He nodded slowly, and in a tone that was alarmingly similar to one I often employed, he said, “I think I have a plan.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Cécile

It was deathly quiet on the wall, every half-blood in Trianon grim faced as they held their portion of magic reinforcing the stone. Down below, almost every soldier Fred had at his disposal stood armed to the teeth, waiting. Ready to fight the moment the wall was breached.

Almost every soldier.

I paced up and down the narrow walkway, stopping to peer carefully through an arrow slit from time to time to see if I could pick out a familiar face in the horde below.

Under Marc’s watchful eye, several of Tips’s crew had carefully opened the tunnel they’d dug to get under the city wall when they first arrived, allowing Fred and a hundred of his most trusted men to leave Trianon undetected. Dressed in civilian clothes with cloaks to cover their weapons, they’d joined the mass of islanders trying to push their way through the wall, mimicking their wails and mannerisms. Waiting.

“Please go back to the castle, Cécile,” Marc said. “Sabine, Marie, and Joss could use your help, and there is nothing you can do here.”

The women had taken cartloads of sleeping children back to the castle, and it was true that many were injured and needed a witch’s touch. But I couldn’t bear to leave. “My brother’s out there,” I whispered. I’m afraid of losing him, too.

“I can’t spare anyone to stand guard over you.”

“Then don’t,” I said. “I know the risks, and I’m not helpless.” I pulled open my coat to reveal a pair of pistols and a set of blades. “Besides, the castle will be the first place they look for me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head, but he voiced no further argument.

“Let us in, let us in.” I tried not to hear, not to listen, but sweat had already soaked through my shirt despite the chill of the air.

Marc hissed through his teeth. “Báthory.”

“Where?”

“The woman in the red cloak. I’d recognize that strut anywhere.” His hand went to the pommel of the sword at his waist, as though that would be his first line of attack. “There’s another. And another.” Careful to keep out of sight, he pointed out the approaching trolls. All of them wore hooded cloaks that obscured their faces, and other than Báthory, all were doing a fair job of imitating the motions of their human shield. Moving at a speed that would not attract attention, they joined the mob of humans, carefully pushing their way forward until they were hemmed in by islanders on all sides.