Tristan’s temper snapped, and in a motion almost too fast to see, he lifted Aiden off his feet by the throat and slammed him into the wall. Fred swore and tried to reach for his pistol, but the effects of my compulsion remained and he settled for his sword. I opened my mouth to stop him, but before I could speak, the blade tore from his grip, spinning in a silver blur across the theatre to embed itself in the box across from us. Fred lunged toward the two, but magic caught him, pinning him to the ground.
I stood still, and though everything had happened within seconds, time seemed to slow as I watched Aiden’s face darken, the dagger he’d managed to pull from his belt banging ineffectually against magic, his free hand clawing against Tristan’s fingers. A cruel and vengeful part of my soul wanted to stand back and let him die. This man who was servant to the King I despised. Who had kidnapped me and tried to use me against those I loved. Who had threatened to kill an entire race of people because of the hatred he had for one troll. What mercy did he deserve?
But what sort of person was I if I did not give it? Even through his fury, I could feel Tristan’s hesitation. I knew how strong he was – that he could’ve snapped Aiden’s neck with one hand or worse. Yet instead he let death creep slowly toward the other man, not because he was cruel, but because he wasn’t a killer. That he was merciful by nature was what made him different from his father, from Angoulême, from Roland; and for us to have any hope of making a future worth living, he needed to remain that way.
“Tristan, he’s baiting you. Let him go.” I moved forward, forcing my mind to calm and our mutual anger to temper. “If you kill him, everything will come out. It’s what he wants.”
Tristan’s grip lessened, and with a hiss of disgust, he dropped Aiden to the ground. Casting a black look at Fred, he released him, then went to the balcony to look over the edge.
I knelt down next to the man who was destined to one day rule the Isle, watching as he wheezed and choked, hand pressed against his bruised throat. “You believe yourself better because you are human,” I said. “But you are not. You are weak, selfish, and your word means nothing. You are not fit to rule a privy. Get out of my sight, or I’ll spell you with an itch upon your privates that will have you squirming for the rest of your days.”
Not waiting to see if he listened, I poured two glasses of wine and forced one into Tristan’s hand as the door open and closed, both of them departed. “Pull yourself together,” I said. “Bouchard and his nephews will be upon us in moments.”
He nodded, eyes reverting to grey as they fixed on the people flooding back into their seats below. “They’ll never be safe while caged by the curse,” he said softly. “They are in danger from within and without, and what can I do to help them? How can I protect them?”
There was only one answer, but I bit my lip and said nothing until I heard the other men come back into the box.
“Is all well?” Bouchard asked, his brow furrowed.
“Everything is splendid,” I replied. “I believe the second half is about to begin.”
“I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Lord Aiden du Chastelier,” he said once Tristan had turned around.
Tristan didn’t answer, so I kicked him in the ankle.
“We’ve met in passing,” he eventually said. “He knows my father.”
I could see another question forming on Bouchard’s tongue, but now was not the time for inquisitiveness. “The curtain’s rising,” I said swiftly. “Best we take our seats.”
* * *
Whether the girls performed well or not in the second half, I could not have said, for I spent it with one eye on Tristan and the other on my thoughts. King Thibault might believe he had control over Lord Aiden, but we’d seen proof that control was tenuous at best. There were ways around any oath – he only needed to find them. And then what? His hatred of the trolls wasn’t limited to those who’d crossed him.
He wanted the entire race exterminated, and I knew that was what troubled Tristan. He’d always known the dangers his people faced from within Trollus, but I wasn’t sure he ever really considered what a threat humanity could be if they moved against the trolls en masse. Which might very well happen if Thibault died or Aiden found a way around his oaths.
Then what would we do? What would Tristan do if his people’s lives were in danger? How far would he go to keep them safe? I desperately wanted to know Tristan’s thoughts, but now was not the time or place to ask them. Regardless of what had happened, we had a strategy in play, and to abandon it would be folly.
After the performance, we went to the foyer to see the dancers. The men all watched them with covetous eyes, except for Tristan, who was examining the portraits lining the room, expression light, and his mind grim. “Where is that necklace now?” he asked me. “Could you use it in place of the book?”
I used it to buy the ox that I slaughtered as part of a ritual sacrifice to set you free.
“I sold it.” I’d told my mother that it was with the jewelers having the chain repaired. Lies, lies, lies. But I didn’t want him to know what I had done.
“What for?”
“Coin.”
“Why? You’re hardly destitute.”
“After I saw them all wearing it, it made me feel strange. I didn’t want it anymore.”
He stepped closer so that no one would overhear. “That was a mistake. Tell me the pawnbroker you sold it to and I’ll get it back.”
“It wasn’t a shop. It was just a… a man I met in passing. I’ll tell you where to find him later.”
The magic of his disguise faded for a heartbeat and then his eyes were back to grey. “You know how I feel about lies, Cécile. Especially coming from you, and especially when the lives of my people are at stake. You may have lost our only chance for the sake of money to spend on trinkets and toys.”
