Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “If he was frozen, he’d be dead and you’d know it,” I muttered at myself, and then to Sabine, “If we’re alive, then there’s no reason to believe others aren’t, too.” I shook my head. “Either way, we’ve come this far…” I didn’t finish the statement, because if everyone on the Isle was dead, hadn’t we already lost?

  Hand in hand, we made our way down the steps and over to those leading up to the open door of my home. “Hello?” My breath made little misty clouds as I stepped inside. “Is anyone here?”

  Brushing snow off the lamp that mysteriously still burned on the front table, I tried to turn up the flame, but my efforts were ineffective. It remained static. Unchanged. Strange. “Hello?”

  We inched our way into the great room, both of us instinctively going to the fireplace where the banked coals glowed cherry red. Sabine held her hands out to them, then jerked her fingers back. “No heat,” she said, bending and blowing on the charred wood in a failed attempt to draw up the flames. “Something about this isn’t right.” She reached a gloved hand for an iron poker, seeming intent on rectifying this one trivial thing in the face of all the many things that weren’t right. I turned my back on the process and called out again. “Hello?”

  No response. Nothing but silence.

  I shouted, “Well? We’re here. And given you owe your freedom to me, perhaps you might show somewhat more courtesy.”

  An unearthly chuckle filled the room, and I stumbled into Sabine as the air in front of me tore like a panel of silk. The opening spread wide, revealing a throne carved of solid ice, which would’ve been unremarkable if not for countless eyes of all shapes and colors frozen into its depths. Eyes, which judging from the bloody veins and tissue tangling from them, had been torn from their owners’ heads by force. To either side of the throne sat two immense lupine creatures, fangs as long as my hand protruding from black lips. But it was the creature sitting on the throne that stole my attention.

  I’d seen her before.

  “Owe?” The sound of her voice made my head ache, and I pressed a gloved hand to my temple, trying and failing to relieve the pressure. “I recall making no deals with you, human. Nor do I recall you doing me any favors.”

  “Maybe not,” I conceded, dropping my hand from my head. “But you’ve benefited from my actions.” She was the woman – fairy – that I’d seen in my dream. The one the Summer King had called wife; and sure enough, there were bonding marks across one of her hands. Only in my dream, in that land of endless summer, she’d seemed… passive. And what sat before me was anything but. This was the Winter Queen.

  “Have I? Are you so sure about that?”

  I hesitated. “You’re here, aren’t you? A day ago, that wasn’t possible.”

  She shrugged one elegant shoulder, long black hair brushing against a gown made of mist and stars that shifted and moved in a way that made it dizzying to look upon. “Do not look for gratitude from me, mortal. I’ve walked through worlds beyond number; what does the loss or gain of one filthy bit of earth matter to me?”

  I opened my mouth to retort that it mattered enough for her to turn it into her own winter palace, but then clamped my lips shut. Not listening had caught me more times than I cared to count with the trolls and, immortal or not, she was of the same ilk. There was a reason why she was bothering with this “filthy bit of earth”, and it would be something worth knowing. “You tell me.”

  She smiled, pale pink lips pulling back to reveal a mouthful of fangs. My heart skipped and I blinked. The fangs were gone, replaced by pearly white human teeth. “You wished to ask a favor of me, Cécile de Troyes.” She tapped a long fingernail against her throne, and I swallowed hard as the eye beneath twitched, rolling to look up at her.

  I remembered her words to the Summer King. A favor given is a favor owed… “No,” I said. “But I do wish to bargain.”

  Her verdelite eyes narrowed. “What makes you believe you have anything I want?”

  I thought about the massive ice walls that had formed for the express purpose of herding us toward this meeting; the grandstanding and showmanship that was obviously intended to intimidate and impress. “I do not think,” I murmured, dropping into a deep curtsey, “that the Queen of all of Winter would condescend to meet with a mortal such as I if there were nothing I could do for her.”

