“If Cécile survives your death, I’m going to find her and make her wish she hadn’t,” he hissed, rising to his feet. He shoved Roland hard between the shoulders. “Kill him and take the crown. Make yourself King of Trollus and ruler of the Isle of Light.”

The words acted like a trigger, delight washing across my brother’s face. Then he attacked.

The first blow made my shield shudder; the second radiated through my limbs, making my body ache. I couldn’t do both, couldn’t hold all those lives out of the water while holding back my brother. One more, I told myself, one more, and you’ll have done all you can.

The impact sent me staggering, and the magic behind me collapsed. I swore I could hear the screams of the drowning over the pounding of the waves.

Roland laughed, and magic whirled toward me like a storm. I braced, putting all the might I had at my disposal into a counterblow. The strength that had held up Forsaken Mountain. That had quelled my enemies. That had allowed me to walk through fire and ice unscathed.

It was not enough.

Chapter 56

Cécile

Hands were on me, Sabine’s and Marc’s, trying to hold me steady, but I pushed them away and fell against the wall, my fingernails digging into the stone. Drawing in a deep breath, I tried to sing, but it came out raspy and jarring. Snatching up the water skin, I guzzled the contents even as the horde began to shift and move, many of the people climbing to their feet, the injured struggling against those trying to help them.

I began the lullaby again, but the magic was faulty and impure, the islanders not reverting to that blissful calm, but swaying and twitching with collective unease.

“Is he dead?” Marc demanded, his hand gripping my arm hard enough to leave bruises.

I shook my head, tears falling from my face with the motion.

“Hurt or unconscious?”

I nodded, but those terms didn’t encapsulate all of what I was feeling. Unconscious, hurt, and… drained.

“Shit!” He was across the tower to the door in an instant. “Get all of ours back inside the wall,” he ordered the half-blood messenger Tips had left behind. “Now. Hurry.” Then he set off a series of lights, which were answered by flashing on the wall.

Chris swooped over top of us. “I saw Roland,” he shouted. “He’s sitting alone in a field. But I couldn’t find Tristan.”

Bile burned in my throat, and I tried and failed to tune him out.

“And we’ve got more trouble coming our way,” he shouted as Melusina circled. “Dozens of Angoulême’s followers are coming this way, fast.”

“How do you know they’re his?” Marc asked. “They could be from Trollus.”

“Because I recognize the troll leading them,” Chris replied. “It’s Comtesse Báthory. They’ll be here in a half-hour, tops.”

So much for Roland killing her.

The dragon landed on the tower, and Chris climbed off. “You need to find him,” Marc said. “Go and look.”