Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  I winced, knowing full well that my father could be jovial and charming when he was inclined. It was in those moments one should worry most.

  “I paid my debts, but went straight back to the same behavior. When my creditors came calling, I returned again to Trollus and he offered me the same bargain.”

  “And on the third time?” It is always threes.

  “He told me that he would provide an endless supply of gold, but in exchange, he wanted my word that I’d cede control of the Isle should he ever be freed. My word that I’d always come when he called me. That I’d do his bidding.” Aiden’s hands flexed as though they wanted to make fists but couldn’t. “I thought he was the fool, gambling so much wealth on a hope with less substance than smoke on the wind. I… I didn’t realize it would be binding.”

  “You were wrong.” The greedy ones were always the easiest to catch.

  “Do you think I haven’t learned that lesson a thousand times since?” His eyes went to the bloodstain on the floor that had been hastily wiped up. “I would have put a bullet in my skull months ago, but…” A shudder ran through him, his desire to end his own life running counter to my father’s orders. He began to thrash as Marie came back into the room, and I swore as blood ran from the corners of his mouth.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded, clutching at the vial in her hand.

  I ignored her accusation and pried Aiden’s jaw open, wedging magic between his teeth to keep him from biting off his tongue entirely. “Whatever it is you have, give it to him now!”

  Her hands shook as she measured drops into his bloody mouth. He gurgled and hissed, trying to spit it back at her, but I pinched his nose until he had to swallow. “How long will it take to work?” I asked.

  “Moments.” A bead of sweat dribbled down her cheek.

  Moments passed with no results, and his heart labored to keep its frantic pace. “Give him more.”

  She spilled more of the tonic than she got in his mouth while he swore and screamed that he’d maim and kill us both for thwarting him.

  “It’s not working,” I said, grabbing Aiden’s shoulders and pinning him to the floor. He fought back with incredible strength, but it was coming at great cost, capillaries in his skin bursting, joints popping, and muscles straining.

  “Any more will kill him.” She let the bottle slip through her fingers to smash against the floor.

  “Then he’s a dead man,” I said. “His heart will fail under the strain.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  I jumped at the sound of Cécile’s voice, so caught up with Aiden that I hadn’t felt her approach. There was a streak of red across her cheek – an injury that had only just begun to scab over – but otherwise, she seemed fine. Marc stood behind her, face hidden within the shadows of his hood.

  “The twins have gone with Sabine to retrieve my moth – Anushka’s – supplies.” She dropped to her knees between Marie and me. “What did he promise?”

  “To cede the Isle to my father,” I said. “Among other things.”

  Cécile’s brow furrowed, and she tucked a stray curl behind one ear. “This is not his way,” she murmured, but before I could question her meaning, Sabine and the twins rushed in, a large chest floating ahead of them.

  “The book,” Cécile ordered, and Victoria plucked the grimoire from the chest and tossed it to her. She flipped swiftly through the pages, then stopped on one, scanning the contents. “This will do.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt him,” Marie said, but Cécile ignored her. “Nettle leaf and camphor,” she said.

  Victoria frowned, and Sabine elbowed past her, leaning in to the chest and rummaging through the glass bottles. Cécile listed the rest of the ingredients for the spell, then set the book aside and began dropping bits of this and that into a bowl. “I need a stone.”

  The twins looked around, then Vincent heaved one of the flagstones out of the floor. “This do?”

  She nodded and he set it in front of her. “Fire.”

  Sabine handed her a candle, and she muttered, “Sleep,” lit the contents of the bowl on fire, then poured the mixture over the stone. Instead of a chunky mess of plants and bones, the mixture was liquid flame. It hit the stone, then, defying gravity, circled back up to pool in the bottom of the overturned basin. Cécile muttered, “Sleep,” once again, and turned the basin over, revealing what looked like water.

  “Cup.”

  Victoria handed her a dirty wine glass that had been sitting on the table, and Cécile dunked it into her potion. “Hold him steady.” She looked up then, blue eyes meeting mine, and I saw the uncertainty that I’d been feeling. She didn’t know if it would work.

  “What is this supposed to do?” I asked.

  “Put him into a deep sleep.” She licked her lips once. Then again.

  “We tried that with a tonic,” I said, more for Marie’s benefit than Cécile’s. Better her expectations be low.

  “But this is magic,” Cécile said, and then she poured the potion into the lord’s mouth. “Sleep,” she repeated, and all the candles in the room flared bright, then guttered out.

  Three balls of troll-light filled the room, none of them mine.

  “Is he… dead?” Marie looked like she was about to be sick.

  “He’s asleep.” I tilted my head, listening to the slow but steady beat of the other man’s heart. “How long will it last?”

  Cécile sighed. “We’ll have to give him more of the potion in a few days. And figure out a way to keep him fed. All this will be for nothing if he starves to death.” Climbing to her feet, she surveyed the room, eyes widening at the bloodstains covering the floor. “What has happened?”

  Letting Aiden’s head drop to the floor with a thud, I got to my feet as well. “Compulsion drove him to kill his father.”

  She covered her mouth with one hand, and I felt the stab of empathetic grief as she turned to Marie. “My lady, I am so sorry.”