  Her laughter sounded like the shattering of glass, and I fought the urge to clap my hands over my ears. “Perhaps it is only that an immortal such as I,” she said the words in a perfect mimicry of my voice, “becomes easily bored.”

  She rose to her feet, and two winged creatures scuttled over to the dais to offer their hands as she walked down the steps. It made me wonder who – and what – else was present in her icy throne room. As if in answer to my question, clawed hands folded around the tear between our worlds, drawing the edges back.

  “And besides–” she stopped just before the tear “–you are no mere mortal, but one who is bonded to the prince of the trolls.” She cocked her head to one side and peered through the opening. “He is not with you.”

  Her voice was toneless, nothing in her expression telling me whether she considered Tristan’s absence a good or bad thing, or whether she cared at all. And before I could so much as blink, she had stepped into our world. Although stepped wasn’t the right word – one moment she was there and the next moment here. And while there she’d seemed as solid as Sabine or me, here she appeared like a mist that had coalesced into the shape of a woman, fluid, shifting, and changing. Her eyes met mine, and I swore they delved into the depths of my soul, flipping through my memories like pages of a book. Tristan had told me that the trolls’ magic had been corrupted by iron and mortality, that it was nothing like that of their immortal ancestors. But he’d never told me what they could do, and I was starting to fear what it would mean to find out.

  “What is it you want, Princess?” The Queen’s voice was mocking, but that concerned me far less than my growing suspicion that she had plans for me. Plans that I wouldn’t like. That she’d ask me for something I didn’t want to give. But I’d come too far to come away with nothing.

  “You can see anywhere you want?” I asked. “Anyone?”

  “What will you give me for the answer?” The settee was coated with ice, but it gave beneath her as she settled as though it were stuffed with down.

  I nibbled on my lip. “Nothing. I already know you can. What I want is to see… and hear what our enemy is up to. What they’re planning. Where they are now.”

  She tapped a claw – no, a fingernail – against one tooth. “What will you give me in return?”

  “What do you want?” I countered.

  Her lips pursed, and she drifted one hand through the air as though conducting an orchestra. “A song.”

  I blinked, more stunned by the odd request than I would have been if she’d asked for my life. “A song?”

  She held up one finger. “Your favorite song.”

  I glanced sideways at Sabine, who had been silent through the exchange thus far. Her back was pressed against the wall. Despite the chill, her cheeks were leached of color, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the lamplight. Without taking her gaze off the fairy, she shook her head.

  I ground my teeth, and glanced back at the queen. Looking at her gave me a headache – I kept seeing one thing and then another, and I didn’t know what was real. “How is it even possible for me to give you a song?”

  “Agree to the bargain. Sing the song. Then it will be mine.”

  It couldn’t be as easy as that, but try as I might, I couldn’t think of any consequences worth declining the bargain. “And if I do this, you’ll give me what I asked for? Right now,” I added, remembering the importance of specificity.

  She smiled, and Sabine made a soft choking noise. “Yes.”

  “All right, then,” I said. “I agree.”

  The air flashed frigid, the bare skin of my face burning and my bones aching, and I felt the weight of the bargain clamp d
own on me like pinchers on the back of my neck. While I’d had some small ability to resist the troll king’s compulsion, resisting her was impossible. I was a feather and she a hurricane, and I was more likely to cut out my own heart than resist her power. I began to sing.

  My song was no half-hearted means to an end. The ballad tore from my lips, filled with all the passion, heartbreak, and joy that I associated with the lyrics. And it felt like each word, each note, was being excised by a straight razor. I wanted to cry, to scream, to throw myself on the floor and claw at my skull, but I did none of those things for they would have stolen some of what I owed. When it was over, I clenched my eyes shut and fell to my knees, so taxed that all I could do was breathe.

  “That was lovely.”

  The voice was too close. Opening my eyes revealed the Winter Queen’s face only inches from my own, her breath smelling like a midwinter’s night, and it was all I could do not to cringe.

