Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Just in case.

  Because it could be the last time I ever held her. Ever kissed her. Ever heard her voice. And whether an hour or a lifetime passed, I needed to be able to close my eyes and have it be her who filled them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cécile

  Our friends waited in the council chambers, all four of them staring at the row of perfume bottles Sabine had tracked down. “Will these do?” she asked, eyes running over my face and making me doubt how well I’d fixed my cosmetics.

  “As well as anything,” I replied, picking one up. It smelled overpoweringly floral, and I wrinkled my nose. “All that matters is that they break at the right time. The blood must come in contact with their skin.”

  “Not a problem.” Vincent hefted one of the perfume bottles and pretended to throw it at Marc’s head. Marc didn’t so much as flinch. “How close do you need to be, Cécile?”

  “Closer than I’d like.” I nibbled on my thumbnail, watching Tristan go to the far side of the table. The seeds of magic had disappeared into one of his pockets, but I felt their presence acutely. When would he take one? What would it do? “We’ll only get one chance to attack them.” And I wasn’t entirely confident I could take down more than one troll at a time. Roland had to be first, because at least my friends could handle Lessa and the others if they had to. But what if Angoulême’s plans had changed? What if there were more trolls with them than we expected?

  “Perhaps we might have a contest to see how many we can hit Lessa with before Cécile finishes her spell,” Victoria suggested, interrupting my thoughts.

  Tristan coughed. “As the donor supplying your projectiles, I’m going to veto that plan.”

  “Does it need to be you?” Marc asked. “You’re taxed as it is with this dome you’ve created. The last thing we need to be doing is bleeding you dry.”

  Tristan sat down at the table and rested his chin on his hands, eyes thoughtful. “When Anushka used the spell on me, it was as though I were bound by my own power. Cécile will be manipulating the magic of whomever’s blood she uses, which suggests the more powerful the donor, the better.”

  “But Anaïs was able to stop your father,” I reminded him.

  “I know.” He frowned. “But better not to take chances.” And before anyone could argue with him, he pulled a knife out of his boot, pushed up his sleeve, and sliced the blade across his forearm where the earlier laceration had long since faded. Angling the tip of the weapon, he watched expressionless as rivulets of crimson ran down the steel and into one of the bottles.

  “That’ll do,” I said after the third bottle was full. “The last thing we need is you fainting and Trianon falling while we’re gone.”

  Tristan gave a slight roll of his eyes, but didn’t argue as I tied a handkerchief around his arm. As he fussed with the sleeve of his shirt, I caught Sabine’s attention and held it. Watch him for me.

  She nodded.

  Carefully wrapping the bottles in a scarf, I put them in my satchel. “Night is upon us. It’s time we set sail.”

  * * *

  The sails of the ship snapped tight with a gust of wind, the masts creaking, and water slapping against the hull. With each sound, I flinched, certain that Roland stood on the beach under the cover of night, his sharp ears marking our progress, waiting for the right moment to strike. The sailors seemed of a like mind, the tension rolling off them palpable even in the darkness.

  “This is as far as we take you,” the captain said, and I curbed the urge to shush him. “You’ll need to row yourselves to shore.” The tiny boat in question hit the water with a splash, and a squeak of fear forced its way out of my throat.

  “Thank you,” Marc replied. “But we’ll walk. Please hold your position until we signal.”

  I heard the rustle of his cloak and a sliver of moonlight peeked through the clouds to illuminate him standing on the railing, one hand held out to me. “Mademoiselle?”

  Though we’d agreed no one would use my name lest they draw the attention of the Winter Queen, it still jarred in my ears to be called anything but. Swallowing hard, I took hold and allowed him to pull me up, his steady grip the only thing keeping me from falling into the black waters below. “Ready?”

  “For what?” I spluttered.

  Marc stepped off the rail.

  I gasped, but instead of plunging down, he stood suspended in thin air. I cautiously edged the tip of my boot out, my heart slowing not in the slightest as I felt the firm plank of magic beneath my foot. “I can’t see,” I whispered. “I don’t know where to step.”

  “Just follow my lead,” he said, tugging me forward. I took a hesitant step, but spray from the ocean had already coated the magic, and my boots slid on the slick surface. The ship rocked on a wave, and the invisible plank bobbed up and down wildly. I ripped my hand from Marc’s grip and dropped to my stomach, grasping about until my fingers closed over the edges of the magic. Then I pressed my face against it, trying and failing not to think about what it would feel like to plunge into the icy waters below.

  “Want me to carry you?” Victoria asked.

  “No.” Taking a few measured breaths, I added, “I’m fine.”

  The plank took that opportunity to buck like an untrained horse, and I slid to one side, spray soaking into my clothing. Lingering in this position wasn’t doing me any favors.

  I crawled forward, keeping a tight grip on the edges and the faint shadows of Marc’s boots directly in front of my nose. I made it perhaps the equivalent of ten paces before magic looped around my waist and flung me over Victoria’s shoulder.

