Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  We moved at a more measured pace, Marc in front, Victoria at my arm, and Vincent holding up the rear. All three of them had weapons in their hands, heads turning at the slightest sound, and eyes scanning our surroundings for any sign of motion. Or scanning them as well as they could. The sun was directly overhead, and even though the forest with its thick evergreens blocked most of the brightness, I still caught all three of them wiping their eyes with the back of their hands.

  A scream echoed through the woods, and we stopped, waiting for another. “From the other trail, I think,” Marc said. “But hard to say whether it was human or troll. Let’s keep moving.”

  We stepped into a clearing, and the sun beat off the pristine snow, making even my eyes sting.

  “Stones and sky,” Vincent hissed. “Never thought I’d miss being stuck underground, but I do.”

  They were walking blind, so I tried to look every which way for them. Despite the chill in the air, sweat dribbled down my back, and every bird chirp or crack of a branch made me jump. I rotated in a circle, peering into the depths of the forest as I turned. Though we were almost through the clearing, I rotated again. Then something caught my eye.

  “Stop.”

  Marc froze. I circled around him, noting the way the hoof prints moved up the side of the path, whereas the troll’s boot prints just… disappeared. “Give me your sword,” I said, then, taking the blade, I poked the ground in front of the last footprint.

  Solid.

  I shuffled forward a pace, and poked the ground. Nothing. A thought occurred to me, and I snapped my head up so hard my neck clicked. But there was no troll hiding in the branches above. Frowning, I took another step, and the ground fell out from under my foot.

  I shrieked and threw my weight back, sprawling in the snow.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Victoria said, even as Marc added, “And the mice discover a way to kill the lions.”

  Rolling onto my hands and knees, I stared into the hole that had nearly claimed me as its next victim. It was deep, and the bottom was covered in sharpened steel spikes. Impaled on one of them was a troll.

  “Is he dead?” I asked, hardly willing to believe it was possible.

  “Quite.” Marc dropped the edge of the white sheet of canvas that, along with a fresh dusting of snow, had been used to conceal the opening. Keen eyes would have seen the trap, but those of a running troll half blind from the sun? Not likely.

  A grouse called from the woods, and I stiffened. “They’re watching us,” I said under my breath. If they were with Chris, then they were my friends, but I was in disguise and none but he would know Marc and the twins were allies. Lifting my hands to my mouth, I repeated the bird call.

  Silence. And too much of it. “Companions of Chris will know who I am,” I whispered to Marc. He nodded once, and held out an arm to help me to my feet.

  Taking a deep breath, I called out, “We’re no threat to you. I’m a friend of Christophe Girard.”

  For several long and painful moments, no one responded, then the bushes rustled and Chris’s face emerged. “Cécile? What did you do to your hair?”

  I winced at his use of my name, hoping the fairies weren’t watching. “Long story.” I gestured at the pit. “What’s going on here?”

  He emerged from the bushes, and with a wave of his hand, four other faces appeared from the woods – all folk from Goshawk’s Hollow. “Tristan gave me a few ideas before I left,” he said. “The rest… Well, I remembered how blinded he was those first few days after he left Trollus, and I figured we could take advantage of that.”

  “And you decided Roland should be your first target?” I balled my hands into fists, curbing the urge to lay into him for ruining our plans. What was done was done.

  Chris shook his head. “We’ve been watching them. Roland refuses to come out into the sun, and besides, Lessa seems to control his every move. Didn’t seem likely she’d let him chase after us into the woods.” Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, he glanced into the pit. “The other two were our targets. Figured we’d take out as many as we could so Tristan’d have a clear shot at his brother. Speaking of which…”

  “He’s protecting Trianon,” I said. “That’s why we’re here – he sent us to put a stop to Roland.”

  Chris’s gaze shot back to me, his brow furrowing. “And judging from your tone, we muddied up your plans.”

  I crossed my arms. “You’re supposed to be helping people to safety.”

  “That’s already done,” he replied. “Your gran personally set to dragging everyone out of their homes and into the mountains, but…” He nodded at the four who’d overcome their fear of Marc and the twins and finally approached. “There’s plenty who’d rather fight than hide, and I’m one of them.”

  I bristled at the implied accusation, but before I could respond, Marc asked, “How many have you killed?”

  “Six.” Chris jerked his chin at the body in the pit. “If that scream was his friend, it will be seven. Cocky bastards are easy to separate, and they’ve not yet figured out our game.”

  “That won’t last.” Magic pried one of the stakes out the ground, and Marc examined it thoughtfully as it floated in front of him. “All it takes is one getting out of a trap alive, or another coming along before you’ve reset it.”

  The air filled with the thud of hooves, and a cloaked rider came through the trees, horse blowing hard in the frosty air. “We caught him! Worked like a charm.”

  “Josette?” Her name came out of my mouth more as an accusation than a greeting, and my sister pulled her horse up hard. “Cécile? What happened to your hair?”

  “Stones and sky! You’re supposed to be hiding in the mountains, not… not…” Lost for words, I gestured at the scene around us.

  “I’m not hiding while some child-monster destroys my home,” she snapped. “I’ll leave that to his older brother.”