  “Lovely,” she repeated, her head tipping back and forth as though she were listening to my voice inside her head. “A treasure.”

  “Your turn.” My voice rasped against my aching throat.

  “But of course.” She straightened and turned, the misty apparition that was her gown passing through my arms, entirely intangible. She made her way to a mirror hanging on the wall, and with one careless gesture, she tore an opening in the world. “Come, come,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “And behold your enemy.”

  Rising on shaking knees, I walked over and looked through the opening.

  Chapter Six

  Tristan

  Two-dozen soldiers poured through the shattered doors, half going to the defense of the heir and his mother, the rest turning on the apparent threat.

  Me.

  I winced against the thunderous echoes of firing pistols, allowing the bullets to sink into a wall of magic lest they ricochet and kill someone else.

  “Cease fire!” Fred’s bellow cut through the noise, and the confused soldiers slowly lowered their pistols.

  “It wasn’t him.” Marie wisely took control of the moment of duplicity, Fred bowing his head over the Regent in apparent grief. “Lachance killed my husband. He was a traitor – a spy and assassin for the troll king.” Her voice shook with real emotion as she plucked at her blood soaked gown with hands stained red. “Get that wretch’s body out of my sight.”

  Three of the soldiers moved to comply, but one approached me, reaching out a hand to touch one of the dozens of bullets suspended in midair. “Can all of you… trolls do this?”

  “To a greater or lesser extent.” I released the magic, bits of metal clattering against the stone floor.

  He lifted the hand still holding his pistol and stared at the weapon, then let his arm fall limply to his side. “How can we hope to fight against such power?”

  “I’ll show you.” As unplanned as it was, this display of magic would do much to prepare the humans for what they were about to face.

  Walking past him, I went to where Fred knelt next to the Regent’s body. “We need as many eyes as can be spared on the walls and scouts between here and Trollus. Choose a handful of your best to see what information they can gather. I need to know if my father is on the move.”

  Fred nodded. “I’ll send riders.”

  I shook my head. “Tell them to approach on foot. Stealth will be the only thing that keeps them safe – any troll worth his salt will be able to outrun a horse in the dark.”

  Fred’s eyes widened, but he nodded and climbed to his feet. “I’ll give the orders.”

  Catching his arm before he could leave, I murmured, “Can you do this?”

  “Doesn’t look like I have much choice.” His eyes flicked to Marie, who had returned to her knees next to her dead husband, cheeks wet with tears.

  I could not help but admire her quick thinking in what was undoubtedly the worst moment of her life. My father’s plan to push Aiden into murdering the Regent was good, because either way it fell saw my father gain control. The people would either accept Aiden – whose will was under my father’s control – as their leader, or they’d hang him for his actions, leaving the Isle leaderless. But in one decisive moment, Marie had sabotaged my father’s plans. The people would see the troll king as the culprit behind the murder of their beloved Regent and unify against him, rallying to our impostor Aiden. And she’d only had to murder an innocent man to accomplish it.

  My eyes went to the puddle of blood left behind by Lachance’s corpse and then to the illusion of a wall, behind which the real Aiden sat slumped. No part of me believed Marie’s actions were driven by a desire to see me triumph – they’d been to save her son. To give him a chance at a future. And I’d do well to remember that.

  “Send guards to find Cécile and Sabine,” I said. “Make sure they are safe.”

  Cécile was at the far end of the castle, my sense of her faded, as though she were sleeping. Which was just as well – she needed the rest. But given the ruthlessness Marie had just displayed, I needed Cécile aware of the danger she was in. Marie alone knew her importance, and I would not put it past her to use Cécile against me.

  I twitched, feeling something slam against the magic of the dome with enough force that I knew it had been no human. But before I could raise the alarm, I felt another series of thuds. A pattern. One I hadn’t heard since the days when I held secret meetings in the Dregs.

  “Do you know where she is?” Fred’s voice pulled me back to the council chambers, and I focused on Cécile.

