For two weeks, she'd nursed the two babies, favoring the Princess as was required, while the hungry cries of her own daughter broke her heart. She plotted her escape; and at every possible chance, she wandered the rooms of the palace, stealing gold where she found it. One more day, he'd said. One more day.

"Freedom is very nearly upon us."

A woman's voice: soft, cultured, and troll to the core. Lamia.

a.n.u.shka rose, then curtsied low. "Your Majesty."

The troll queen was dressed in a plain black dress that emphasized an almost painful leanness, her face beautiful, but in a sharp and angular way. She did not look like a woman who often smiled, but I suspected she was not often given cause.

Lamia walked to the Princess's ba.s.sinet and ran fingers softly across the girl's forehead. "She appears well."

"She thrives, Your Majesty."

"And in somewhat less than an hour's time, she will no longer be your burden."

There was no threat in the Queen's voice, but a.n.u.shka all but shook with terror. Slowly, she edged her way toward where Lily lay sleeping, but an invisible barrier had materialized in her way.

"I know of your spells, witch. I know that he lets you use his power, and he's a fool for it, because you are not half as helpless as you look. I'll not let you near."

"What do you want from me?"

Lamia laughed, a brittle and ugly sound. "I know he loves you. I live every day with the feel of it in my mind, and it is enough to drive me to madness. I tried to make him break off his affair with you told him I'd kill you myself if he didn't. For what punishment could he possibly dole out to me that I haven't already suffered?"

The Queen leaned a hand against the barrier, the flesh of her face pulled tight as though every muscle beneath it strained. "He told me that he would not live if you were dead. That he'd tear my heart out and fall on his own sword if I harmed you."

a.n.u.shka slammed her fists against the barrier. "Then unless you have a death wish, I suggest you let me go!"

Lamia picked up the Princess, cradling her in one arm. Then her eyes drifted to where Lily lay sleeping. "Some punishments are worse than death, would you not say?"

A soft snap. The crack of bone. a.n.u.shka screamed and bloodied her fists against the invisible wall, and I cried along with her.

"Enjoy your freedom, a.n.u.shka," Lamia said, and her face faded into darkness.

Alexis stood with his back to her, head in his hands. "I am sorry for what Lamia has done. In my worst nightmares, I never dreamed she would stoop to such wickedness."

"Punish her." a.n.u.shka's throat was raw from screaming, but she did not feel the pain.

"How?" Alexis asked. He turned around. "I cannot harm her without hurting myself. Is that what you want? Is your need for vengeance so great that you would make me suffer to punish her?"

Yes.

But a.n.u.shka could see he would do nothing. Alexis was too weak, too selfish to do what needed to be done. And Lamia was too clever to let a.n.u.shka close enough to harm her. There was only one way for her to have revenge, and a plan began to build in the depths of her mind.

"Shame her."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If you will do nothing else, then at least shame her for me in front of your people. I want to be the one on your arm when you step out into the sun. Let me be first in this one thing."

He hesitated long enough that she began to fear he would refuse. "It will be done."

She found him hidden in a half-collapsed house, nearly dead from dehydration. "Do you want revenge on the trolls and the fey for what they have done to us all?" she whispered in his ear.

"Yes." His throat was so dry the word was more motion than sound.

"What would you do to have it?"

"Anything."

She sliced the knife across his throat, and as his life poured out, power like none she had ever known flooded her. "It will be done."

The pa.s.sage they had carved down to the ocean was narrow and so thick with magic it felt like wading through syrup. She held tight to Alexis' arm, and the knife still sticky with human blood hung heavy in her pocket. All the might of Trollus followed behind them, Lamia included. The Queen's gaze burned between her shoulder blades, a hate so intense it felt tangible.

"Father." A young troll stood in front of a boulder, the sunlight filtering in around it framing him. "I thought I'd let you do the honor."

Alexis braced a booted heel, and the rock toppled out and away, splashing into the surf. Sunlight shone in, and the intensity of it burned a.n.u.shka's eyes. He turned to her and cupped her cheek with one hand. "You are the first."

"I love you," she lied.

He led her out into the sun.