  My jaw dropped and Chris stepped between us. “Good riding, Joss. Now get rid of the body and pull up the stakes. We’ll need them for the next trap we set.”

  My sister winced. “There’s a problem with that.”

  Chris frowned. “How so?”

  She cast a sideways glance at Marc and the twins. “There’s some concern about getting too close to it.”

  “Why?” Chris demanded. “You aren’t getting squeamish on me now, are you?”

  “Hardly.” She sat up a bit straighter in the saddle. “But neither have I got stupid. No way I’m getting too close while the damn thing’s still alive.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cécile

  “Albert, Albert, Albert,” Marc said, stopping at the edge of the pit. “And here I believed your loyalty was to His Majesty. When did you turn traitor?”

  I crept up next to him, leaning over the edge to see the troll who had once chased me through the streets of Trollus and been shamed by Tristan for it. He hung suspended on one side, spikes skewering both legs, his torso, and one arm. Though nothing vital appeared hit, the blood pooling beneath him told me it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his injuries.

  He spat a bloodstained glob. “Should’ve guessed it would be you three idiots helping the humans.”

  “Says the one who met his end by falling into a hole,” Victoria said. She and Vincent had flanked the other side of the pit in case the captive tried anything creative. “Did the humans dangle a pastry as bait over their trap, or were you just too stupid to watch where you were going?”

  He swore at her, but she only kicked snow in his face.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Marc said.

  Albert laughed, then ground his teeth together against the pain. “Months. Since Thibault showed his true colors and wed his human-lover of a son to that red-haired whore. Weaklings like that don’t belong on the throne. Guillaume and I both recognized that it was time to switch sides.”

  I frowned, realizing that he didn’t recognize me through my disguise.

  “I knew it,
” he gasped out. “Knew it the moment Tristan stopped me from killing him,” his eyes went to Chris, “And then humiliated me for the sake of that stupid girl: the Duke was right about him being a sympathizer. Worse than a sympathizer, he was willingly bedding that nasty little creature. Was in love with it. And Thibault knew. Put up with Tristan’s proclivities and forgave his treason. That says something.” He coughed. “That means something.”

  Marc didn’t react. “Where is the Duke?”

  Albert grinned. “Somewhere you’ll never find him.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Vincent said. “Angoulême wouldn’t trust his plans to a turncoat commoner. Those human recruits bending knee to Roland probably know as much.”

  “Maybe they do and maybe they don’t,” Albert responded. “But if you think to get the information by torturing it out of me, you’re wrong. I. Won’t. Tell. I’m a dead man as it is.”

  Whether he’d given an oath to the Duke or was that convinced of his own fortitude in the face of torture, he meant what he said. He was as bound to tell the truth as any of them. Part of me wanted to tell them to let him die, but the cost of my earlier cruelty was fresh in my mind. Such a slippery slope it was to become cavalier with life just because the life in question was that of my enemy. It was the attitude of Thibault and Angoulême, and if I was no different, how could I claim to be better?

  My hand went to the two remaining perfume bottles in my satchel, and with a sigh, I gave Marc a little nudge with my elbow. “What about for the chance to live?”

  The injured troll’s eyes bulged with recognition. “You.” His face contorted with effort. But Albert was not Anaïs or Tristan, and the iron piercing his body kept him in check.

  “That’s the offer,” I said. “Tell us where the Duke is hiding, and I’ll save your life.” I’d save it anyway, even if was for only as long as it took for him to go to trial for his actions. “I’ll even heal you first as a token of goodwill.”

  Hope flashed across his face and I knew I’d offered the one thing that would cause him to betray the Duke. But my elation lasted only for a second, then he lifted his head and drove it down on the spike beneath it.

  I clapped a hand over my mouth, wanting to turn away from the sight but forcing myself to bear witness to this latest victim of my actions.

  “Angoulême wouldn’t have taken a traitor into the fold without oaths that ensured his loyalty,” Marc said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “He was a dead man regardless.”

  I turned out of his grip and walked some distance away before resting my forehead against a tree, the frozen sap digging into my skin. Chris’s orders to remove the spikes and bury the body in the pit reached my ears but barely registered.

  Snow crunched behind me. “Did you know him?” Joss asked.

  I gave a slight nod.

  “Was he a… friend?”

  “No.” I turned my head, watching her squish a little pattern into the snow with the toe of her boot, her cheeks pinched in from where she was biting them with her teeth. “You were the other rider.”

  Joss nodded without lifting her head. “They needed someone light who could ride fast, and after we saw what he’d done to Nomeny, everyone else was too afraid.”

  Everyone but my little sister. The folk around us were all men and women grown – they should’ve been the ones to take the risk. Not a child. But she wouldn’t like being protected while her friends were in danger any more than I would. “It was well done,” I said.

  Her eyes met mine. “Why hasn’t Tristan stopped him? Why isn’t he helping us?”

  “He’s protecting Trianon.” My voice cracked as I gave the excuse, and I realized for the first time how terrible it sounded. How worthless it made those not in the capital feel, especially my sister, who had met him. Who was family to him. And pragmatically, I saw how swiftly we were losing our chance to convince the people of the Isle to rally to our cause.

