But the world was not just. And it most certainly wasn’t fair.
Say something. I clenched my teeth, desperately searching for the words that would convey how much he meant to me. How badly losing him would hurt. How much I didn’t want to let go. Then he caught my eye, and I knew I didn’t have to say anything all. And in the knowing, I was able to speak. “I hope you find her,” I said, my voice cracking as I clenched his hand tight.
The light in his eyes glowed bright for that last faltering heartbeat, then burned out.
Marc was gone.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Cécile
It took time for me to forgive Tristan, and even longer to understand the choice he’d made, though I never really accepted it. Marc’s loss was a hurt that was felt by many, and whenever I saw Sabine sitting alone, face marked with grief, my anger flared anew, because there had been a chance. A chance for life, for love, for a future, and now…
I did not know the extent of the relationship between the two of them. How far their sentiment for each other went or whether it had been acknowledged. Sabine never said, and I knew better to ask. Whatever had happened was hers to share. Or not. But I knew he’d left a mark on her soul that would not soon fade, if it ever did.
There are some who’d say she hadn’t known him long enough to be so affected. I knew better. There are a rare few in this world with the power to touch the hearts of all those they meet, but Marc was one of them. He’d been my first friend in Trollus, and not a day went by that I wasn’t stricken with an anguish so intense it stole my breath. For Marc. And for everyone else who’d fallen.
The endless tasks demanding my attention helped take my mind off all our friends who had been lost in the battle I’d started. There were countless injured humans who needed a witch’s skill, and Marie dedicated herself to tracking down witches across the Isle who could help, personally guaranteeing their safety. The time of witch burnings was over.
And so was the time of the trolls. Day after day, I worked my magic on the full-bloods, sending them off into Arcadia through a tear that always appeared at the opportune moment, the trolls stepping through wide-eyed and never looking back. I enlisted some of the other witches to help, because once the flow started, it seemed no one intended to give me a moment’s respite, even to sleep.
Tristan worked tirelessly to rebuild that which had been destroyed, opening the Trollus coffers to import the food, grain, and supplies that the Isle needed to replace what had been burned. He frequently rode about on a wagon with Chris, distributing the goods to those who needed them, returning filthy, but in high spirits, to the suite of rooms we’d once again taken command of in the H?tel de Crillon. Those nights we made up for all the time we’d been apart, lying tangled in each other’s arms until dawn, and our respective duties, dragged us out into the sunlight.
Still, there were times I’d start awake in a cold sweat, convinced that Angoulême had returned, and that we were once again at war. Tristan, too, suffered dreams. Lying awake next to him, I could feel the grief and guilt that plagued his mind, though he refused to speak of them in the morning. Neither of us, I thought, were quite willing to believe we were to be given the chance to live the life we’d dreamed. That we could be together and that no one would have to pay the price of our happiness. But as the days turned into weeks, I dared to hope. And I think Tristan did, too.
We both should’ve known better.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked. “It does hurt, you know.”
“You mean all those screams coming from your laboratory weren’t of ecstasy?” Victoria asked, leaning back in her chair and putting her boots on my workstation, which, no matter how many times it was scrubbed, remained stained dark with troll blood. “That’s ominous.”
I glanced over at Vincent, who sat in the opposite chair, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. He still hadn’t spoken, but his eyes were no longer expressionless, and when Victoria, Tristan, or I spoke to him, he listened intently. It was impossible to say whether my spell would cure him, as his affliction was not the result of the iron poisoning his blood. But it was hard not to be hopeful.
Tristan and I had offered Victoria the chance to be first of those I worked my magic on to send back, but she’d refused, and had instead taken on the responsibility of gathering up the few full-bloods who were reluctant to take their place on my workbench, either for fear of the pain or because their madness did not allow them to understand the opportunity it presented. All had been cured of their iron affliction, although many who had physical deformities maintained their outward appearance by choice, walking through the tear into Arcadia in the same form in which they’d lived their lives.