  Holding onto the end of her braid with one hand, I clenched my teeth and held my breath as the three of them moved at reckless speed over the open water, inhaling only when I felt Victoria’s boots sink into the deep sand of the beach. She sat me on my feet, but I immediately sank to my haunches, waiting for the world to quit spinning. Acutely aware that the three of them were watching, I asked, “Did you signal the captain?”

  “He’s been trying to sail away since we stepped off the ship,” Marc replied. “His signal is that I let him.” The debris covering the beach crunched beneath his boots. “We need to get out of the open. There are only a few hours left until dawn.”

  * * *

  We found the first destroyed village by smell more than anything else. Wood smoke, wet ash, and, worst of all, burned meat.

  “He’s not there,” Marc said, catching my arm as I veered off the Ocean Road and up the less trafficked one leading to Nomeny. I knew it was so, because there was a sign at the crossroads, the top of it singed black.

  “I need to know,” was all I said, my boots crunching as I strode across the ice – snow that had been melted, then frozen again in a sheet as far as the eye could see. At first the trees were only scorched, but as we drew closer to the village, they became blackened, burned, then nothing more than ash on the ground. And scattered amongst them were bodies, heat and fire having rendered them unrecognizable, but every one of them face down. They’d been fleeing. Running for their lives.

  There was nothing left of the village but a faintly glowing pit in the ground. I stumbled toward it, my boots sliding in the grey slush, until I stood on the edge. There was nothing. Nothing but rock that had melted and hardened, still hot hours after the attack. And ash. Dozens of lives reduced to ash.

  If the world burns, its blood will be on your hands.

  Turning, I made my way back to where my friends stood next to what remained of the tree line. The dawn rose as I reached them, and as it did, my sense of Tristan went flat. I stopped with one foot raised mid-stride.

  Victoria bent down, her eyes squinting in the glowing brightness of the sun. “Are you well?”

  “Yes,” I said, then stumbled over to a charred trunk and spilled my guts onto the grey ice. I’d known he would use the seed, had known what it would do to him, but the reality was so much worse.

  “I made one of Anushka’s potions for Tristan,” I
said. “It’s meant to mute our bond, but it works by suppressing his emotions.”

  “Why?” Victoria demanded.

  “So that if something happens to her, he’ll be able to carry on,” Marc said, then slowly shook his head as though he had more to say on the matter but was choosing not to. “Can you tell if it worked?”

  My throat convulsed as I swallowed. “Yes. Maybe a little too well.”

  No one spoke, the only sound the wind and the hiss of snowflakes falling into the pit.

  And the tread of many feet.

  I lifted my head, the trolls already facing back to the Ocean Road, heads cocked as they listened.

  “At least a dozen,” Vincent murmured. “Perhaps more.”

  We crept back through the blackened trees, magic blocking us from sight but our silence dependent on stealth. Reaching the Ocean Road, we stopped, groups of islanders trudging past us, many of them bearing signs of injury, and all under guard. But not troll guards.

  Human.

  “Black, white, and red,” Marc muttered as one of the guards passed close to us. “Roland’s new colors?”

  “How is this possible?” I asked, turning to spit in the snow, the taste of vomit still sour on my tongue. “How could he have recruited so many in so little time?”

  “He didn’t,” Marc replied. “This plan has been years in the making.”

  There was nothing else to do but follow them.

  * * *

  We took the hour’s walk to the village of Colombey as an opportunity to discover information, the four of us ranging up and down in pairs to listen to the guards and prisoners. But we learned little other than that the islanders had been roused from their hamlets and told they’d either swear fealty to the rightful ruler of the Isle or find themselves on the sharp end of a sword. Most had capitulated. Some had not. Those who had not hadn’t survived long.

  The village had a thousand times its usual population, many milling about aimlessly, while others sat in the mud, their eyes distant. The armed men bullied townsfolk, farmers, and fishermen into a ragged line leading into the tavern. Men and women. Children, some so young they had to be carried by a parent or older sibling. The only people I saw none of were the elderly and infirm, and a sickening suspicion filled my gut that it was because Lessa had already ordered them killed.

  They shoved a woman holding a child wrapped in blankets toward the line, but she resisted, asking, “Who is he? And why does he need the oaths of children barely old enough to speak? My boy’s sick – he can’t be out in the cold like this.”

  “He’s Prince Roland de Montigny,” one of the men replied, hand drifting to the blade strapped to his waist. “Heir to the throne and soon to be King of the Isle of Light.”

  “What of the Regent?” She looked bewildered, and I wanted to warn her, to tell her to be silent. “The Isle has no King.”

  “It does now,” the man replied. “And His Highness has been wont to take off the heads of those who say otherwise, so best you keep those pretty lips of yours sealed unless it’s to swear allegiance to him. As for your boy…” He ran a finger down the edge of his sword. “He swears or he dies, so he’d best muster up his strength while you wait.”

  The woman paled and pulled the blanket-wrapped form closer. Then she stepped into line.

  There were too many people for us to risk going closer, the chances of one of them stumbling through Marc’s illusion growing by the second.

  “It’s too bright! Shut the door!” Roland’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd, and I instinctively edged closer to Marc. “Can you see him?” I whispered. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s taking their oaths.” Marc drew me backwards, and we retreated into the barn where the twins waited.

