The King nodded. "And tell me, Cecile, in what manner has your search differed from that of the thousands of men and women who have sought her over the past five centuries? Do you think we've not hunted down every rumor, searched every face, infiltrated even the most exclusive of circles? Do you think we haven't searched out birth records or found someone who could account for the childhood years of every woman with a hazy past?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

"You are unique, girl, and so should be your search," he said softly.

He meant magic. The trolls had likely never sent a witch after her before; and if they had, there was no way she was as committed as me.

"I don't know how," I said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from my voice. "And no one will teach me." I had left all the grimoires in Trollus, and the handful of spells I could remember were useless in my search. I knew more than I had before, but that wasn't saying much.

The King reached into his coat, and my heart skipped as I recognized the cover of the book he removed: it was a.n.u.shka's grimoire. He held the book through the barrier, and I reached for it eagerly, but before I could grab it, he pulled it back. "First I want your word."

A small smile made its way onto my face. "Afraid I'll use her magic against you?"

He waved the b.l.o.o.d.y handkerchief back and forth. "I believe you lack one of the requisite ingredients. No, before I give you this nasty bit of work, I want your word that you will use it to hunt down a.n.u.shka. That you will stop at nothing to find her and bring her to me here."

"Cecile, don't!" Chris shouted. "If you promise him something, it will be binding."

"I'm not promising you anything until I see Tristan," I said.

"You'll see him when you make progress."

"I'll stop searching this moment unless you let me see him," I said, raising my chin in defiance. This might be my only chance, and I wouldn't give it up without a fight.

"I hoped you would be reasonable," the King said with a sigh. "But very well. Bring him!" he shouted back into the tunnel. Moments later, I could hear boots treading on stone, but also the sound of something heavy being dragged.

Chris gripped my arm. "Be strong. This isn't going to be easy."

As if I didn't know. For months I'd felt Tristan's agony as he was subjected to punishment at his father's order. Had watched the silver marks on my knuckles tarnish as his strength was sapped in ways my mind too easily imagined. But none of it prepared me for the sight of him being dragged barefoot and shirtless between armed guards, who flung him at his father's feet.

A sob tore from my lips as my eyes took in his gaunt frame, filthy and covered with dried blood. Three sets of manacles encircled his arms, manacles designed to hold in place iron spikes skewered through flesh and bone. Fresh blood oozed around the metal, falling in crimson droplets to soak the sand beneath him. The King reached down and pulled the hood off his head. Tristan remained unmoving, slumped against the barrier. A breeze rose off the sea, gusting by me to tug at his grime-caked hair.

Very slowly, he raised his face, eyes focusing on me. "Cecile," he croaked. "I told you never to come back."

Three.

Cecile

Only Chris's firm grip on my arm prevented me from launching myself through the barrier. "d.a.m.n you to h.e.l.l," I screamed at the King. "Who does this to his own son? How do you live with yourself?"

How could I live with myself knowing it was my fault Tristan was in this position, and that I'd done nothing about it?

"He's lucky I suffer him to live," the King replied evenly. "Tristan is guilty of treason of the highest level. He conspired against his father and his king. He instigated a rebellion that resulted in numerous deaths. He began a duel against me that very nearly cost me my life."

"You gave him no choice," I replied, my voice bitter.

The King slowly shook his head. "He always had a choice. He chose you. Now he must suffer the consequences."

Tristan slowly pushed himself up onto his knees, and I saw with relief that there was still a gleam of spirit in his eyes. He wasn't broken. At least, not yet. "Cecile, don't listen to him." His voice was rough from lack of use. Or screaming. "You need to go now."

"I'm not leaving you like this," I said.

Tristan grimaced. "Christophe, take her away from here. Far away. You promised to keep her safe, and this is far from it."

"He's right." Chris tugged on my arms, drawing me back. I struggled against him, digging my heels into the rock and sand, but he was stronger.

"Let me go," I shouted.