  “As you should be.” Marie extracted a handkerchief and wiped the mess from her son’s face. “It’s your fault.”

  The retort that formed in my mind died on my lips as Cécile gave a slight shake of her head. She could defend herself, but had chosen not to.

  “You’ve a place to keep him?” I didn’t wait for Marie’s nod, before continuing, “Take him there now.” To Vincent, I said, “Make sure no one sees him.”

  I waited for my friend to leave with Aiden and Marie before saying more, purposefully refraining from looking Cécile’s direction. I could sense the anticipation on her – that there was something she wanted to tell me or needed to say, but whatever it was could wait. And if she thought otherwise, she could bloody well order me to listen to her, since she clearly had no compunctions against doing so.

  Marc stood next to Sabine – an unlikely pair, though neither appeared discomforted. “How long do we have?” I asked him, not wasting time on pleasantries. He and the twins must have broken out of Trollus moments after the curse was lifted, then come to Trianon at full sprint with whatever warnings they had for me. If they were here, then I’d no doubt that the frontrunners of my father’s soldiers were right behind them.

  Marc didn’t answer, only extracted a letter from a pocket and handed it over. I recognized the seal as my father’s, the wax smeared as though applied with great haste. “What is this?”

  “I don’t know.” He rocked slightly on his heels. “All he said was that it was to be brought to you with no delays.”

  My fingers hesitated over the seal, the paper feeling heavy in my hands.

  “Tristan–”

  “Later.” I cut Cécile off before she could say more, and then snapped the seal.

  * * *

  Tristan,

  You have succeeded where five centuries of rulers have failed, as I knew you would. All is forgiven. Return posthaste to Trollus with Cécile so that you can be reinstated as heir. Your people need you here. As do I.

  T

&nbs
p; * * *

  Everything in the room fell away as I read and reread the lines, the paper in my hand trembling.

  “Tristan, what does it say?” Marc’s question filled my ears, though I sensed he’d had to repeat it more than once. I cleared my throat, but the words caught, so I cleared it again and read the note. As I did, I could hear my father’s voice and see his gloating face, and all I could think of was that iron-rimmed square on my aunt’s Guerre set where the onyx piece with my face sat. How my father considered me a puppet to be played as he saw fit. How he believed he could pull my strings until I’d accomplished what he wanted, never once caring about the cost, then call me back to heel.

  I hated him.

  I hated him.

  I hated him.

  “Tristan.” I felt Cécile’s hand on my sleeve. “Tristan, listen to me. Your father isn’t the enemy.”

  The paper in my hands exploded into fire.

  Chapter Ten

  Cécile

  The moment I said it, I knew it was a mistake. Not because I was wrong, but because Tristan wasn’t ready to hear it. I should’ve explained the facts and given him the chance to come to the conclusion himself, because when it came to his father, he was not logical. He was not reasonable. He wasn’t himself.

  The letter from his father exploded into silvery fire, and I dropped my hand from Tristan’s sleeve and took a step back from the heat.

  He went very still in the way only trolls could manage, then slowly turned his head to fix me with an unblinking stare. That strange and alien gaze that seemed entirely without emotion. Almost without… life. A lie of an expression, because the sense of betrayal I felt from him twisted my guts. The silence stretched for what seemed like painful minutes before he exhaled and said, “Explain.”

  “We went to talk to the fairies,” I started to say, then stopped, realizing that it sounded like I’d deliberately courted disaster. “We needed to know what was going on in Trollus – what our enemies were planning.” I glanced at Sabine, and she nodded once in encouragement. “I knew you’d send scouts to spy, but even if they evaded capture – which isn’t likely – they wouldn’t know what to look for. They wouldn’t understand the dynamics like we would. And I knew the fairies could open a hole that would allow me to see what’s happening in Trollus without risk of capture.”

  “Without risk?” Tristan’s voice was toneless, but somehow managed to be filled with incredulity and admonition.

  Ignoring the comment, I continued, “She came when I called, and bargained with me. In exchange for a song, she agreed to show me our enemy.” I dragged my gaze up from the floor to meet Tristan’s eyes. “She showed me Angoulême, Roland, and Lessa.”

  “She?”

  I nodded. “The Winter Queen.”

  Victoria whistled through her teeth, but I barely heard it through the jolt of trepidation I felt from Tristan. “And?” he asked.

  An explanation of what I’d seen poured from my lips, but as valuable as the information was, I was more interested in his reaction to the Queen’s comments about his father. I repeated the conversation word for word, and then held my breath, waiting.

  Nothing.

  “She thinks Angoulême is the enemy we should focus on.”

  Tristan let out a humorless laugh. “No, she withheld what you really wanted so that she could get what she really wanted. Which was?”

  I swallowed, my chest feeling tight. “She wanted me to arrange a meeting with you. She wanted to trick me into getting you outside these walls. But ultimately, what she wanted was your name.”

  Everyone in the room went quiet.

  “Obviously I declined that bargain,” I said.

  “I suppose we can consider that a win,” Tristan said, and my spine stiffened.