  “No sign of Lessa, but Roland is inside with two of Angoulême’s lackeys,” he told them. “Roland, it would seem, has developed an intense dislike for the sun.”

  “And here I thought I’d never find common ground with the boy,” Vincent replied, rubbing at one eye. “No doubt Lessa has the place warded, and even if she doesn’t, we get that close and one of them is going to sense our power.”

  “Agreed.” Marc rested his elbows on the door of a stall, eyes on the horse within, though I doubted he was giving it much thought. “They’ll have to come out eventually, though it will likely be after dark. We’ll ambush them then.”

  “When they’re expecting it.” The words were out of my mouth before the thought was fully formed. “They might think Tristan won’t attack his brother, but they aren’t fools. They’ll have taken precautions, and they know he’ll be more likely to make his move when Roland isn’t surrounded by innocents.”

  Taking a moment to organize my thoughts, I sat on a bale of hay. “It’s the core of their strategy: they’re building an army of humans not because they’re a threat to Tristan, but because he won’t harm them. They’re forming a human shield.”

  “What do you propose?” Marc asked. “Our entire strategy is predicated on us catching him unaware, which is impossible with them closeted inside that building.”

  “What about through the window?” Victoria asked. “A quick burst of magic and–”

  “He’s flanked by the other trolls and the line of sight isn’t good,” Marc said, shaking his head. “You’d have to be only a few paces away to have a clear shot, and he’d sense the magic. None of us can get close enough, and if we take out the entire building, there’ll be countless human casualties.”

  I coughed once, and waited.

  Three sets of silver eyes turned on me. “No,” Marc said. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why?” I asked. “He’s letting the humans right up close to him. What better chance do I have to cut him off from his magic?”

  “Probably none,” Marc said.

  “Well then?”

  “Cutting him off from his power is only half the battle,” he replied. “Unfortunately for you and for us, he doesn’t need magic to rip out your throat. Which is exactly what he’ll do if you walk in, curtsey, and then throw a perfume bottle full of blood at his face.”

  “I wasn’t planning to get that close,” I muttered. “I’ve a good arm.”

  “And what about the other two? Three, if Lessa is close by, which we should assume she is. Is your aim good enough to take out all of them?”

  “You three can take out those two, and if Lessa is there, I won’t act.”

  “But you will come out oath-sworn to Roland, which is problematic,” Marc said. “It’s a bad plan.”

  “It’s humans who are enforcing the lines,” I countered. “It’s nothing for me to compel my way out.”

  “Not without drawing attention to yourself, which runs the risk of Roland or Lessa seeing through your disguise.”

  “How long do you think they’ll argue if we don’t interrupt?”

  I heard Victoria’s comment, but I ignored her, my irritation at Marc commanding my attention. He was as bad as Tristan – refusing to put me at risk even when it was worth the reward.

  “The better part of an hour, I expect,” Vincent replied, and I shot him a dark look, but not before Victoria countered with, “Care to make a wager?”

  “Enough!” I rounded on my friend and plucked out the piece of hay she had stuck between her teeth. “Unless you have something to contribute other than jests, I don’t want to hear a peep from you. Understood?”

  She nodded, then took the piece of hay back and replaced it between her teeth. “Peep.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tristan

  “Are they even watching?” Sabine stomped her feet, the snow crunching beneath her boots. The wind caught at the hood of her cloak, and I reached up to keep it in place, but her hand was already there. “I’ve got it,” she snapped, and adjusted Cécile’s long braid of hair to ensure it remained visible.

  Her sour temper was grinding on my nerves. I’d thought her animosity toward me had eased over the days we’d spent in and out of each other’s
company, but she’d apparently been storing it up. “If you’d quit complaining and listen, then you’d answer your own question.”

  She stiffened, but remained silent, and moments later, the faint thump-thump of wings reached our ears. I tracked the sound, and when the dragon circled east, I pointed at the shape outlined by the coming dawn. “There. It’s been circling outside the dome all night.”

  “Why?”

  I resisted the urge to slam a fist against the stone of the tower, her tone testing my patience. “Because they are watching. Obviously.”

  “I know that,” she snarled. “I meant why hasn’t it come inside the dome? She knows you’re hiding behind these walls, so it isn’t because it’s afraid of you.”

  I frowned at the dragon, forgetting my annoyance. “That’s a good question.”

  “Shocking,” she muttered under her breath, then added, “There hasn’t been a single report of a fairy within the city since you erected that dome, with the exception of those wolves she sent after me and Cécile. And that, I think, was a fit of temper on her part. Why? Why is she leaving Trianon alone?”

  A rooster crowed from somewhere in the city, and already there were people out in the streets going about their business. “They feel safe,” I said. “They think they’re protected.”

  “And they have their new ruler to thank for it.”

  It seemed like madness to even consider it, but the Winter Queen appeared to be aiding our cause. First, sending the dragon to attack the city, then making it seem as though my protection was keeping them away. While Roland was terrorizing the countryside, Trianon appeared a bastion of safety. She was giving the humans a reason to fight for me.

  “I should have you on my council rather than those nitwits the Regent employed,” I said. “You ask all the right questions and you never mince words.”