Tristan's face tightened with concentration that mirrored the resolve I felt through our bond. "You gave me your word, Christophe," he said. "I expect you to keep it."

"d.a.m.n troll," Chris muttered. Ignoring my hammering fists, he flipped me over his shoulder and started out to the beach.

"Put me down," I demanded. I'd abandoned Tristan once, and I wasn't going to do it again. Clenching my teeth, I called upon the power of the earth, drawing it deep within me. "Stop."

The fire of the torch flared and bent away from the wind gusting in off the ocean, the river reversing its direction as the waves surged, flooding up around Chris's boots. The full moon gave me power enough to match Tristan in this, and I intended to use it.

Chris froze.

"You will not interfere," I said.

"Christophe!" Tristan shouted. "Take Cecile away from here."

Chris groaned and clutched his head, dropping me with a splash.

"You're going to break his mind," the King said, and when I regained my feet, I saw that he was watching with great interest.

Chris fell to his knees in the water, clutching at the rocks beneath. "Please," he groaned. "It hurts."

I relaxed my will, unwilling to let my friend suffer to prove a point. "Tristan, stop what you're doing to him," I said. "You've no right making decisions for me."

He glared at me, then gave a short nod. "Stay, then."

I turned my attention back to the King. "What do you want?"

"I've told you," he replied. "I want your word that you will do everything within your power to find a.n.u.shka and deliver her to me. And in exchange, I will allow you and Tristan to be reunited."

"Cecile, don't." Tristan rested a b.l.o.o.d.y hand against the barrier. "You know what will happen if you break the curse. It won't just be us you set loose, the others will be free to walk in this world once more."

"She knows what you've told her," the King said, looking down at his son as though no longer quite certain how much Tristan had divulged. "What loyalty does she owe the Regent of Trianon? What has he ever done for her? Is keeping him in power," he said, turning his attention back to me, "worth the cost?"

Indecision racked me to the core. "He says he can take back the Isle peacefully," I said, my eyes flicking to the King. "He said he has a plan."

I felt Tristan's shock at my words, and he tilted his face up to look upon his father, who nodded. "It is the truth. When my plans are complete, Trianon will be ceded without violence against the citizens of the Isle."

Long moments pa.s.sed, and then Tristan dropped his head. "It's a trick. Don't believe him."

"But, Tristan!" I desperately wanted the King's words to be true desperately wanted there to be an easy solution to this hopeless situation.

"Please," Tristan pleaded. "Don't promise him anything. If you do, he'll own your will. Walk away from here and never come back."

I trembled, my mind racing through all of the possible options. Tristan couldn't see the future, he didn't know for certain that history would repeat itself. Was it not possible that the King really meant what he said?

"I'm begging you, Cecile," Tristan said, his voice shaking. "If you love me, you won't give him what he wants."

My eyes stung. "If I refuse," I said to the King. "What then?"

His face hardened. "Are you certain you want to know?"

"Yes." I had to tear the word from my throat, which was tight with terror.

"As you wish." An invisible hand of magic slammed Tristan against the barrier, making him grimace in pain. I could see him struggling, muscles straining as he tried to free himself. Fresh blood welled up around the spikes through his arms.

"No!" I screamed. "No, no, no. Stop, please don't hurt him!" I flung myself at the wall caging them in and ran up against magic as hard as rock. The King had erected his own barrier to keep me out. I whimpered as one of the guards revealed a whip studded with iron spikes.

"I'll ask you again, Cecile, is it worth the cost?" The King nodded at the guard, and the lash snapped wickedly across Tristan's shoulders, tearing open his skin. His face twisted, but his eyes locked on mine. "Don't do it. No matter what he does, agree to nothing."

The whip fell again. Blood splattered and Tristan clenched his teeth in agony. He won't kill him, logic told me, but logic was cold comfort in the face of Tristan's pain.

The King nodded, and the whip fell again. And again. Tristan bore it in near silence at first, but I felt his reaction to every fiery lash. And I felt him break an instant before the first scream tore from his throat. Still the whip fell.

