Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “I’ll sing,” I said, lifting my chin. “Might as well go down with a little flair.”

  Neither of my friends smiled.

  “They won’t try to take me while I’m onstage,” I said. “It will be afterward, and I don’t want either of you to interfere. I’ll go along with the first part of their plan, and then later, I’ll try to escape.” It wasn’t a perfect strategy, but it would give Tristan a fighting chance. “If it doesn’t work out, please tell my family that I love them.” My lip trembled and I flung an arm around both of them. “Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t ask for better friends.”

  “Good luck.” Chris’s voice was rough. “I’m going to go see if I still have a job.”

  He trudged away, shoulders slumped.

  I grasped Sabine’s hand. “I’m afraid.”

  She squeezed my fingers. “Me too.”

  Backstage was utter chaos. The orchestra’s music filtered through the walls, and I recognized it as from one of the ballets. The dancers were performing to keep the crowd entertained with their graceful limbs and skill, but they could not go on forever.

  “Cécile! Curse you, girl! Where have you been?” The stage manager locked a hand over my wrist, pulling me toward my dressing room. “I thought I was going to have to put Justine on. She’s wearing your costume. You’ll have to change quickly. Sabine, have her ready in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  Justine was in my dressing room, her brown hair pulled back tight in preparation for the wig she’d need to wear. Her face fell with disappointment when she recognized me, but she swiftly replaced it with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I did not much care to go on when they were expecting Genevieve.”

  I didn’t blame her. Everyone in the audience was expecting to witness the final performance of Trianon’s most famous singer. Justine could have sung her heart out and it would not have mattered. “She’s retired now,” I said. “Someone will have to step up, and I’ll put in a good word to see it’s you.” What I didn’t say was that more than one girl would have the opportunity to move up in the ranks, because tonight would be my last performance as well.

  The ten minutes went by in a blur of costuming, makeup, and hair. I warmed up while Sabine worked, methodically pushing myself up and down the scales while letting my mind drift away, a waking dream where I was surrounded by glass flowers and light, and all I cared about was the pair of silver eyes watching me from afar.

  For all that I had failed to free him, Tristan felt closer to me tonight than he ever had since I’d left Trollus. His emotions were a tangle in my thoughts, rich and heady, and I didn’t try to separate them from my own. I reveled in a dream world of my own creation, where we were together and there were no curses or kings or witches to keep us apart.

  And when I stepped out onto the stage, the roar of the full house filling my ears as they realized I was performing tonight instead of my mother, I channeled those emotions. I sang like I had never before, pushing aside all thought of technique in favor of the rawness that I preferred. My throat burned and I shook with fatigue, but I felt alive. And I didn’t want to give that up. Didn’t want it to end.

  But the curtain falls on every performance, and this one was no exception.

  “You were amazing tonight,” Julian breathed, his eyes bright after we had taken our final bows. “An incredible finale.”

  And just like that, the magic broke. My knees trembled, and I swayed unsteadily on my feet.

  “Cécile?” He rested a hand on my shoulder.

  “Can you ask them to give me a few minutes alone?”

  “Of course.” Julian’s hand left my shoulder, his feet making small thuds as he walked off the stage. “Leave her be,” I heard him say.

  The crowd cleared out swiftly to the grand foyer, where they might well linger for another few hours. The cast would be off to celebrate the end of a successful production run, and I expected the crew would leave what work they could until tomorrow in favor of warm beds or dark taverns. Word would spread quickly that I’d performed tonight, and Lord Aiden would not find it difficult to track me down.

  “You can’t do this dressed as a harem girl, Cécile.” Sabine was standing at stage right.

  “I know.” I went with her, changing back into my still damp dress, allowing her to remove the thick cosmetics from my face. When she was finished, I hugged her hard. “I love you,” I said into her ear. “Now go find Chris and be safe.”

  Wiping tears from her face, she nodded. “Good luck.”

  I went back out to the stage and ducked under the curtain. Far above, the flames lighting the crystal chandelier were being extinguished from the access point in the ceiling, while two men slowly worked their way up the aisle, snuffing the wall lamps as they went. The red velvet of the theatre faded to grey, and one of them turned to give me a questioning look before snuffing out the last flame and leaving me in darkness.

  It had been a long time since I had been in blackness so absolute, unable to see and entirely reliant on my other senses to guide me. The sound of the audience outside the gilded doorways at the rear of the theatre. The draft crossing the stage from left to right. The lingering smell of sweat and perfume, and the faint scent of salt rising from my clothes. From the sea, I wondered, or from the blood? My unnecessary and worthless slaughter.

  I was afraid. I knew Aiden and Catherine would come for me, but I didn’t know what they would do once they found me. Would I be trussed up once more and left in a damp cellar? Would they punish me for escaping? How long would I have to wait? Sitting down on the polished floorboards of the stage, I picked up a rose that had been tossed up by the audience and ran a finger over the petals. Such sweet torment that tonight of all nights, Tristan would feel so near. A punishment and a reward in one. It seemed as though if I closed my eyes and reopened them, he would be standing right there.

