“If we find Tristan, won’t they fight for him?”

Marc blew out a breath between his teeth, the expression in his unblinking eyes answering my question, and sickness burned the back of my throat. Whether Trollus remained loyal would depend on what state Tristan was in, and as it was, there was no chance he’d be recovered by the time Roland and Angoulême arrived to attack.

“Of a surety, some of the Duke’s followers survived the battle, and they’ll be running to meet him with the news that not only are you alive, you’re well enough to perform magic, which will make him suspect Tristan survived the battle with his brother.”

“Will that keep him from attacking?”

He shook his head. “I think it will only cause him to move faster – to strike before Tristan has the chance to recover.”

“Surely we can hold against him,” I said. “We’ve hundreds of trolls here, plus all the half-bloods and human soldiers.”

“But at what cost?” Marc asked. “Angoulême will walk up to the gates and inform everyone in straight terms that Roland has defeated his brother. He will give them a chance to capitulate or face Roland’s wrath. What do you think they’ll choose?”

“Then what?” I snapped, my temper fraying. “What do you suggest we do? As I see it, our only hope is to find Tristan and see if I can help him recover. If he were here, if the trolls could see him, then maybe…” It would still be another battle. Hundreds, maybe thousands of lives lost, with no certainty of victory. Was surrender the better option? Was it inevitable?

“We have one advantage,” Marc said. “For a few hours more, Angoulême believes you both are dead. His guard will be lowered.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “So? It isn’t as though Tristan is capable of doing anything about it.”

“I’m not talking about Tristan,” Marc said. “I’m talking about you.”

Chapter 59

Cécile

We crouched in a copse of trees, twilight upon us. Melusina had delivered Marc, Sabine, and me to the location an hour ago, but we’d waited for the twins to join us before making our move. It had killed me to ask Martin pull them away from their search for Tristan, but Marc couldn’t handle Angoulême and Lessa on his own.

He’s still alive, I reminded myself. Chris is looking for him – he’ll find him.

“We’re running out of time,” Marc muttered, sitting back on his haunches to reveal the portal Martin had made. We were waiting for Roland to be alone, but thus far, he’d been unaccommodating. And it wouldn’t be long before the survivors of our victory at Trianon would arrive with word that I was still alive.

“We could intercept them,” Victoria said, absently braiding her long black hair as she watched Roland. “Can’t talk if they’re dead.”

“Risky,” Marc replied. “We don’t know who survived – you’d have no idea of who you were going up against.” His jaw tightened. “But I don’t see as we have a choice. Go, and we’ll send Martin for you when we move.”