Tristan’s hand dropped from my waist. Lifting me up slightly, he extracted something from his coat pocket. I blinked and focused, then frowned as I saw it was Anushka’s grimoire, the latch unfastened. “You left it open after you helped Aiden,” he said. “I found it when I went back to the council chambers. There’s a spell in here that I think we could use.”

Rolling me over so we were facing each other, our legs tangled together, he held up the grimoire and illuminated the text with a ball of light. “It’s near the back,” he muttered.

Flip, flip. His gloved thumb turned the pages, and my head felt light as though I were about to faint as I waited to see where he would stop. Because somehow, I knew what page he was looking for.

Chapter Fourteen

Tristan

“Does this spell work?” I asked her, wishing that I didn’t have to. Wishing that I’d never picked up the grimoire and flipped through the pages. Hating the pragmatic and logical part of myself that had seen the spell and immediately considered how it could be used for my benefit.

The shot of anguish was immediate and fierce. Cécile’s eyes shut, but tears squeezed out of the corners and dripped down her cheek. “Why?”

I let the book slip out of my grasp to fall with a soft thud on the bed behind me. Pulling off my glove with my teeth, I wiped away one tear, then kissed away another before pulling her close so that her head rested under my chin.

The words stuck in my throat, coming out as a slight exhalation of air. “I…”

Her shoulders were shaking, a damp spot growing on the front of my shirt where her face was pressed against it. Was it even worth it, given the grief it would cause her? The grief it would cause me? Closing my eyes, I remembered my argument with Marc deep in the mines. If I backed away from this, I’d be nothing more than a coward and a hypocrite.

“If something happens,” I said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, “it can’t happen to both of us. We broke the curse believing we could make a better world, and if one of us falls, the other must see our dream through to the end, whatever that end might be.”

One ragged breath, and the tears stopped. “You’re planning for me to die.”

“That’s not–” I broke off, tugging at the collar of my shirt in an attempt to relieve the tightness in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

A slender arm wedged between us, and she pushed away. I let her. “Cécile…”