  “Far end of the castle,” I said, then hesitated. She seemed further than that, if not by much. Which if she was sleeping, made no sense at all. “Something’s not right.” I said, then a wave of dizziness sent me staggering. A sudden wakefulness accompanied by pain and panic.

  “Stones and sky, Cécile,” I swore, righting myself. “What have you done?”

  Chapter Seven

  Cécile

  Roland sat straight-backed in a chair before an easel in Angoulême’s parlor. His brow was softer than usual, cheeks rounded with a smile as he dipped a brush in a dollop of crimson paint and began adding deft little touches to the piece. He was strikingly talented, his subject represented in exquisite detail. Unfortunately.

  “Macabre,” the Queen murmured over my shoulder. “But the boy is naught but a tool in your enemy’s arsenal.” The view shifted, Roland relegated to the periphery in favor of Angoulême and Lessa, who stood bent over a map covered in what appeared to be golden Guerre pieces. He was dressed as was his custom, but she wore what I could only describe as armor: dull black leather reinforced with crimson scales. A sword hung at her side and she awkwardly touched the pommel from time to time in a way Anaïs never would’ve. How Angoulême had not recognized she was an impostor was beyond me.

  “You’ll take him and the rest of your party down the Ocean Road while my mother sets our plans into action in Courville,” he said, tracing a finger along the map. “Don’t waste your time on the smaller hamlets – we have others who will manage those.”

  “Not even to make a point?” she asked. “His Highness might enjoy that.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roland smile.

  Angoulême shook his head. “Make a point of those who refuse to swear allegiance to him. To him,” he repeated, turning to Lessa. “Tristan has shown an unwillingness to harm his brother in the past, and we can use that to our advantage. The sooner we swell our ranks, the sooner we can set humans to fighting humans. Tristan will be distracted with the task of keeping them from slaughtering each other, and then we’ll make our first move.”

  Lessa scowled. “I want him–”

  “In time,” Angoulême said, cutting her off and casting a meaningful glance in Roland’s direction. “Not even he can take them both on at the same time, and the boy has shown some reticence. We must be strategic.”

  Several other trolls I recognized as aristocrats loyal to Angoulême came into the room, all dressed similarly to Lessa, the D
owager Duchesse Damia among them.

  “We need to move now, Your Grace,” one of them said. “Thibault’s soldiers have the River Road and labyrinth gates secured and are enforcing curfew. Unless you want to fight your way through, we need to break open one of the old sluag tunnels and make our way through the labyrinth.”

  “No fighting,” Angoulême said. “I want Trollus intact when His Highness takes the throne. We’ll be along in a moment. Wait outside.”

  The trolls departed. “They’ll guide you to the outskirts of the rock fall,” Angoulême said. “Keep you safe from any sluag you come across. Are you ready for this?”

  “All my life,” Lessa said in perfect mimicry of Anaïs’s voice. “Your Highness, it is time for us to go.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed the boy’s face, but he got to his feet. “I would wear my new sword,” he announced, and left the room.

  The mood in the room shifted as soon as Roland departed, and Angoulême rested a hand on the small of Lessa’s back. “I’ve instructed him to follow your council,” he said. “But make no mistakes. He snaps at his fetters like a rabid dog, and I won’t be there to protect you if he sees through our deception.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” Lessa said, and she tried to pull out of his grip, but Angoulême caught her wrist.

  “When this is over, you’ll be queen,” he said. “I will make you queen.”

  She smiled, her face full of naked adoration. Then she turned back to the map, her fingers resting on the edge of the paper. “A shame I couldn’t go with you – I would’ve liked to see the faces of my ancestors.”

  Before the Duke could respond, Roland came back into the room. “You said it was time.”

  Neither acknowledged him. Instead, Lessa leaned over and kissed the Duke’s cheek. “Victory will be ours,” she said. “And it will be thanks to you… Father.”