“Tristan, the twins are hurt and Angoulême’s escaped,” I said, scanning the two remaining staircases leading up, and the one large one that lead down. The Duke we’d seen standing in the foyer had been an illusion, a projection of some sort. But I’d heard the echo of his cane tapping. He’d been close. Which way had he gone?

“How bad?”

I glanced back at the twins, Vincent unmoving and his sister slumped next to him. “They’re dying.”

His jolt of anguish sent a fresh crop of tears down my face. “Move back, Cécile. I’m going to break the door.”

“No!” I shouted the word, and it echoed through the cavernous room. “Victoria said it’s rigged to collapse.

“Stay where you are,” he shouted. “I’ll come in the back.”

Retreating back to my friends, I pulled the vial of blood out of my pocket and tilted it from side to side, watching the liquid move. Then I dropped to my knees next to them.

“Go after Angoulême, Cécile.” Victoria lifted her face. “If there was ever time for one of your mad risky schemes, this is it. If he gets out of the tombs somehow, Tristan won’t be able to find him. He’s too clever. Far more clever than we ever gave him credit for.” Her eyes went to the vial in my hand. “You have what you need to stop him, but you need to be quick about it.”

“Yes, I do,” I said, then I closed my fist on the glass. It shattered, and Tristan’s magic came to my call. Slapping my hand against Vincent’s cheek, I shoved the magic into him, praying it would know what to do. Praying that it would be enough.

It was like watching a flower bloom. As I stared, it seemed as though nothing was happening, but when I blinked, his injuries had healed a little more, the gruesome wound to his skull sealing over until only the mess of blood in his black hair indicated he’d been hurt at all. His breathing steadied, and I withdrew my hand, wiping it on my trousers. “Follow when you can.”

Victoria squeezed Vincent’s hand, then stood. “I’m coming with you.”

“He’ll expect that,” I said. “Which is why you’re staying with Vincent. I have a plan.” Moving to the center of the foyer, I dropped a rock, listening to how the sound bounced off the walls. Moving to the left, I dropped another rock. Then another. I knew acoustics. And I knew which way Angoulême had gone.

The lower levels were filled with the crypts of lesser Montignys: princes and princesses, lords and ladies of various ranks, but I paid them no mind as I ran, following the tracks in the dust as I was sure the Duke expected me to do. This was a trap.

And it was set for me.