Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “This is a trick,” he whispered. “I won’t fall for your kind’s duplicity again.”

  “It’s the truth,” I said. “My brother is violently insane, and the Duke is an extremist of the first order. If they kill the witch, they will be hailed as saviors of my people, and who can say how much harm they could inflict before that aura fades.”

  “I’ll hear no more of this,” Aiden said. “Your words are poison.” He made a gesture with his hand, and a second later, I felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of my head.

  I didn’t move. “I’ll give you one last chance to reconsider.” But my words landed on deaf ears.

  “Do it, de Troyes,” Aiden shouted. “What are you waiting for?”

  “You’re making a mistake,” I said, my pulse roaring in my ears. “If we work together, there is hope our people can coexist peacefully.”

  “The only chance for peace is with your kind dead!” His eyes were wild. “Fred, this is your chance for revenge for what happened to your sister. Take it now.”

  “No.” Cécile’s brother stepped out from behind me, his pistol now leveled at the other man. “I’m sorry for this, my lord, but I can’t let you make this mistake.”

  “You are satisfied, then?” I asked, rising to my feet. I’d known Aiden would never agree to my plan, but Fred had needed proof before he was willing to commit what amounted to treason.

  He nodded, and I didn’t miss the disappointment in his eyes. He’d believed Aiden a better sort of man than he’d proven himself to be.

  Aiden’s eyes widened as he realized that he’d been played. “You’re the one making a mistake, de Troyes. This creature ruined your sister’s life – you said so yourself.”

  “I did,” Fred replied. “But I also saw him save her life, and right now, he’s trying to save it again. I believe what he says that the trolls will escape one way or another, and I’d rather ally myself with the best of them than take my chances with the worst.”

  “You’ll regret this,” Aiden shouted.

  “Maybe I will,” Fred said. “But for now, I’ll be needing your clothes.”

  Fifty-Two

  Cécile

  Keeping an eye on the door, I slipped on Sabine’s creation. It was gathered at the bust to give the appearance of more curves than I had. The straps were encased with a gilded mesh that molded against my shoulders, and the skirt hung in a whimsical A-line, feeling light as air against my legs. White feathers trailed from the back, in the suggestion of wings, floating out from behind me as I walked.

  It made me desperately wish my friend were here. In all likelihood, she was in the castle and Marie was keeping her from me, but a little bit of doubt chewed at my heart. Tristan would have told her our intention to kill Anushka tonight, and I wasn’t entirely sure how she would take the news.

  Holding the strand of hair between my fingers, I did my best to ignore the shake in my hand. I’d only have one chance at this, and the results were uncertain. Turning the lamp as high as it would go, I focused on the flame, drawing on its power even as I held the hair above it. It crackled; burning unnaturally slowly and bright as the magic flared and I focused my thoughts. “Show me my mother.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Show me Genevieve,” I demanded, hating the desperation in my voice. Please be alive.

  Nothing.

  I pulled harder, magic coming into me from all directions, and then I switched tactics. “Show me Anushka.”

  An image appeared in the flame, and the sound of my mother singing danced through the air. Anushka’s with her! Leaning forward, I peered into the fire, but it was like looking through the keyhole of a door. Motion flashed in front of me, black fabric and pale skin, but whoever it was sat too close to the lamp to give me any perspective.

  My mother sang her warm-up exercises, and there was nothing in her voice hinting at fear or anxiety. She did not yet realize the danger she was in, but that didn’t matter. She was alive, and that was all I cared about.

  “We have Cécile. She’s getting ready even as we speak.” A voice interrupted my mother’s exercises, but it was a familiar one: Marie.

  Elbows bent and hands clasped in front of the flame, and I held my breath, waiting to hear Anushka speak. “Good. Cursed girl seemed set to ruin everything.” My heart skipped – it was my mother who had spoken. Something wasn’t right.

  “She thinks she needs to protect you,” Marie replied, her voice toneless. “She’ll play right into your hands and bring the creature along with her.”

