And so was the time of the trolls. Day after day, I worked my magic on the full-bloods, sending them off into Arcadia through a tear that always appeared at the opportune moment, the trolls stepping through wide-eyed and never looking back. I enlisted some of the other witches to help, because once the flow started, it seemed no one intended to give me a moment’s respite, even to sleep.

Tristan worked tirelessly to rebuild that which had been destroyed, opening the Trollus coffers to import the food, grain, and supplies that the Isle needed to replace what had been burned. He frequently rode about on a wagon with Chris, distributing the goods to those who needed them, returning filthy, but in high spirits, to the suite of rooms we’d once again taken command of in the Hôtel de Crillon. Those nights we made up for all the time we’d been apart, lying tangled in each other’s arms until dawn, and our respective duties, dragged us out into the sunlight.

Still, there were times I’d start awake in a cold sweat, convinced that Angoulême had returned, and that we were once again at war. Tristan, too, suffered dreams. Lying awake next to him, I could feel the grief and guilt that plagued his mind, though he refused to speak of them in the morning. Neither of us, I thought, were quite willing to believe we were to be given the chance to live the life we’d dreamed. That we could be together and that no one would have to pay the price of our happiness. But as the days turned into weeks, I dared to hope. And I think Tristan did, too.

We both should’ve known better.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked. “It does hurt, you know.”

“You mean all those screams coming from your laboratory weren’t of ecstasy?” Victoria asked, leaning back in her chair and putting her boots on my workstation, which, no matter how many times it was scrubbed, remained stained dark with troll blood. “That’s ominous.”

I glanced over at Vincent, who sat in the opposite chair, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. He still hadn’t spoken, but his eyes were no longer expressionless, and when Victoria, Tristan, or I spoke to him, he listened intently. It was impossible to say whether my spell would cure him, as his affliction was not the result of the iron poisoning his blood. But it was hard not to be hopeful.