I knew his foul temper was less to do with me and more to do with Lord Aiden’s threats, but it didn’t feel that way. All I’d wanted was one night where I could feel normal. One night where I could pretend we had a sure future together. It had been a silly desire, but I couldn’t help but feel upset at seeing it torn away from me. One night was all I had wanted. Had that been so much to ask?
“I gave it to a stockman in exchange for an ox, and the ax I used to kill it, as part of the spell that broke you free,” I said, and not waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away.
Moving as quickly as I could without attracting undue attention, I left the foyer and made my way backstage to the crew entrance. There was no one outside, so I leaned against the stone of the building, gulping in mouthfuls of cold air. The moon was very nearly full, and I stared up at it, wishing the power I’d used had come from such a pure source.
“It has been a long time, Cécile,” a familiar voice said from behind me. I lowered my eyes from the moon, and fear charged through my heart as I came face to face with the pistol leveled between my eyes.
Forty-Two
Cécile
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a pathetic whine escaped.
“Be silent. I know the powers you hold.”
“Esmeralda?” I choked her name out. “Why are you doing this?”
Her jaw tensed as though she were trying to speak but could not. The pistol wobbled up and down, but steadied when I took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But the favor has been called due.”
The shot rang loud, tearing apart the stillness of the night. I’d closed my eyes as though not seeing would somehow protect me from the bullet. I held my breath, waiting for the terrible moment when I’d feel hot blood trickling down skin and the pain of metal rending my insides apart. But instead I felt nothing.
Forcing my eyes open, I stared at the flattened bit of metal hanging inches in front of my face, as though it were embedded in an invisible wall. Then beyond it to where Esmeralda lay on her back, the snow splattered with what looked like ink, but what I knew was blood. So very, very much blood.
The bullet
dropped from the air to land silently in the snow, and I turned around to see Tristan standing at the crew exit, one arm stretched out in front of him. My gaze went back to Esmeralda, and moving sluggishly, I knelt down next to her, pushed back her hood, and felt for a pulse at her neck. It was a hopeless effort – I could have fit my fist through the hole in her chest.
“Esmeralda.” There was no inflection in Tristan’s voice, no emotion, but his shock made my own hands shake.
“A troll made her do this.” I pulled away my hand, convinced I could feel her skin already beginning to cool beneath my fingertips. “She owned Reagan a favor, and it was called due.”
“I didn’t mean to…” His voice was choked. “You need to help her.”
“She is beyond help,” I said. I did not add that what he’d done to her would have been enough to fell any living thing in this world.
“No!” He fell to his knees, heedless of the pool of blood. “Use magic. Heal her. Fix her. You know how.”
“Tristan, she’s dead.”
He shook his head, expressing utter denial of my words. “Help her.” Grabbing Esmeralda by the shoulders, he pulled her up off the ground, and I almost gagged at the sight of the gore beneath her. “Help her!”
I didn’t know what to do. Someone would have heard the gunshot, and it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. Never mind that we knelt next to a corpse, there would be no explaining the manner in which she died. We had to get away. “Tristan, we need to go.”
Standing up, I caught hold of his arm, trying to drag him up. But he was intractable. Moving him against his will would be impossible. “I didn’t mean…” he said. “I didn’t know it was her.”
He kept trying to say that he hadn’t meant to kill her, but the lie wouldn’t pass his lips.
“Tristan, it was in defense. Whether she wanted to or not, she tried to shoot me.” My feet slid in the slurry of blood and snow, but he wouldn’t let go of her. He was covered with blood, and in the distance, I could hear the sounds of horses coming this way. “We have to run!
None of what I was saying seemed to register with him. The notion that now would be an opportune time to use his name crossed my mind, but I shoved it aside. Making a fist like Fred had taught me, I pulled my arm back and swung, using the strength of my shoulder. My knuckles collided with his cheek and pain burst through my hand. Tristan jerked away, but more in surprise than in pain.
He stared up at me. “I don’t want to leave her like this.”
“We have no choice,” I said, wishing I didn’t need to be so callous. “We need to flee.”
We ran through the blizzard and darkness, my skirts pulled up to my knees with one hand and my heeled shoes in the other. My stockings were soaked through in seconds, and not long after the bottoms tore through, exposing the soles of my feet. I was too afraid to feel the discomfort. The city guard would have found Esmeralda by now, and they did not need to be quick-witted to follow tracks in the snow. We needed to get where other people were and then inside so that we could wash away the evidence. Not that it mattered much. Both Aiden and Fred would know who had killed her, and this might well be the opportunity the Regent’s son was looking for.
“This way,” I hissed, pulling Tristan toward a main boulevard. When we were closer, I slipped my shoes on my numb feet, dropped my skirts, and took his arm. “Smile,” I ordered as we stepped out into the traffic of people on the walkways. There I was able to flag down a cab, neither of us saying anything until the horse was trotting in the direction of the hotel.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” I said. “But you weren’t listening. You were in shock.”
He didn’t reply. We passed through the bubble of light from a lamp, and I saw the white of his cravat was stained with blood. Fingers numb and shaking, I untied it, shoving the fabric into the pocket of my cloak. He was covered in blood, I was sure, but everything else he was wearing was black, so hopefully no one would notice. I squeezed his hand, the leather soaked and sticky. “Tristan, are you all right?”
