“We will do it right, Tristan,” Vincent said, his voice strange in its solemnity. “You have our word on that.”

“You will judge, won’t you?” A flood of tears poured down Victoria’s cheeks. “You know contests with subjective elements require a judge.”

“I…” I wanted to tell her that I would, but the words wouldn’t come out, because I didn’t believe they were true. “I trust you.” Why did I feel as though I was saying goodbye?

Her lip trembled and she bit it hard. Then she bowed low. “We will not disappoint you, Your Highness.”

“You never do.” I held my ground long enough to watch them disappear into the city, then I met Marc’s gaze. “Let’s get to work.”

We met Tips on our way to the first construction site.

“You look sorrier than a sewer worker after a feast day, Your Highness,” he said, pulling off his hat.

“I must look poorly indeed if you are according me a title again,” I said, laughing. The motion hurt. Everything hurt.

“Is she…” he started to ask, but Marc made some motion to silence him. They began to speak in earnest, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t need to hear once more how precariously close I was to the end. Instead, I went to the block of stone sitting next to a growing pillar. It was ready. Bracing my feet against the street, I lifted the massive block up, watching it rise higher and higher until it reached the top of the column. Sweat broke out on my brow, because it was heavy. Had I really once had the power to hold up the mountain over my head? It seemed impossible now, a memory so distant it seemed another life.

Block after block rose up into the air, some with my power and some with Marc’s. I became dimly aware that the streets were teeming with half-bloods, as though the entire population of Trollus had decided to go out at the same time. They were grouped in bunches around the columns, the air filled with the sounds of rock being chiseled into shape.

And the half-bloods were not alone. The familiar uniform of the Builders’ Guild stood out among the sea of grey-clad forms, each of them holding a roll of parchment and shouting orders. No, not just the Builders’ Guild – all the guilds, all of them lending their strength to do my work. Never in my life had I seen such a thing, or even ever believed that such a collaboration amongst my people would be possible.

“Your Highness.” I jumped, my attention turning to the Marchioness who was holding a low curtsey in front of me, her crimson silk skirts pooling around her feet.

“My lady?”

She only smiled, rose, and started toward the next column. I watched in silence as she spoke to the uniformed builder, her head tilted as she listened to his response. Moments later, the half-bloods stepped back from a squared block of stone and it rose up into the air, guided by the woman’s vast amount of power.

And she wasn’t the only one. Near and far, there were silk-clad ladies and dark-suited lords of Trollus’s aristocracy listening to orders from those they had always treated as lesser, lending their magic to the effort.

“Marc, would you give me some light?” I asked, stepping out into the middle of the boulevard so I could see.

Brilliant orbs bloomed into existence high above, filling all of Trollus with their light and allowing me to finally see. Column after column reached up toward the rocky ceiling, growing faster than I had ever hoped. It was how I’d envisioned it in my mind’s eye during those long hours I’d spent drafting and drawing. And not just the structure, but the people. How they were behaving, the expressions on their faces – this, this was what I had dreamed for my city. And it was glorious.

“I thought it was impossible,” I whispered to no one in particular.

Marc answered, “And yet it is happening.”

I hoped it would never end – that against all odds, I might see this transformation of my city through. And I was a fool for it. The gut-wrenching shock of disappointment hit me like a fist to the stomach, almost doubling me over. Cécile had failed. At what, I could not say, but in her mind, there would be consequences. Terrible ones. I braced myself for what would come next.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sound of my own name. Like a bell rung in a silent hall, Cécile’s voice echoed through my ears, Tristanthysium.

“Not possible,” I breathed. Except that it had happened, and every muscle in my body tensed like a coiled spring as a result, anticipation of what she would ask making me blind to everything around me. I turned, staring unseeing toward the north.

Tristanthysium, come to me.

Yes, my fey nature whispered even as I shouted. “No!”

“Tristan, what has happened?” Marc’s voice was tense, his words clipped. “Is it her?”

He thought Cécile was dead, and though her heart still beat strong and true, he was not far from wrong. “Cécile has called me to her. By name.”

“Is the curse broken?”

“No. She has made another choice.”

His eyes widened with realization. “Where is she?”

“Trianon.”

The word and all that it meant rippled out and away from us, carried on a tide of fear through my people. I started forward.

“No. No, she can’t have done this!” Marc caught hold of my arm, trying forcibly to restrain me.

“You know I must go,” I said, shoving down the strange urge rising up inside me to attack anything that stood between Cécile and me.