The walls of Trianon still held, and I could see the half-bloods standing atop them, but that wasn’t the source of our horror. Surrounding the city was a teeming horde of people some thirty feet deep – more at the gate – every one of them fighting to get inside. They were pushing and shoving, some crawling over heads and shoulders while others were on their hands and knees, digging into the earth. There were bodies on the ground, some still, some writhing in pain, but man, woman, or child, no one stopped to help.

“What are they so afraid of to behave this way?” Martin asked.

“They are the islanders who were forced to swear loyalty to Roland,” I said, icy sweat dribbling down my spine. “He’s commanded them to breach the walls.”

Chris picked up a rock and threw it against a tree, staggering as the ground trembled again. “This wasn’t supposed to be their plan,” he shouted. “We were supposed to have time. Roland was supposed to march with them. If we’d known, if I’d known–” He broke off, dropping to his knees and burying his face in his hands.

“More and more keep arriving,” Victoria said, pushing me out of her way so that she could get a better view. “Where are they all coming from?”

“Does it matter?” I demanded.

“Yes.” She waved her hand through Martin’s misty form. “Earn your salt, fey, and go do some reconnaissance.”

Martin crawled through the small opening and disappeared.

“Victoria,” I whispered, my tone causing her to look at me sharply. It was taking every ounce of control I had to keep from breaking down, from letting everyone know just how dire the situation was. I stared into her silver eyes: he’s not winning.

Her jaw tightened and she gave a slight nod. Then Martin reappeared. “There’s a highway of magic stretched between Courville and a beach just outside of Trianon,” he said, squeezing back through the hole. “It’s covered in skiffs filled with humans – hundreds of them!”

“Of humans?” Chris demanded.

Martin shook his head, eyes wild. “Hundreds of skiffs.”

Which meant thousands of people out over open water entirely at Roland’s mercy. Once again we’d underestimated Angoulême’s ingenuity: he hadn’t fallen into our trap. We’d fallen into his.

Chapter 51

Tristan

I ran like I had never before. Roland’s magic hammered against my shields, knocking me to my knees and leveling the forest, leaving nothing but smoking ruins and steam.

I couldn’t kill him, not with a city full of civilians balanced precariously on his magic.

I couldn’t flee, not without risking him dumping half of them into the ocean to lure me back.

There was no option but for me to engage. I kept to the coast, sending out feelers of magic deep into the water to test the steadiness of Roland’s bridge. It was solid. That’s why he’d been sighted standing on the beach: not because he’d been fascinated with the water, but because he’d been building, preparing, for this moment. Holding up those thousands of people was costing him nothing, but if he dropped them and I had to catch them, it would cost me everything.