His jaw tightened, and he pulled his hand out of my grip. “I should take you home first.”
“I’m staying with you,” I said. “I don’t care what people say.”
“Do what you want.”
I bit my lip. His words sounded like an attack, and in a way, they were. But not at me. He was attacking himself. His guilt and grief made my heart hurt, and I knew he was pushing me away to punish himself. “Don’t do this.”
The cab pulled to a stop. “We’re here.” He didn’t wait for the hotel footmen to open the door, instead flinging it open himself and stepping down. I started to follow, but he blocked my way, his gaze fixed on my feet. “You should go home. I’ll pay him to take you there.”
I lifted my chin. “No.”
“Do what you want. You always do anyway,” he snapped, turning to pay the driver and leaving a footman to help me out. Without looking at me once, he offered me an arm and escorted me up the steps into the lobby. It was lovely and grand, with crystal chandeliers and lush carpets, massive framed landscapes and seascapes hanging on walls papered in silk. A man played a piano for a handful of onlookers holding drinks, all of them noticing us while pretending not to as we walked toward the staircase. My presence here with him was scandalous in their eyes, but I was far past caring.
Up and up we walked, my feet burning where my shoes rubbed against scrapes and blisters. My skirts were soaked and I was freezing, but I was far more worried for Tristan than I was for me. He’d let guilt over this consume him.
His suite of rooms took up a third of the top floor, and they were warm from the glow of banked fires and lit with lamps of green and gold glass. Pulling my cloak off, I draped it over the back of a chair to dry. Tristan strode across the room, the fire flaring up with magic as he approached. With vicious jerks, he removed the gloves from his hands and threw them into the flames. His coat and shirt followed suit, then he dropped to his knees to watch it burn, the smell of the smoke acrid and horrible.
“How will I tell Élise and Zoé that I killed their aunt? After all the other hurt I’ve caused them, and now this?”
He was a dark silhouette against the orange glow of the fire. I stayed where I was, afraid to speak and afraid to stay silent. “Tristan, I was there when Esmeralda made her bargain with Reagan. She did it so that she could talk to me.” I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the moment. “She wanted to tell me about the injustices the half-bloods faced because she believed I was in a position to help them. At the time I was too concerned with myself to appreciate the risk she was taking, but I did not fail to notice how much she cared for her nieces. Helping them was what she cared for most – what she’d dedicated her life to. And you gave her a chance to do that.”
“She helped me more than I ever helped her,” he replied. “And I repaid that debt by killing her.”
“You may have struck the blow, but it was our enemies – yours, mine, and hers – who killed her,” I said, clenching the damp fabric of my skirt. “Reagan may have held the debt, but we both know she was acting under orders. He could have sent anyone after me – there are men and women aplenty who would kill for the promise of gold. Esmeralda was chosen, forced to do this against her will, because she was our ally. She was sent to kill me because even if she failed, the action would still land a very painful blow.”
“My father didn’t do this,” Tristan said softly. “He wouldn’t send someone to kill you.”
I peeled the black lace gloves off my hands, letting them fall to the floor. With one finger, I traced the silver marks painted across my fingers. “I know.” I swallowed hard. “I will never claim to understand your father or to support his methods, but I know with certainty that he wants you to succeed him. This was Angoulême’s doing.”
“Yes.” There was a faint shake to Tristan’s voice. “And that he was willing to make such a bold move makes me very afraid of what is happening in my home.”
A home he f
elt powerless to protect. The weight of his guilt made my shoulders sag – not only for Esmeralda’s death, but also for having left his friends, his family, his entire people to fend against the worst. Picking my way around the furniture, I made my way toward him.
“Cécile, there’s something I have to tell you.” The words came out in a rush and I froze.
“I didn’t have to kill her.” His voice was ragged. “I could have stopped her just as easily as I stopped that bullet.”
The thought had occurred to me, but I refused to make him feel worse by saying so. “You had only seconds to act before she fired her pistol. You were only trying to save my life.”
The only sound was the crackle of the fire, his lack of response making my stomach clench as I realized this confession was not over. “Tristan?”
“I had time enough to think.” He turned his head, revealing his profile and the motion of his throat as he swallowed. “I had a barrier in place to keep you safe the moment I saw the pistol. But…” The muscles in his shoulders tensed. “I thought it was her.”
Shock stole all speech from my throat. There was only one her.
“I could tell it was a woman,” he continued. “I knew what I was doing when I struck. I was trying to kill Anushka.”
I felt as though time had stopped and I had stepped away from my body. Like I was watching a girl who was not me listen to words she had not expected to hear. After everything he had said and done to keep from breaking the trolls free, faced with the chance to end it all, he’d taken it. Without hesitation. I did not know what to feel. I felt everything.
“Do you wish you’d let that horse and carriage take you home now?”
The question was much larger than that. He wasn’t asking whether I regretted coming up to his room with him tonight, he was asking me if I regretted our relationship. Whether I regretted loving him.
Hidden Huntress Page 33