Cécile’s brow furrowed, but then she nodded. “He’s keeping that card up his sleeve; we harm him, he sends Roland on a killing spree.”

“Likely,” I agreed. “But also, all setting Roland loose on one of the cities would accomplish is drawing me out to confront my brother, which would put his puppet king at risk. I think he’s keeping to his original plan.”

“Building an army,” Cécile said. “Stacking his cards, so that when it comes time for him to make his move, he can be assured of victory.”

“Which we are going to let him do,” I said, watching as Cécile’s eyes widened. “As it buys us time.” My attention drifted to the twins, neither of whom seemed to be listening. Vincent was staring off into the distance, and Victoria was watching her brother with a jaw so tight her teeth were likely in danger of cracking.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded. “Victoria?”

Her shoulders twitched. “Noth–” The lie stuck in her throat.

Cécile came around me, arm outstretched. “Vincent?”

“Leave him be!” Victoria knocked her hand away, and Cécile gasped, more in surprise than in pain. “But he’s better,” she whispered. “I used Tristan’s magic. The wound healed.”

“Vincent?” I felt Victoria’s magic burning with the heat of her distress, and I pushed Cécile behind me. “Vincent, answer me.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to hear. Brushing aside Victoria’s hand, I stepped in front of the friend who’d been like a brother to me. Who’d guarded my back, supported my plans, and made me laugh even in the moments when all seemed lost. “Look at me,” I said, and when he did not, I forced his chin down until his eyes met mine.

There was nothing in them.

Vincent was gone.

Chapter 44

Cécile

Never in my life had I felt like a greater failure.

I sat in the sled with the bound form of my enemy, wishing I could tear open the wound I’d so casually healed and watch him slowly bleed to death. To make him pay for what he’d done.

To make him pay for what I’d failed to fix.

Tristan ran on silent feet behind me, and the twins before, Vincent mindlessly following his sister’s guiding hand. Angoulême hadn’t just ended one life when he’d detonated that staircase, he’d ruined two, because there was no life for Victoria without her brother. Part of me wondered if they’d have been better off if I’d let them die.

“Chris took Martin back to camp,” Tristan said, and I jumped. It was the first thing he’d said since we departed the tombs.

“His body, you mean?”

He shook his head. “He was alive when they left, but Cécile…” I turned in my seat in time to see him swallow, his throat convulsing as though what he had to say made him sick. “Angoulême dismembered him.”

All the blood rushed away from my skin. Martin, poor dear Martin, who’d wanted nothing more than to bury himself in books until that fateful day I’d walked into the library looking for a way to break a curse.