I trust you’re clever enough to understand the consequences of killing me and letting the boy off his leash, and that you will act accordingly. I’ve taken my own precautions – if you try to force your way in, everyone inside – including me – will die.”

Including Cécile and my closest friends.

“Unless you’ve grown wings,” he continued, “by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”

Unease snaked down my spine as I parsed his words. “Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed.”

“No,” Angoulême said, his voice full of mockery. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, and I heard the tap tap of his cane against the stone floor of the tomb as he retreated into his depths. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”

Chapter 40

Cécile

The twins’ mining skills had come in handy, as they’d easily drilled a tunnel into the rear of the tombs under the cover of Tristan’s attack.

“Where did they put the bodies?” I asked, running a finger over the dusty statue lying prone on an altar of carved marble and glass. My finger left a streak of gleaming gold in its wake, and I bent low over the figure’s face, marveling at the level of detail, from the realistic swell of the troll’s lips to the slight creases at the corners of his sightless diamond eyes.

“That is the body,” Victoria replied, smiling slightly as I recoiled, shoving my offending hand into my pocket. “They dip them in liquid gold after they die.”

“Still?” For some reason, the notion horrified me: being encased in metal for all of eternity.