  My heartbeat seemed to slow, each thump, thump, thump deafening. Realization was dawning on me, too slowly. Too quickly. The wild sting of betrayal pierced my chest, and my wretched heart prayed that my mind was mistaken.

  “You’ve convinced her to perform?”

  “Yes.” Marie was silent for a moment. “Is the performance truly necessary? The risks…”

  “The ritual is everything. The timing is everything,” my mother interrupted. “The last one disrupted both, and look at the cost: I was weakened enough that one of them was able to break free. It cannot happen again.”

  No, no, no! I was on my feet, rotating around the flame, trying to find an angle where I could see her face. I needed proof that it wasn’t her – that I was mistaken. That I’d misunderstood.

  “Go out and mingle with your guests, Marie. And make sure you and yours stay clear of the troll. His death is mine, along with all the power that comes with it. Tonight, I will crush what remains of the mighty fey.”

  I clenched my teeth to keep the threatening sobs from betraying me. Dropping to my knees, I looked up through the flame and saw her face. Her painfully familiar face, and around her throat, the necklace that marked those destined to die. The necklace I should have been wearing.

  My mother is Anushka, my mother is Anushka. The words repeated in my head, but even seeing proof with my eyes, it was hard to believe. Shaking, I watched as she picked up a cruel beaked mask that I recognized from when Sabine and I had watched Catherine’s memory in my washbasin, tying it to her face with a black ribbon.

  “It is time.”

  The witch’s eyes turned to the flame. I ducked under the table before she could see me, releasing the magic and vanquishing the spell. And then I sat shaking on the floor.

  It had been hard enough learning that Anushka was my ancestor, but knowing that she was my mother– that she’d borne me for the sole purpose of sacrificing me to her immortality. That the woman I’d all but worshipped my whole life was a killer. The thought of it made the contents of my stomach rise, and twisting onto my hands and knees, I heaved them onto the carpet, my muscles straining painfully as though they might rid me of everything I’d seen.

  I was the target. I was the one who was supposed to die tonight, and Tristan along with me. And with that power, my friends in Trollus had no hope. I had to warn him. “Tristanthysium,” I whispered, and then broke off. If I told him Genevieve was Anushka, he’d kill her. And the thought of her lying as dead as Esmeralda had elicited a reaction in me that I could not have predicted: sorrow. She was the enemy, but though I knew I was a fool for it, I still loved her as I always had. Perhaps if we caught her, she could be reasoned with. Perhaps, there was another way…

  Staggering to my feet, I ran to the door. Regardless of my sentiments, Tristan needed to be warned. He was expecting to protect Genevieve – our entire plan was predicated on keeping her safe – the last thing he’d expect would be for her to turn on him. I had to find a way to get to him, explain to him the circumstances. Convince him to at least try to find another way.

  The handle turned under my grip, but the door wouldn’t open. I slammed a shoulder against it, but to no avail. It was bolted from outside. I sucked in a deep breath, planning to scream until someone came, and then I clacked my teeth together. Marie and Anushka would have planned for that. Planned for me to resist. If I screamed, only people under their control would come, and then they’d drag me off and al
l hope of warning Tristan would be lost. I had to be smarter than that.

  Anushka didn’t know I’d discovered her true identity, and I needed to keep it that way. The only way to do that was to play along until a chance revealed itself. “Tristanthysium,” I repeated, knowing I needed to say something. “Be wary. One of our friends is foe. Trust no one.”

  The bolt slid, and I broke off the thought. The door opened to reveal Monsieur Johnson, resplendent with a sprig of rowanberries on his collar. “Ah, Cécile, you look marvelous!” he said, beaming from between the two guards who flanked him. “You must come with me; we are about to begin. Are you ready?”

  I nodded, though I wouldn’t be ready if I had a thousand years to prepare. This would be the performance of my lifetime.