It was too much.

"Stop! I promise. I'll find her." My words were garbled, falling over each other, but the King heard. The whip froze mid-lash and Tristan crumpled to the ground. Rivulets of blood trickled down his back, the iron-inflicted wounds refusing to heal.

"Whatever it takes?" the King asked. "And you'll bring her here? I feel inclined to hear how well the witch crows with her guts removed, although I'd accept her death in any fashion."

I nodded numbly. "I promise to do whatever it takes to find her and bring her here."

"Good girl." He tossed a.n.u.shka's grimoire through the barrier. It landed with a thud on the wet rock.

I ignored it, dropping to my hands and knees. "Tristan?"

His eyes half-opened and fixed on mine.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't bear it."

He turned his face away from me. He wasn't grateful he was angry that I'd failed him.

"Take him back to the palace and have him cleaned up." The King watched with an expression devoid of emotion as the guards lifted Tristan between them and carried him up the River Road. Then he turned to me. "Best you get to work, little witch. You've a promise to keep."

Four.

Tristan

Maintaining one's dignity while being dragged in chains through the city one had once been destined to rule, covered in weeks' worth of one's own filth, is difficult. That being said, I thought I had managed the deed well enough on the trip between my prison cell and the River Road. Not so on the return voyage. There had been no dignity in my screams; and while the streaks left behind by my tears of pain might have elicited the pity of some, they certainly earned me no respect. I did not deserve it.

I was the fallen prince. Twice a traitor, having betrayed both my father and my cause in a single moment, ensuring that I would remain an outcast for whatever remained of my life. All for a human girl who I loved above all things, and all, it seemed, for nothing.

My jaw ached as I clenched my teeth, half for the pain racking my body, but more for the remembrance of her expression. Horror and pity mixed together in her brilliant blue eyes, but all paling beneath the weight of the promise she'd made for my sake. The burden of a choice that should have been mine, but because I'd been too weak to endure my father's abuse, the choice had fallen on her instead. I hadn't even been man enough to look her in the eye and own my defeat had instead turned my head away, feeling that not only had I failed her, I'd failed at everything I had ever set out to accomplish, at everything that I thought myself to be.

The guards dropped me, and I ground my teeth to keep from crying out. My eyes fixed on the familiar carpet beneath my knees.

"Leave," said a voice I would recognize anywhere. The guards grumbled, but their boots retreated from my line of sight and the door slammed shut behind me. It took a concerted effort to lift my head enough to see the troll standing in front of me. "h.e.l.lo, cousin," I said, my voice hoa.r.s.e.

"You look terrible," Marc replied, his disfigured face grim. "Can you get up?"

"I think I am content where I am." The carpet scratched against my cheek as I lay my head down. "Why am I here?" I asked as an afterthought.

"I've little notion I was hoping you might provide some insight into why your father ordered your change of accommodation." Marc came toward me, and I rolled one eye up at the sound of metal keys clinking together, remaining motionless as he unlocked four of the six manacles skewering my arms. "Brace yourself," he said, and jerked one of the cuffs open. A wet sucking noise filled my ears, and I fainted.

When my consciousness returned some moments later, the manacles lay in a blood-crusted and rusty pile on the floor. The two remaining on my wrists stung, the cursed iron still itching and infuriating, but the relief of having the others removed was enormous. Having them in place was like having bands of metal wrapped around my chest, allowing me little gasps of breath, but never enough to satisfy my need. I greedily drew upon my magic, using it to prop myself up on my knees.

"Better? He ordered that I leave two in place."

I nodded. "Much."

"I had a bath ordered for you." He gestured to the steaming tub. "I hadn't reckoned on the injuries."

"Just as well." I slowly got to my feet. "I'm not much for conversation, I'm afraid. Send in my servants on your way out."

"I'm afraid you have no servants."

I turned from the bath to look at him. "What?"

"They all refuse to attend you."