My jaw was released from his grip, and I whimpered, curling in on myself.

“Did that hurt?” His breath was hot on my ear.

“Yes.”

He laughed softly, then sat cross-legged next to me. “Good. Now get up and get started. If he comes, I won’t be able to stop him from killing you. He made me promise to leave you to him, if we found you alive.”

I pushed up onto my hands and knees, extracting the flask containing my premixed potion. His eyes tracked my every move. “If this doesn’t work, I won’t be happy,” he warned.

“It will work.” I swallowed hard. “If you would remove your coat and shirt and lay on the ground, Your Majesty. ”

He obliged, the snow immediately melting to form a pool around his overheated skin.

“It will be painful,” I warned.

“I don’t feel pain,” he said, then his eyes flicked to me. “I feel nothing.”

“Then let’s begin.” I poured the potion, and drew upon all the power the world had to offer.

Chapter Sixty

Tristan

I drifted just outside the threshold of consciousness, aware. But not.

It was cold. I was cold. Numb.

Bodies jostled against me, dead limbs clutching and grabbing. Faces full of accusation. They dragged me deeper and deeper until I couldn’t breathe. The weight of a thousand corpses, a thousand victims, pressing down on my chest.

Get off, I screamed at them. I tried. Did everything I could.

The dead do not listen. The dead cannot hear.

I reached for the flame that was my magic, clawed at it with desperate fingers. But instead of burning bright, it guttered. Faltered. Blackness tugged me away from consciousness, further and further until it was only a distant gleam. But something wouldn’t let me go.

A sound, sharp and repetitious. Familiar.

“Tristan!” A voice I knew well. “Don’t you dare be dead, you stupid pretty-faced troll!”

Then the weight was pushed off my chest, the bodies shoved away, and hands, warm with the heat of life, were pulling me out of the cold.

I opened my eyes.

Chapter Sixty-One

Cécile

Roland opened his eyes and sat up, staring at one misty hand as though he couldn’t believe it was his own.

“Roland,” I said. “Are you all right?”

His form solidified, and I eased back, ready to run if I had to. Just because he couldn’t harm me with magic any longer didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of ripping out my throat. “Roland?” I repeated.

He lifted his head, and I sensed in the moment that his eyes met mine that his madness was gone. That in removing the iron from his body, I’d stripped away the poison twisting his mind. “I’m sorry it hurt,” I said, gently touching his hand.