  Fifty-Three

  Tristan

  Tristanthysium… My name twisted through my mind, and I tensed, waiting for the answer my people had sought for centuries. But Cécile said nothing more. Which made me very worried.

  “Tristan?”

  I refocused, realizing Fred had spoken to me. “Pardon?”

  “Someone will realize I’m not him.” Fred rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, then tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed coat.

  “Unlikely,” I said, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand. Something had happened to Cécile – something that had shocked and horrified her, and only the knowledge that she was physically unharmed kept me from running her direction. She’d called my name, but given me nothing more. “No one knows such a thing is possible, so why would they suspect anything?”

  Fred nodded, but his Aiden-mask betrayed his doubt.

  “Make sure the castle is locked down,” I said, repeating the plan we’d discussed this afternoon. “The gates closed. No one enters and no one leaves. And above all, keep Marie from interfering.”

  “All right.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t care much about what happens to Genevieve, but promise you’ll keep my sister safe.”

  I needed to get back to the ballroom, but I felt the need to understand the nature of the conflict between Genevieve and her son. “What did she do to you to make you hate her so?”

  Fred went very still, then he quietly replied, “It’s not so much what she did as who she is.”

  I waited for him to continue.

  “I didn’t hate her before I came to Trianon,” he finally said. “Quite the opposite. I thought she was magical – this beautiful nice-smelling woman who came and went like a dream. And when she told me how wonderful my life would be if I came to live with her, of course I couldn’t say no. But…” he broke off. “It wasn’t enough for her. She wasn’t satisfied with me leaving the Hollow, she wanted me to turn my back on everyone I’d grown up with. Loving her wasn’t enough: she needed me to hate my father. Not just to see her side, but to take it. There was no middle ground, and when I tried to find it…”

  “She made you pay,” I finished for him.

  Fred nodded. “It seemed every time I tried to make plans to go home to visit, something would interfere. I didn’t think much of it at first, but eventually I saw a pattern. That she was orchestrating it. And when I disagreed with her or went against her wishes, something would go wrong. My horse would turn up lame. Possessions would go missing. I’d get sick. But the worst thing was her obsession with my sister. She wanted to know everything about her, and most of all, she wanted me to convince Cécile to come to Trianon.”

  He shook his head. “There wasn’t a chance, and I told her so. Told her I’d do everything in my power to keep both my sisters far away from her. And not an hour after our argument, I found myself halfway to the Hollow dead set on bringing Cécile back with me. Even though I knew that wasn’t what I wanted.”

  Unease weighed me down as I realized the implications of his tale.

  Fred rubbed his thumbs against his temples, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I knew what she was, then. And I knew that I needed to get away from her, so I moved into the barracks and refused to see her.” He swallowed audibly. “Days later, my horse died. My bunkmate fell ill. And then there was a girl I fancied, and she…” He broke off. “She flung herself off a bridge in full sight of witnesses. For no reason. None at all.”

  He lifted his face to meet my gaze. “She didn’t need me to convince Cécile to come to Trianon, but that didn’t matter to her. Anyone who isn’t a slave to her will is her enemy, and she lives for taking revenge. And I knew if she caught me trying to stop Cécile from moving to Trianon that the consequences would be disastrous. Next, it could have been my father falling in front of a wagon or Josette… I couldn’t risk it.”

  Gone now was any doubt that Genevieve knew of her powers and how to use them. But more than that, Fred’s story spoke of a personality, a way of being, that was eerily familiar. Warnings ran through my head, an idea, a notion that had never crossed my mind before abruptly coming to the forefront. That our target was hidden right in front of us.

  But how? Genevieve’s birth and life were documented and known with certainty. She was not five centuries old, and that was fact. So she could not be Anushka. It was impossible. It had to be something else – that Genevieve was under Anushka’s compulsion. That the other witch was affecting her behavior. But why? What was the point of doing so, when all she needed was Genevieve’s life?