I blinked against the memory of sunlight unseen for so long, my cheeks sticky with tears and clumped with golden powder. My mother let go of me and took a heavy step back, her own face flushed with spent emotion. Tristan stood unmoving in his chains, his shoulders slumped and face devoid of expression. He had not seen what I had seen, but he had felt what I had felt. And that was enough.

"Do you see why they must not be let free? Why the fey cannot be allowed to return?"

"You suffered a great injustice at their hands," I said. "I cannot blame you for seeking revenge against Lamia, but what I cannot understand is how, after enduring that loss, that you can murder daughter after daughter to make yourself immortal."

"Because there was no other way," she snapped. "Do you think I did not try? The soul needs a bond of blood for the exchange of souls to work."

Exchange of souls?

"That is little comfort for me," I said. "I'll still be dead."

"You'll be free." Her eyes had the too-bright gleam of a zealot. "Do you think the same thing would not have happened to you if I had not intervened? He might keep you as his wh.o.r.e, but that's all you'll ever be to him. I'm saving you from a miserable fate."

"This is about extending your life, not about saving mine."

She laughed. "Is that what you think? That it is such a treat to live in fear of the trolls finally hunting me down? To carry the burden of keeping the world safe from their evil with no help and no respite? Is it so wrong after all these years of living the lives of other women that I should have a chance to live one of my choosing?"

And everything she'd done seemed so clear. How she'd managed to go undetected for so long. The way she'd managed my career and set me up for success. Tonight's masque. She'd been orchestrating my life so that when the time came for her to steal my body, she'd be stepping into the life she wanted.

And once she'd done it, she intended to kill Tristan and Sabine and murder all the trolls along with them. There would be no one left to stop her, to punish her. Quite the opposite, the Regent would probably reward her beyond my wildest dreams for ridding the Isle of the trolls.

"The world owes me this," she said, and then her face softened. "It will be over swiftly, Cecile. I promise you that."

"Is that what you said to Genevieve when you chased her down in the woods?" I said, my voice shaking. "Was that the comfort you gave her when you stole any chance of her seeing her family again? Of raising her children? Of living her own life?" My body tensed with fury. "You're every bit as bad as Lamia was. Worse, because you've done it over and over to your own blood!"

"Shut up!" She snarled the words and then dissolved into a fit of activity, fetching four small silver bowls, one filled with rocks, one with water, one with lamp oil that she lit with a taper, and one that held nothing at all. Taking out a tiny knife, she sliced across her forearm, allowing blood to flow into each of the basins, and then did the same to me, the pain sharp and fierce.

I watched in horror as droplets floated on top of the water like oil, danced weightless on the air, turned the flames a pure crimson, and sat on the rocks as round and solid as little red marbles. She placed the bowls in a circle around us, and magic surged like waves through the room, tearing at my hair. I tried to struggle, but the strength of her magic kept me frozen in place, my jaw locked shut so I couldn't even scream for help.

Grasping my arm so that our blood ran together, a.n.u.shka met my gaze. "The tie that binds our souls to our bodies is a tenuous thing, dearest," she whispered. "And once it is broken, there is nothing to hold your soul in this world. It will be gone in an instant, disappearing to a place where no more harm can come to you." She extracted an oleander blossom from a velvet bag, and without hesitation, held it over the candle flame. The petals singed and burned, smoke floating up on the air. "Goodbye, Cecile," she said, and blew it into my face.

My heart beat like a drum, and then it stumbled. And stopped. Pain bloomed through my chest, and I fell backwards to the ground, the sound of Tristan's screams filling my ears. Then there was nothing. No sight, no sound, no smell. All my senses were gone, leaving me with nothing but... awareness. I was dead. I knew that much knew that a.n.u.shka had killed me and was waiting for my soul to abandon my body so that she might infiltrate with her own. But she'd been wrong to believe that nothing bound my soul to this world, because though I had no senses, I could still feel the ties that bound me to him. And they were not ready to break.

A blow struck me on the chest, and I gasped, light filling my eyes even as air flooded my lungs. a.n.u.shka leaned over on top of me, face white with panic and the weight of her failure. "Impossible," she whispered, recoiling away from me.

