Closing my eyes, I remembered the being I’d met in that land of endless summer. How he had seemed to glow golden like the sun. It was hard to imagine him subjugated, and it also didn’t make sense. “But he called her his wife?”

A ghost of a smile drifted across Tristan’s face. “They would’ve framed themselves in a way you’d understand. Spoken your language. Appeared in a form they believed you’d find pleasing. The higher fey are…” He paused, seeming to flounder for an explanation, “they’re not solid, static creatures populated by a soul in the way a human is. They are sentient entities that appear as they wish, and the lesser fey are their creations. Splinters of themselves that they’ve shaped into certain forms then abandoned to their own devices. When the higher fey came to this world, they formed themselves as humans to blend in with those living on the Isle. Perfect humans. And when the iron eventually bound them here, they found themselves imprisoned in their human forms.”

I remembered Anushka’s words: that’s what they are. Base. To the human eye, they are so very lovely, but to their ancestors, the immortal fey, they are wretched, ugly, and colorless things. Trolls.

“The rulers of Summer and Winter are bonded,” he continued. “But they hate each other. They’re continually at odds, their warriors constantly warring against each other. And with the ebb and flow of battle, so do the seasons shift in all the many worlds they touch upon.” He opened his hand and let the snow blow off into the night. “Winter is at the height of her power.”

I frowned, a thought occurring to me as I remembered my conversation with the fairy queen.

“What?”

I pursed my lips. “Is it possible she didn’t want the curse broken?” I replayed the conversation over to him as best as I could remember.

Tristan’s brow furrowed, and he absently brushed snow off the parapet so he could rest his elbows as he thought. Reaching into my pocket, I handed him the bun I’d stuffed in there prior to abandoning Marc and Sabine.

“My aunt has long believed her prophesies came from the Summer Court,” he took a bite, chewing slowly. “If my uncle wanted us freed, it would be because it benefited him in some way, so it would make sense that it would be to Winter’s detriment.”

“Any guesses as to what that benefit might be?” I asked.

“We are technically part of his court,” he replied. “All my aunt’s prophesies have been information that has helped my people, warned us about trouble.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s not done with us yet.” He turned to look at me. “We know for certain he’s not done with you. You owe him for my name.”