“I don’t need magic to kill you,” I said, and struck. He ducked and rolled, coming up swinging, and then we were fighting in earnest. Fists and feet flew, both of us landing blows. I was the better fighter – had trained with Marc, Anaïs, and the twins since I was a child – whereas he’d disdained of combat in order to hide his affliction. But I was burned out, my movements sluggish, and my healing slow. And he knew it – staying on the defense. Wearing me down. And with each spare second, he used handfuls of snow to wipe away Cécile’s spell.

I had to end this now, or he’d regain his magic and I’d be done.

Without warning, he turned and sprinted up the slope, the gully sharpening and turning into a ravine that carved back into the foothills. My breath came in labored gasps as I struggled to keep pace, refusing to let him get away to fight another day. We’d been at this game of Guerre for far too long, and it was time it came to an end.

Cutting through a copse of trees, I saw him once again on his knees in the snow, water beading on his skin where it had melted. Snatching up a rock, I dived into him, nearly sending us both over the edge. Then magic snatched hold of my body and flung me hard.

I smashed into the forest, taking a tree down with me. And his laughter followed.

“Once again, you have erred, boy,” he said, watching me rise with glittering eyes. “And so ends the reign of the fabled Montignys.”

I leaned one hand against a broken tree trunk. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Your Grace.” Then I held up the sharp piece of rock in my hand, one edge coated with crimson.

His eyes widened, and then he felt it. The warm flood of blood from the severed artery at his neck coating his chest and running down to pool at his feet. His magic manifested and struck, but the blow was weak and glancing. He tried again, but his power faltered, and he dropped to his knees.

I walked over to stand in front of him. “Checkmate.” I said, and the light fled from his eyes and he fell to the ground at my feet.

My enemy was dead. But instead of triumph, all I felt was numb, because his death did nothing to bring back all of those I’d lost. An empty victory.

“Well done, little brother, well done.”

I jerked up from Angoulême’s body to see Lessa standing on the opposite side of the gorge, holding Cécile in front of her by the hair.

“Let her go, Lessa,” I said, searching for a way to get across and coming up with nothing. My magic was flickering, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold my weight, and a fall from this height might well kill me.

“Oh, I fully intend to let her go now that you’ve disposed of my master for me.” She spit into the ravine, her face full of hatred. And yet she’d fooled Angoulême for years, made him think she loved him and was loyal. It made the lie that I had lived seem like nothing. Like child’s play.