“Roland, Tristan’s alive,” I said. “He’s all right.”

He went still, then peered up at me with hope. Then his gaze flicked over my shoulder, and in a blur of speed, he slammed into me, knocking me flat on my back. I struggled against him, convinced that I’d been wrong about his madness being gone, when a wave of heat washed over our heads.

“You little human bitch,” Angoulême snarled. “What have you done?”

“Cured him,” I shouted, allowing Roland to pull me to my feet. He stepped between me and the Duke, and I wondered if he knew his powers had changed. “Good luck using him now, you abusive coward.”

“Cured him?” The Duke’s hands were balled into fists as he stalked toward us. “Cured him? You’ve ruined him – now he is nothing. He is worth nothing!”

Roland flinched, but stood his ground.

“Feeling brave, are we, you miserable little wretch?” Angoulême lifted a hand, face twisted with fury. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The air filled with fire, but instead of incinerating us, it blasted around a shield of magic. Marc stepped into the clearing. “It’s over, Angoulême,” he said. “Surrender.”

The Duke spat in the dirt at Marc’s feet. “We’ve been through this before, you broken fool. You can’t defeat me.”

“Perhaps it’s time we put that to the test.”

Angoulême laughed. “Kill her, boy.”

Roland stiffened. Slowly, he turned to face me, and I saw tears were running down his face. “I’m sorry, Cécile,” he said. “I must obey.” Then he lunged.

Stars burst in my eyes even as I heard explosions punctuating the air as Angoulême and Marc fought. Magic ripped Roland off me, tossing him into some bushes, but he was back in a flash, body turning to mist as he ran through Marc’s defenses, solidifying just before he struck. I rolled, his fists striking the earth where my head had been seconds before.

But he was on me in an instant, fingers clawing and bruising my legs as he clamored up my body, reaching for my throat. Then Martin appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Roland’s waist, and pulling him off me. Prying open the boy’s lips, he emptied a handful of gleaming blue liquid into Roland’s mouth and let go of him. Roland stood gaping at him for a heartbeat, then a tear opened in the world and Martin stepped through, dragging the troll prince with him.

But I wasn’t out of danger yet.

Angoulême and Marc battled on, magic flaring bright with concussive blasts that made my ears ring. Swaths of trees were leveled while others were reduced to a smoking ruin. And beyond, I could see the twins had brought the battle to the camp to keep Angoulême’s people from helping their master. Ignoring the aching pain of my body, I rolled behind a boulder, keeping my head down as I watched.

For all of the Duke’s bluster, it seemed an even match, both dripping sweat as they dodged and attacked. But like Pénélope, Angoulême had spent his life avoiding any chance of injury, and that sedentarism had come with a cost. His breath came in great winded gasps, and he began to trip and stumble as he dodged Marc’s blows.