  Tristanthysium, be wary. One of our friends is foe. Trust no one. Cécile’s voice interrupted my thoughts, demanding my attention. I waited, but nothing further echoed in my ears. Swearing, I started down the hall toward the ballroom, but Fred caught my sleeve. “When this is over, promise you’ll take Cécile away from her. Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”

  If only I could. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect Cécile. No one is more precious to me than her.”

  Although at the moment, no one was frustrating me more than her. Why was Cécile being obscure? Did she mean Genevieve? Was that what she’d discovered? But then why not tell me clearly?

  I ground my teeth together. It was almost time to consider my alternative plan of action.

  * * *

  The lights had dimmed in the ballroom, ladies taking seats on the banquettes scattered around the room, gentlemen standing behind them with glasses of dark wine in their hands. Sabine spotted me the moment I entered the room, politely breaking off her conversation with an old woman who was dripping with rubies before strolling in my direction, looking for all the world as if she belonged among these people.

  “I was wondering where you’d got off to,” she said, taking my arm. “The masque’s about to begin. Don’t you see how they’ve turned down the lamps, and how you can hear the actors moving behind the curtains…” She blathered on for a few minutes more until those near to us lost interest and stopped eavesdropping, and then she said, “Marie came in only moments before you, and she does not look pleased. Either the evening is not going as planned, or,” she lifted one eyebrow, “the plans are not to her liking.”

  I eyed Lady du Chastelier over the top of Sabine’s blonde curls. She stood next to her husband, her expression studiously neutral, and though she nodded occasionally at the man speaking to them, it was clear she wasn’t listening. Her eyes swept the room, her face tightening ever so slightly as she noted Sabine and me, before returning to the conversation. I wondered how hard she’d fight to keep Anushka’s secret safe. I did not want to harm her, but if it meant saving my people, I’d do it anyway.

  “Everyone believes she’s upset that Lord Aiden seems set to miss the masque that was commissioned in his honor – it’s all anyone will talk about. Besides you.”

  “He’ll make an appearance shortly,” I muttered, but I could barely think for the tension threatening to split my skull. “Something’s happened. Cécile’s seen or learned of something, and whatever it is, it’s driven her nearly to the brink. I don’t think we can wait to find her after the performance – we need to know what’s happened now.”

  “Did she give you a name?”

 
; I shook my head. Genevieve?

  “Where is she?”

  “Not far.” I stared at the set as though with effort I might see through it. “In one of the rooms just beyond the ballroom. I need to find her.”

  Sabine tugged sharply on my arm. “You can’t. The point of this is to lure her in, and if you go to Cécile, you’ll be doing the exact opposite.” Her eyes went to the stage. “Besides, Genevieve will be onstage in moments, and she is the one who needs your protection. I’ll go find Cécile. No one will think it strange to find me back there.”

  It was my turn to hold her back. “They know you’re involved,” I said. “Be careful.”

  I watched her blonde curls bob through the crowd and disappear behind the curtains just as the lights onstage dimmed. Fred chose that moment to reenter the ballroom, a frown on his face as he went over to stand at Marie’s elbow, his posture a remarkably good imitation of the choleric Lord Aiden.

  Everything was silent but for the odd cough, the rustle of clothing, and the soft whisper of the curtain rising up to the ceiling. The lamps near the stage brightened, and there was a collective gasp from the audience.

  The set was cast in the blacks, greys, and reds of some sort of underworld, shadowy figures in monstrous shapes painted against the backdrop and some sort of effect with the lighting making it seem as though flames danced across the stage. Music flooded the hall, dark and sharp and filled with echoing discord, but that was not the cause of the reaction.

  Genevieve de Troyes perched on a faux-rock outcropping some six feet up in the air like some dark chimaera from another world. Costumed as Vice, she wore a black gown slashed with crimson, ebony-feathered wings stretched out to either side, and a cruel beaked mask obscuring her face. One hand was braced against the outcropping, and the other reached toward the audience. Both were encased in talon-tipped gloves, the metal winking dangerously.