Then a jolt of panic hit me and I staggered, Victoria catching hold of my arm. “Something’s happened,” I said. “Something’s not right.”

In the distance, explosions of bright color filled the sky and Victoria swore. “That’s Marc. Trianon’s under attack.”

Chris ran into camp right as the earth began to tremble. “Earthshake,” Chris shouted, but as I was thrown to the ground, I knew that wasn’t it. Trees toppled as the intensity increased, and my ears popped with the sound of an enormous thunderclap.

I pushed up on my hands and knees in time to see Chris point and say, “God in heaven, what is that?” A white cloud of mist roared toward us like an ocean wave, and as it passed over our heads, a wall of heat hit my face, turning what snow remained on the trees to water.

“Is Roland attacking Trianon?” my gran asked, her face pale.

“Wrong way,” Chris said, helping me up, both of us swaying as the ground shook again. “That cloud came from the direction of Triaucourt.” His eyes went to mine and I nodded, trying to keep my fear in check. “Tristan’s fighting Roland.”

I grasped Martin’s shoulders. “You need to figure out your fey magic, we need to see what’s happening.”

“I can’t! I don’t know how.” There were tears on his face, but I didn’t care, because Tristan was in trouble, and I didn’t know how I could help him. “Try harder,” I screamed.

He shoved me away, and I fell into Chris’s arms. “I can’t!” he shouted. “You might have cured me, but you didn’t fix the problem, because I can’t go back. I can’t feel the press of the worlds. There is no connection.”

Can’t feel… No connection.

I struggled out of Chris’s grasp. “The Élixir,” I demanded. “Where is it?”

Martin blinked at me, then fumbled at his robes. “It’s gone,” he said. “It’s not here.”

My heart was racing, Tristan’s panic mixing with my own. “Did Angoulême take it? Think!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” He tore at the pockets of his robes, and I swore. Because the robes weren’t real – they were a manifestation of his magic. His real robes lay in a heap in the tent. I only prayed the vial was with it.

I sprinted across the camp, stumbling as the ground shuddered, falling through the tent flaps to land on my knees. Martin’s blood-stained clothing was in a heap in the corner, and I rifled through it.

“Please be here, please be here,” I muttered. Then my fingers brushed against something cold, and I jerked the vial free from the fabric.

I threw myself out of the tent and nearly collided with Martin. “Drink it,” I said. “Now.”

“But why?”