  One of the doors from the lobby to the theatre opened and shut, and a soft exhalation forced its way past my lips. The faint but distinct sound of someone walking down one of the aisles filled my ears, but I kept my eyes closed like a child who believes the monster can’t see you if you can’t see it. Only I wasn’t a child, and I knew I could not hide from what was about to come behind closed lids. So I opened them.

  A faintly glowing orb of silver hovered in front of my face, painfully small and faded from what I remembered, but familiar nonetheless. My breath caught in my chest, the rose slipping from my fingers as my eyes searched the darkness. Another light appeared above the seats, growing and illuminating the theatre with its unearthly light.

  “Cécile?” His voice was rough, uncertain, but a thousand years from now, I’d recognize it. Time seemed to stand still as I sat frozen, half convinced I was dreaming, and that when I woke up, I’d be alone in the theatre once more. Then I was running, as fast as I could, down the steps, up the aisle, and I was in his arms.

  I had no words. But in that moment, I remembered what it was like not to need them. Because he felt what I felt – the whole twist of shock, uncertainty, and elation were as much in his mind as in mine. I buried my face in his neck and cried, because I’d been so afraid that I’d never see him again.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I finally managed to choke out. “How is it possible?”

  “You called me. I had to come.”

  Something in his voice sent unease creeping down my spine, and I pushed back so that I could see his face. He was thinner than when I’d left Trollus, his hair longer, and his eyes marked with shadows. But some things never changed, and his expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking.

  “I didn’t think it worked,” I whispered. “I used the wrong magic.”

  He swayed slightly, seeming unsteady on his feet. “Tristan?” I asked, unable to keep the concern from my voice. My tarnished bonding marks told me he was deathly ill, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. He didn’t answer, only lifted a hand as though to brush the hair ou
t of his face, but lowered it without finishing the gesture. I didn’t miss the gleam of metal at his wrists. And it was then that I recognized the smell in the air.

  Blood. And this time, it wasn’t my imagination.

  “God in heaven,” I said, choking the words out. “Please tell me those haven’t been on this entire time?”

  His silence was all the answer I needed.

  “I’m taking them off.” I reached for his arm, but he jerked away from me, blindingly fast.

  “No!”

  “Why not?” What was wrong with him?

  “He’ll put four more in their place.” He looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. But of course, it made sense.

  “How long do we have until they find us?”

  His gaze flicked up to meet mine. “They aren’t free.”

  I stared back at him, unable to comprehend what he was telling me. “What do you mean? How is it that you…” I couldn’t even form a question.

  “I don’t know. It could be…” he trailed off and shook his head. “All I know is that I’m the only troll no longer bound by the curse.”

  Could I have asked for more? It was a circumstance so perfect, yet so improbable that I’d never even dreamed of it. Tristan free, and all the trolls I despised and feared still caged by the curse. The dilemma I’d grappled with for so long seemed solved – I was sacrificing nothing and no one to be with Tristan. Our lives were safe without me unleashing the likes of Roland upon the world. I should feel giddy, euphoric, even. But I didn’t. Instead I felt the sense that we stood in the eye of the storm, and that a step in any direction would plunge us back into chaos.

  A door slammed, and we both jumped. “We can’t stay here,” I said. “They know I have escaped and they’ll be after me.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Aiden du Chastelier. He’s been running messages for your father.” I motioned for him to follow me backstage, noting the way his eyes jumped from lamp to painting to ladder, trying to see everything and yet focusing on nothing.

  “The Regent’s son.” Tristan’s voice was toneless, but I felt the dull force of his shock. “Did he relay my message?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said with a shaky laugh. “Though he intended to use it to his own advantage, not mine. And he enlisted my brother to help him.”

  Leading him up the stairs to one of the windowless rooms where the dancers practiced, I explained Aiden and Catherine’s plan. My words were jumbled, and perhaps only half of what I said made any sense, but he did not interrupt. Tristan was tense beyond measure, but you’d never know it to look at him. His face was smooth with composure as he wandered the room, examining the sparse furnishings. It was not comfortable between us and our reunion was not going as I’d imagined, but to focus on such things now would be foolish. He was rattled, that was all. What I’d done must have come as quite a shock.

  Retrieving some toweling from a shelf and soaking one of them with the water can in the corner that the girls drank from, I turned back to him. “Sit,” I said. “I’m taking those things off you, since you seem unlikely to remove them yourself.”

  “I can’t…” he started to argue, but I interrupted him.

  “Your father isn’t here. He can’t come anywhere near you now, and there isn’t anyone he could send capable of making you put them back on. I haven’t survived this long only to have you kill us both out of foolishness.”

  His jaw tightened, and the reluctance I felt sparked anger in my heart. “Unless you have a very good and very logical reason why they should remain in place, you will sit down and allow me to remove those things.”

  Tristan stared over my shoulder at the plain wall and its barre. “It’s unpleasant,” he finally said. “I don’t want you to see.”

  “Not good enough,” I said, settling down on the floor and arraying my supplies around me. “Now sit down.”

  “Fine.”

