“This way,” Vincent muttered, eyeing the compass in his hand. The Duke would be engaged with fighting Tristan at the entrance, so that’s where we needed to go. Magic coating our feet to muffle the sound, we ran as swiftly as we dared, passing great stone slabs blocking the tombs of the royalty of old, names and carved likeness marking who was interred within.

“Come out, come out,” a voice thundered through the corridors, followed with a horrifying scratching.

Panic flooded my veins, and turning, I went to run. And collided with Victoria. “It’s Tristan,” she said, wincing. “Aggressive use of acoustics, but I’m sure that’s purposeful. Though in irritating the Duke, he’s likely to render the three of us deaf.”

We crept forward more slowly, listening to the one-sided conversation, Tristan doing his best to bait Angoulême. To keep him interested.

But of the Duke’s responses, we could hear nothing.

Until we did. “Unless you’ve grown wings, by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”

Vincent held up a hand, and I extracted the vial of blood I needed to perform the spell and handed it to him. Leaning forward, I peered around my friend’s bulk. We were at the top of a sprawling curved staircase, which, from what I could see, was one of three winding down to a vaulted foyer lit with dozens of troll-lights. Angoulême stood in front of a great set of doors, one of which was cracked. He stood alone in a pool of blood and gore. Which didn’t feel at all right. Where were his followers?

“Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed,” Tristan said.

“No,” Angoulême replied. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, tapping the tip of his cane against the floor, and I swore I heard the same sound come from somewhere else. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”

I was still looking around for the other source of the tapping when Vincent stepped out onto the staircase to get the angle right for a throw. He made it down three steps, then the stone exploded beneath him.

Victoria jerked me backwards, magic shielding us against the rain of razor sharp shards of rock, but it did nothing to stop her terrified scream from piercing my ears. “Vincent! Vincent!”

We both scrambled toward the shattered ledge, and leaned over, peering down into the dust. Vincent lay in a pile of rubble beneath us.

And Angoulême was gone.

Chapter Forty-One

Cécile

“Vincent! No, please, no.” Tears cut tracks through the dust coating Victoria’s face as she moved to leap off the ledge.

I grabbed her arm, heaving with all my might. “Be careful! There might be more traps, and we won’t be able to help him if we set them off and kill ourselves.”