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“Will you trade Greenbriar blood for your own?” Lady Nore says. “You could have brought Elfhame to its knees. But I suppose it’s me you want on my knees.”

“I want youdead,” I roar, and with no more than the force of that desire, she is spread apart on the snow. Taken apart. Unmade as surely and easily as a stick man.

I look at the red stain. At the storm hag, whose black eyes are glittering with satisfaction.

Horror chokes me. I hadn’t meant to . . . I didn’t think that would . . . I didn’t know she woulddiejust because I wished it. I didn’t know I could dothat.

The urge to shrink into myself, to hide from what I have done, is overwhelming. My shoulders hunch, my body curling in on itself. If I was afraid of my anger before, now it has become something terrible beyond measure. Now that I can take all the pain I have ever felt and make everyone else feel it, too, I am not sure how to stop.

Hurclaw stirs. Either the poison wasn’t meant to be lethal, or the dosage was for Lady Nore and is not enough to kill someone so much larger.

“Free Bogdana,” I tell Hyacinthe. He does, removing the iron shackles from her wrists. His expression is wary, though. I wonder if he regrets his vow. I told him he would.

“Now take the antidote from Oak and give it to the troll king.”

Hyacinthe stomps through the snow. The prince hands over a vial from his pocket without protest, his gaze still on me.

It takes a few moments for Hyacinthe to administer the liquid and a few more for Hurclaw to sit up.

I turn to the troll king as he staggers to his feet with the support of one of his subjects. “I can give you what she could not. I can break the curse.”

He gives a grunt of assent.

“And in return, you will follow me.”

Hurclaw, seeing the destruction around him, nods. “I await your orders, my lady.”

“As for you three,” I say, and look in the direction of Tiernan, Madoc, and Oak.

It is too late for them to run, and we all know it. No one can escape me now.

Go, I could tell him, and send him back to the safety of the isles of Elfhame, where he can return to being charming and beloved. A hero, even, bringing with him his father and the news of Lady Nore’s demise. He could say he had an adventure.

Or I can keep him here, a hostage to force Elfhame to keep away.

And mine.

Mine the only way I can ever trust, the only way I can be sure of.

“Heir to Elfhame,” I say. “Get on your knees.”

Prince Oak goes down smoothly, his long legs in the snow. Even bows his horned head, although I think he believes I am playing. He’s not afraid. He thinks this is my revenge, to humiliate him a little. He thinks that, in a moment, all will be as it was.

“The others may go,” I say. “The general, Tiernan, and any falcon who wishes to depart with them. Tell the High King and Queen that I have taken the Citadel in their name. Oak stays here.”

“You can’t keep him,” warns Madoc.

Sink those pretty teeth into something.

I reach for the bridle, moved from around my waist when I dressed so that I might have it at hand. The leather is smooth in my fingers.

“Wren,” Oak says, with the kindling of fear in his voice.

“There will be no more betrayals, prince,” I tell him. He struggles at first, but when I whisper the word of command, he stops. The straps settle against his skin.

Madoc looks at me as though he would like to cut me to pieces. But he cannot.

“You don’t need to do this,” Oak tells me, softly. A lover’s voice.