  He eased out of his coat, and although I could feel the pain ricocheting through him, he did not flinch. Hiding his weakness from me. He sat down cross-legged, and rested his elbows on his knees. The motion pulled the cuffs of his black shirt back, revealing the steel manacles. Black fabric wrapped around his wrists and halfway up his forearm, but it was damp with blood, the smell of it thick in my nose. Gloves concealed his hands, and my pulse sped as I considered what might lay beneath.

  “Lift your elbows,” I said, hoping my voice was steadier than I felt. Not that it mattered – he could feel my emotions as much as I felt his. It crossed my mind how foolish it was that we ever tried to hide them from each other.

  Spreading a towel across both our knees to catch the mess, I carefully slid his sleeves up to his elbows, then started to work unfastening the knot holding the fabric in place. My fingers brushed the warm skin of the inside of his arm, and he made a soft noise. When I looked up, his eyes were closed. Clenching my teeth together, I started to unravel the fabric. Slowly, I told myself, because I didn’t want to hurt him. But in reality, I knew it was because I was afraid.

  I was right to be.

  The skin beneath grew icy the closer I got to the manacle, the pale luster of his skin turning the grey color of death, the veins beneath black as though they ran with ink, not blood. Sweat broke out on my forehead as I peeled away the sticky fabric to reveal the blackened wound beneath. The only thing I had ever seen like it was severe frostbite, and this was different and worse.

  It took every ounce of control I had not to react, not to weep for the horror of what had been done to him, because I knew he would not appreciate it. Pain and shame built in the back of my head as I peeled off his glove, revealing a hand that was dark and immobile. Barely recognizable as the hand that had once made me burn with the slightest touch.

  “It’s iron rot, if you were wondering.” His voice was tight.

  I nodded, although he couldn’t see through his closed lids. Leaning forward, I examined the steel encasing his wrist. There was no lock on it – only a metal clip holding it shut. That bothered me more than it should, because it meant what had kept them on was fear of something worse.

  Holding the manacle steady, I flipped the clasp, and without warning him, I pulled the metal spike out of his wrist. Tristan jerked back with a sharp hiss of pain, pulling his arm out of my grasp. His shoulders hunched around his wounded arm, muscles spasming as he struggled to keep from retching. Then his other arm was in my face, the motion so fast I barely saw it until it was over. “Do the other quickly, before I lose my nerve.”

  I did what he asked, working swiftly. “Now,” I said, warning him this time.

  He tensed, and the metal made a sucking noise as I pulled it free. “Bloody stones and sky,” he swore, then added on worse, bending at the waist so all I could see was the top of his head.

  Anyone else, I would have held. Whispered soft reassurances. But some instinct told me that to do so would only make things worse. It hurt my heart that I could do nothing to ease his pain, but what stung more was that he didn’t want comfort from me. I clenched my teeth, waiting for him to master the pain without my help.

  When he straightened, I silently set to cleaning one of the injuries, his hand as cold and rigid as ice as I wound a bandage around his wrist. Part of me had thought the wound would instantly start to improve once the iron was out, but it remained the same. What if that meant it wouldn’t get better? Should I offer to try to heal them?

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Don’t concern yourself over it.”

  His words stung. Keeping my face low, I bundled up the bloody towels and crusted manacles. “Catherine has the grimoire,” I said, needing to cut the tension. “It was part of a spell I was using to track Anushka, and without it, I have no idea how we’ll find her. And once they realize you are free and their plans are in shambles, I expect they’ll destroy it.” I needed to tell him what I’d discovered about my heritage – how Anushka was maintaining her immortality using the deaths of her descendants,
but something stayed my tongue.

  “I agree,” he replied. “We need to retrieve the book now while we have the advantage. Do you have any idea where she might be now?”

  His perfunctory tone was unnerving. “Looking for me?”

  “And when she realizes she can’t find you? Where would she go then?”

  “Home. She lives at the rear of her shop in Pigalle.”

  “Then we go there.”

  Before I could say another word, the bundle in my hands pulled away and moved to the center of the room where it burst into flames. Silvery blue troll-fire, unnatural and strange in its intensity, incinerated the cloth, and the steel melted in glowing globs that dripped onto the wooden floor. Snatching up the water can, I tossed the contents over the smoking mess before a fire of the natural sort could break out.

  “There was much there that could cause harm,” he said by way of explanation. “Now let us go find this Catherine before it is too late.”

  Thirty-Four

  Cécile

  I stole a cloak from the costume room for him, and he walked next to me with the hood up to keep his otherworldliness from being recognized as we navigated the streets to Pigalle. The night air was icy and full of stars, the quarter moon bright enough that we didn’t need troll-light, though seeing him without one was as strange as me for once being the one who knew the way.

  As we walked, Tristan kept glancing upward warily, almost as though he expected one of the stars to fall out of the sky and strike us where we stood. And when he was not looking upward, his attention jumped from the revelers, to the gaslights, to the horses trotting by, to the dog that barked as we passed. Anywhere but me. I felt tense with all that had remained unasked and unsaid, and I didn’t need to feel his emotions to know he felt the same.

  “Don’t react, but someone is following us. Two someones.”

  My stomach did flip-flops, and I only barely refrained from grabbing his arm. Who else could it be but Lord Aiden and Catherine? “What do we do?”