  “He can’t,” I whispered, and shivered as a cold wind brushed against my neck. “Is there somewhere safe we can talk?”

  “Camp’s got a cabin circled with steel,” she said. “You can ride with me.”

  I followed her to where her horse was tethered to a branch. She slipped the bit back in the gelding’s mouth, checked the girth, then fiddled with the buckle of her stirrup. “Cécile?”

  My skin prickled. “Yes?”

  “Is mother all right?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Tristan

  I shifted one of the pieces on the Guerre board I’d made out of light and illusion, then turned to Fred, who’d insisted on standing and watching while I considered my next move. “Yes?”

  “There are refugees outside the gates,” Fred said, his face flushed. “They managed to escape the Duke’s militiamen.”

  “Tell them to seek refuge in the mountains.” I shifted several of the Duke’s human players closer to my own.

  “They have no supplies. Even if they don’t freeze to death, they’ll surely starve.”

  “A certain number of casualties are inevitable.” I took a sip of mulled wine and circled the game, nudging Fred out of my way. He huffed out a breath, one hand balling into a fist.

  “What is it that you want?” I asked.

  “For you to pay attention to me, for starts,” he snapped.

  “I am paying attention to you,” I said. “I’m not so simple-minded that I can’t manage two things at once.” Although it would’ve been my preference that he left so that I could focus on puzzling through our enemy’s strategies, which, in my opinion, was a far better use of my time. I told him as much, and his scowl deepened.

  “You need to let them into Trianon.”

  I shook my head. “They might claim to have escaped my brother, but it’s just as likely they are lying. They could be spies, or worse, insurgents with orders to stir up what chaos they can.”

  “Insurgents? There are children amongst them. Stones and sky, there are babies still in their mothers’ arms!”

  “Roland is a child.”

  Fred threw the jug of wine across the room, where it splattered against the wall, the air filling with the smell of cinnamon and cloves. Souris promptly ran over to the mess and began licking it up.

  “A child can point a pistol as well as any man,” I explained. “Letting them in Trianon would put all those whom we know to be loyal at risk, which would be a disservice to them.”

  “I’m not turning them away.”

  I sighed, and sipped at my drink only to find my cup was empty. “I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter.”

  Expletives fountained from his mouth, and I catalogued a few away for future use.

  “You can’t turn them away, Your Highness.” Sabine came into the room wearing a gown that was too elaborate and costly to be hers, and judging from the sheen of her hair, she’d heeded my earlier advice and bathed. “It is a strategically poor decision in the long run,” she continued. “The people of the Isle will see you as callous and cruel, and they will hate you for it and seek to betray you.”

  “Don’t they understand–”

  She held up a hand. “No. They don’t. You must think of another solution.”

  I set my cup down and extracted a map of the city from a pile, spreading it out smooth. “Is there room at the Bastille?”

  “Putting famers and their families in a prison lousy with vermin and disease is no better.”

  Frowning, I traced a finger over the map. “The opera house, then. It is easily secured, and it’s likely more comfortable than any residence these farmers have ever known.”

  Sabine closed her eyes and muttered something I couldn’t make out before saying, “It will do.”

  “Provide what they need,” I said to Fred. “They’re your responsibility.”

  He turned and left without acknowledging the order, and Sabine gave me a black look as she sat, crossing her ankles beneath her chair.

  We’d been through this earlier, her explaining that my r
eactions were inappropriate, hurtful, and offensive. That Cécile’s magic had wiped away not only the emotions I felt from her, but also my own. I believed her; knew, logically, that my mind was altered from its normal state. But I felt no displeasure or discomfort with the change – quite the opposite, as my ability to focus on a singular problem for hours at a time could only be an advantage.

  “Is Cécile alive?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What if she’s hurt? Would you know?”

  I shrugged. “Likely.”

  “What if she needs your help?”

  It seemed to me that Sabine was missing the logic behind why Cécile had created the seeds in the first place. “If it is dire, she can always use my name.” I refrained from adding that if there were a way to eliminate that particular avenue, I’d do it. Cécile had all but offered to promise never to use my name, but I hadn’t taken her up on it. That had been a mistake.

  “I’m going up into the tower,” she said. “Are you coming?”

  I shook my head. With Fred gone and Sabine lingering outside, I’d have a rare moment alone to think, and I intended to use it. Ignoring her exasperated snort, I waited until I heard the click of the door latch shutting, and then sat on a chair and let myself slip into my thoughts.

  Nearly everything I knew about the fey was information I’d been told or read. Nearly all, because, for a brief moment at the height of summer, I’d been in Arcadia and met the Winter Queen. It was into that memory that I delved.

  It had hurt. The moment when my heart had stopped and I’d felt the bond between Cécile and me sever almost completely, the few frayed threads doing nothing to combat the feeling of loss. The empty void in my mind where my sense of her, and all her kaleidoscope of emotions, had lived.

  Darkness.

  Then the scent of grass and flowers and rain had filled my nose, and I’d opened my eyes to meet the verdelite gaze of a woman, her breath icy against my cheek. “Greetings, mortal.”