  “Don’t you take that tone with her.” Sabine stormed up and inserted herself between Tristan and me. “We might have taken a risk in talking to those creatures, but at least we accomplished something. We know which of our enemies is most worth our attention and at least part of their plan, including a hint as to where the Duke might be hiding. And we know that monster who styles herself as a Queen has an interest in getting you out into the open. What have you done?” She waved her hand at the bloodstains. “Let Aiden run willy-nilly through the castle despite knowing he was under your father’s control. Let him kill the Regent. Glassed us in with magic that so far hasn’t protected us from anything. Stones and sky, you should be thanking Cécile for arriving when she did or Aiden would be dead and Marie, the only ruler you could expect the soldiers to follow, would hate your miserable guts.”

  “If you two hadn’t provided such a timely distraction, the Regent wouldn’t be dead,” Tristan retorted. “And your clue to Angoulême’s intended hiding place is hardly helpful. ‘The faces of Anaïs’s ancestors?’” He shook his head sharply. “It could be the ruins of one of their old properties or a stockpile of artwork and possessions. She might not even have meant her family specifically, but rather something related to the fey. Nor need it be on the Isle: for all we know, he intends to catch a ship to the continent and run things from there. Distance means little when one has a name.”

  It was then that I tuned them out, their bickering nothing but a drone of noise in the background. My cheek stung and I was exhausted from days without sleep, but I knew if I closed my eyes, all I would see was Roland walking across the Isle and slaughtering as he went. Tristan and I had unleashed him on the world, and what were we doing to stop him? Fighting amongst ourselves.

  “Well?”

  I blinked, realizing that everyone was staring at me. “Pardon?”

  Tristan’s face darkened further. “What do you suggest we do?”

  I swallowed into the empty pit that was my stomach. “We can’t hope to fight a war on two fronts and win. Your father is the lesser evil. For now, we need to join forces with him to stop Angoulême and Roland.”

  I swayed against the wave of emotion that smashed into me, and it was an effort to meet Tristan’s eyes. The room became uncomfortably hot, the itchy tingle of too much magic in too small of a space marching across my skin.

  “No.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but everyone heard it. Stepping around Sabine, he walked out of the room.

  I tried to go after him, but Marc stepped into my path. “Let him go.” He nodded once at Victoria, and she swiftly departed. “She’ll calm him down.”

  “How many people will have to die before he realizes he’s making a mistake?” I asked, rubbing a hand across my face. It came away coated in gold glitter – remnants of my costume from a performance that seemed a lifetime ago.

  Marc caught hold of my elbow and led me over to the table. “Sit.” To Sabine, he said, “She needs to eat something – can you arrange for that?”

  She didn’t answer, but her shoes made soft little thuds as she crossed the room. Marc sat next to me, and though he was silent, his presence was as much a comfort as it had always been.

  “It is hard for any of us to imagine Thibault as an ally,” he eventually said. “But for Tristan…”

  “I understand that.” I rested both elbows on the table. “I hate him, too. He’s hurt me. Hurt those I care about.”

  “Do you understand?”

  I lifted my head, surprised.

  “I do not wish to marginalize the harm Thibault has caused you,” he said, gloved finger tracing a knot in the wood of the table. “But you’ve been under his thumb for a matter of months, whereas we’ve been there our entire lives, Tristan especially. Almost his entire life has been predicated upon the belief that his father is the enemy – the man he needed to defeat at whatever cost. To set that aside – even if it is the correct choice – is no small thing.”

  “Do you think it’s the correct choice?” I asked.

  Marc leaned back in his chair, troll-light moving with him so that his face remained in shadows, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Sabine standing at the door, expression intent. “I think
it would certainly be the swiftest and surest way to put a stop to Angoulême, Roland, and their followers. That in the short term, it would mean less loss of life. And,” he held up a hand to forestall my interjection, “that is worth something. But it would come at a cost.”

  I chewed on my thumbnail. “Because it would put the King back in control?”

  “Worse,” Marc replied. “It would cement his power to the point we might never be able to wrest it from him again.” He leaned toward me, elbows on his knees. “Tristan has worked for a very long time to create an alternative to the way his father rules Trollus. At first, it was covert, appealing only to the half-bloods and a few token sympathizers. But that’s changed. The city is ready to follow him, ready to fight for a new way of life, and if he were to bend knee to his father now…” Marc sighed. “It would be a betrayal I’m not sure he’d ever be able to overcome. And it would mean the Isle would be subject to Thibault’s rule for the rest of his life.”

  I had no stomach for this: for the weighing of strategies when lives were at stake. I’d always take the path that would save lives now versus saving lives later, because I believed that time would provide a solution that would see all lives saved. Some – Tristan included – would say that it was a lack of foresight on my part, but I couldn’t stand by and watch people die because it was the strategically correct thing to do.

  “He wouldn’t really be bending knee to his father,” I protested. “It would only be until we’ve dealt with Angoulême, and then Tristan can rid Trollus and the world of his father.”

  “And do you think Thibault wouldn’t be ready for that?”

  I jumped to my feet, chair tipping over with a clatter. “So you think I’m wrong? That we should just sit back and let Roland slaughter our friends and families while we figure out a way to assassinate the King?”