Her power had been expended, and I felt the weight of all her spells fall free from me. Struggling upwards, I watched her warily even as I pulled the white gloves off my hand to reveal the bonding marks brilliantly bright against my skin. "Not impossible. You cannot vanquish my soul and steal my life, because they are bound to him. Just as his are bound to me."

"They do not bond humans," she whispered. "They'd never lower themselves."

"Sometimes, one must do the unthinkable," I said, "for it is the only way to accomplish the impossible." Taking advantage of her shock, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up the pitcher of water and poured it down Tristan's neck, washing away the spell. a.n.u.shka bolted for her pistol, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up even as the metal manacles on his wrists shrieked apart, and for a moment, I thought he'd kill her. Bore a hole through her chest and end the curse here and now.

But he did not.

Instead, Tristan lifted her up in the air and deposited her back in front of me. Picking up Sabine's knife from my belt, I turned it over in my hand, barely managing to contain the desire to embed it in her chest.

"Cecile, have mercy." She sobbed. "I'm your mother. I bore you, and I cared for you as a baby. Brought you to Trianon and made all your dreams a reality. Please."

And this was it. The future the prophesy had foretold. By binding me to Tristan, it was ensured that a.n.u.shka could not strip away my soul and use my body as a vessel for her own. Any of her descendants before or after me could have done the same, but some twist of fate had made the fey decide that now would be the time for them to reveal the knowledge they had gleaned from watching the world. And so the task fell to me.

My eyes sought Tristan's.

"I'm not going to kill your mother, Cecile," he said. "At least, not unless that is what you want."

I let my eyelids drift shut, not wanting to see him or her while I thought. The end of the curse was no longer an if, but a when. The body she possessed was yet young she might live another thirty years. Three decades more for the world to be kept safe from the dark power of those like Angouleme, Roland, and Lessa.

But what of those in Trollus? My friends, the half-bloods, and all of those who were desperate for a better life? How many of them would end up like elise? How many dead friends would arrive in caskets at our door while a.n.u.shka lived out the rest of her years? In my heart I knew Trollus existed in a fragile moment when change was possible, but that it would not last for long. The trolls' freedom was inevitable, and not acting on it now might well cast a blacker cloud on the future.

"Let her go."

Tristan sighed, but I ignored the twist of crippling disappointment that writhed through my skull; instead I watched as a.n.u.shka's feet settled on the ground and her arms were freed.

"You are making the right choice, Cecile," she said, and then the arm holding the pistol rose, and I knew she intended to kill me, and for my death to kill Tristan. For history to repeat itself once again.

But I moved faster.

She stumbled backwards, fingers dropping her pistol to clutch at the wound in her chest. But it wasn't deep. Wasn't enough. Knife slick in my hand, I went after her, and stabbed the blade into her again, feeling it grind against bone. Leaning over, I met her wild gaze and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"You are not my mother. You are her killer."

a.n.u.shka gasped out one breath. Then another. And then she whispered, "If the world burns, its blood will be on your hands."

She said no more.

A dull echo reverberated through the air, and the ground shuddered and shook. Tristan caught me against him, holding me steady, and then the earth stilled. "She's dead," I said, my toneless voice at odds with the cacophony in my head. The curse was broken, but the implications of that had yet to settle in my mind.

"Cecile?" Sabine's voice was weak, snapping me out of my thoughts. Rushing to her side, I used the b.l.o.o.d.y knife in my hand to cut away her dress.

"The bullet's still inside," I muttered. "Can you get it out?"

"Yes." Tristan's face tightened in concentration, but as Sabine screamed and fainted, the shards of metal pulled free of her wound.

"Keep pressure on it," I said, pressing his hand against her shoulder.

Then I ran to the chest where my mother had the ingredients for her magic. My hands shaking, I dug through them, searching for what I needed for a healing spell. Tiny bottles clutched in my arms, I dropped them onto the carpet next to Tristan, and then, relying on my memory of the time I'd helped Tips, I started mixing them in the basin.

"Fire," I ordered, holding out a sc.r.a.p of paper, waiting for the flames to turn from silver to yellow before touching it to the potion. As the fire flared up, I said, "Heal the flesh."