She nodded. “The best requires lobelia, but there will be none of that found in the dead of winter, so we will have to use alternatives. Regardless, it’s what needs doing afterward that’s the difficult part. But,” she eyed Martin, “you’ve told me time and again that the earth’s magic is ineffective on full-blooded trolls.”
“It is.” But what Martin had said about the earth using iron to rid itself of what didn’t belong had struck a chord. “A witch’s magic won’t work on them because they are not of this world,” I said. “But the iron is. What if the spell could be used to draw it out?”
“Surely it’s been tried?” Gran asked Martin, who shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever heard. Or if it has, it certainly didn’t work. ”
Excitement flooded through me, chasing away the cold and exhaustion. “It won’t hurt to try.”
Gran hissed softly between her teeth. “It will hurt. For better or worse, the iron is part of them now, has infiltrated every part of their bodies, even their magic. You’ll be tearing them apart to get it out.”
“And putting them back together with their own power,” I finished. There was a perfect symmetry to the idea. It felt right. “I want to try it.”
“Then you’ll need a test subject,” Martin said. “I propose that subject be me.”
I hesitated. He’d been through so much, and the thought of causing him more pain made my stomach sour. “Are you sure?”
His smile was more of a grimace, but he nodded. “A life without purpose is no life at all. The fight to make our world a place worth living was everything to élise, but she didn’t get to see it through. I’ll do this for her.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Tristan
“All that effort to keep him from taking control of the islanders, and now you’re just going to let him have them?” Chris jabbed a stick into the fire, sending a cloud of sparks up into the air. “What a waste of effort.”
“It wasn’t a waste.” I winced as a slight breeze blew smoke into my eyes, making them water and sting. Chris had a strong sense of fair play running through him, and he’d insisted if the rest of them had to take smoke to the face, so did I. “Your saving Courville was never a possibility, so in that, nothing’s changed. And they’ll only be bound to him for as long as he’s alive, which won’t be for much longer.”
“Unless he kills you,” Chris said. “And then everything will go to shit anyway.”
“Thank you for your vote of confidence.”
“You’ve got enough of that,” he replied. “I consider it my duty to keep it in check.”
“Noted.” Picking up a stick, I jabbed the fire, hoping the smoke would switch directions. Instead, I was rewarded with a cloud to the face.
Chris laughed and threw on another log. “So you’re sure he’s in Courville?”
“Reasonably. Marc and the half-bloods are holding the perimeter at Trianon. It would be nothing for Roland to force his way past, but they’d know it, and Marc would have signaled us.” My eyes went to Angoulême, who I’d left in the sled a few feet away. “He knows I won’t attack Roland while he’s surrounded by so many humans.”
“We could always put him on a spit over this fire and see how long he lasts before calling his pet troll to come save him.”
“Tempting,” I muttered. “But what would be the chances of him leaving Courville unscathed in his departure? There has to be a better way to lure him out.”
“And here I thought you were some sort of strategic genius.”
I grunted. “So is he.”
Snow crunched, and Cécile approached the fire, eyed the damp ground and then perched on my knee. Extracting the stick from my hand, she nudged the burning wood a few times, and the smoke switched directions. Chris scowled and I smiled, pulling her closer.
“I think we’ve figured it out,” she said, and I sat up straight, almost toppling her to the ground. “Are you serious?”
She nodded. “Martin’s volunteered to be my test subject. I think he’s the best choice, for… for obvious reasons, but I know we’ve few enough trolls on our side that you might not be willing to let him go.”
Cécile was right about that. I rested my chin on her shoulder, staring into the flames. Sentiments aside, the loss of Vincent was a major blow, especially as it had rendered Victoria unreliable. I didn’t dare pull Marc away from Trianon, which meant that my arsenal was a group of armed farmers and a maimed librarian with only middling power at his disposal. If Cécile’s plan worked, Martin’s magic would almost certainly change: I’d be down a weapon and up a fairy with a new set of powers he had no idea how to use. Not that there wasn’t potential in that, but was it worth the risk?
“Waiting to try it on one of the half-bloods in Trianon would be better,” I said. Cécile’s expression didn’t change, but there was no missing the flash of disgust.