Fred slammed his cup down on the table, interrupting me. “I’ve things to take care of, and my opinion on this venture has counted for nothing.” He stomped from the room.

“Marc, Vincent, and Victoria will go,” Tristan said, his voice steady. “They are trained in combat, whereas Lessa and Roland are not. It might give them the advantage they need to take them down.”

“Might?” I was on my feet, though I couldn’t remember standing. “You can’t be serious, Tristan? You’re sending them to an almost certain death!”

“So little faith,” Victoria said, an unfamiliar smile crossing her face. “Lessa and I have a score to settle, and it’s not one I intend for her to walk away from.”

“Only if I don’t get to her first,” Vincent said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back until his chair creaked dangerously. “Marc, you can take Roland.”

“Thank you for that.” Marc leaned forward, dropping the magic that hid his face so that I could see him. “Cécile, it’s the only option. We cannot allow Roland and Lessa to continue unchecked, and we dare not send Tristan out with the power Winter has over him unless there is no other choice.”

“You mean if you’re dead.” My eyes burned.

Marc sat back. “Yes.”

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip. “Then we need to even the odds.” I turned to Tristan. “I’m going with them.”

I expected a knee-jerk reaction from him. An instantaneous no. But he had expected this. “You’re in the same circumstance as I am, Cécile. She wants to get her hands on you, so she can get to me. They’ll be watching for you, and not just the fey, but the trolls as well. You’re too recognizable.”

I pulled the knife from my belt. “I can remedy that.” I sliced the blade across my braid, as close to my head as I could get without risking my neck. Then I dropped the slowly unraveling crimson plait on the table. “I’m going with them. End of story.”

“Oh, Cécile.” Sabine stood back to inspect her handiwork, giving a slight shake of her head.

“It’s just hair.” I said the words, but as I tugged the black locks hanging just above my shoulders, I knew I was lying. It was vain and foolish, but my hair had meant a lot. “It will grow back.”

“And the black will come out, I promise.” She hugged me, the long plait of my hair falling over her shoulder. It would be the other part of our deception: Sabine, disguised as me, going out onto the towers with Tristan.