“How did you find him?” I asked, allowing Sabine to pack snow against my blistered palms.

“I didn’t,” Chris said. “His little rat dog friend did. He was half dead under one of those skiffs and surrounded by bodies, but the damn thing has nose like a bloodhound.” He took hold of my shoulder. “But he’s burnt out, Cécile. I don’t think he could create so much as a ball of light if his life depended on it.”

And I’d just sent him after Angoulême.

“You two find Marc or the twins. I have to find him,” I said, starting off in the direction he’d gone. To myself, I said, “If the Duke breaks my spell, Tristan won’t have a chance.”

“And what a shame that would be,” Lessa said, stepping into my path.

Chapter 62

Tristan

It occurred to me as I sprinted through the woods without enough magic to keep the burning ground from singing my boots that I was making a mistake. That I should retreat and regroup, give my power a chance to recover itself, and then come up with a clever strategy for catching Angoulême.

But I was done with clever strategies.

Done with relying on deception and duplicity, bluffs and illusion, to capture my enemies and win my battles. I wanted a fight, and if it was to be bare knuckles, so much the better.

But in order for there to be a chance of that happening, I had to catch Angoulême before he could wash off Roland’s blood and with it, Cécile’s spell. And knowing that would be his goal, I headed in the direction of the river I’d seen from Melusina’s back.

My lungs choked on the ash in the air, my body screaming under the strain of being pushed so hard after it had already endured so much. Sparks bit at my skin, burned holes in my already torn clothes, but I ignored the pain and pushed on, jumping over fallen trees and pools of grey sludge, finally reaching the edge of the forest fire.

Angoulême crouched in the center of the clearing, coat and shirt in a heap beside him, hands full of the snow he was using to scrub the blood off his skin. Swearing silently, I put on a burst of speed. He looked up, and I slammed into him, our combined weight sending us tumbling through the clearing and down a steep slope.

We crashed up against trees and rocks, bushes cutting and slicing as we rolled into the gully to land with a crack on the frozen stream. The ice fractured, and we dropped, freezing water flooding over my head. Staggering to my feet, I dragged him out and threw him against a tree, the trunk cracking with the impact.

At first I thought he was choking on the water he’d inhaled, then I realized he was laughing. Climbing out of the stream, I stalked toward him even as he rose to his feet, one hand pressed to his side. “Feeling a little burned out, are we, Your Highness?”