Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  I’d tried to scramble back, but my wrists and ankles had been bound to the earth with ice, which, inexplicably, I couldn’t break. I reached for my power, but it wasn’t there.

  “The last fleeting moment of consciousness of a soulless thing has no magic, mortal.” She smiled, revealing a mouth full of fangs. “You’ve little time – she has little time – and we’ve much to discuss.”

  Cécile. If I was dead, then she… “Who are you,” I demanded, though I already knew. This was Arcadia. We were in a meadow, and all around things grew lush and fragrant. Alive. Except, where her hands rested, the grass was brown. Death snaked out and away from her, leaves changing color and falling from the trees, petals withering into dried little husks. Which should not be possible. Not at the height of summer, in the depths of my uncle’s court.

  Winter.

  “What do you want?” I demanded, trying to maintain focus. But it was hard, because I was dead and I had not been through with life. There had been so much left to do, and Cécile…

  Winter ran one clawed finger down my cheek, and I felt the burning cut of cold. The silver lace of bonding marks covered her knuckles, the back of her hand, her wrist. “It is a cruel thing,” she whispered, “to be tied to the one whom you hate. To battle and war for eternity while knowing you will never see your enemy’s demise, for it would also be your own.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I snarled. But the bravado was false, because I could feel myself fading. Soon I would be nothing, and Cécile… Please live, I silently pleaded. Please try.

  Amusement filled the fairy queen’s gaze, and she said, “Summer was in the bloom of its power those many millennia ago when He allowed his brother, and his brother’s warriors, to wander in your world unchecked. He was so convinced of his invulnerability with me quelled and chained to his throne that he did not see the danger. But I did. And it was a sweet thing indeed to watch him lose so much out of his own arrogance.”

  Her eyes were bright and vicious, and I wanted to tell her to get on with it. To tell me what it was that she wanted, because she would not be wasting her time on this conversation if moments later I’d cease to exist.

  “There was a reason no fey of ice and snow were trapped in your miserable world,” she said. “I protect my people. I keep them safe.” Bending over, she kissed my forehead, and it was all I could do not to scream in pain. “And now, Winter is once again in power.”

  “What. Do. You. Want.” I said the words between my teeth. Please don’t let me be too late.

  “I can send you back.” She sat on her heels, the ice disappearing from my wrists and ankles. “The sluag are mine. Their power is my power. I can bring you back to life.” She licked her lips, her tongue silvery and forked. “For a price.”

  I’d give her anything. I knew it. She knew it. “Name it.”

  “A life-debt,” she said, rising to her feet and drawing me to mine. “To be called at a time of my choosing.”

  If it ever came to pass that she and I stood face to face once more, she could ask anything of me, even to take my own life. But what choice did I have? “Done.”

  “And one more thing,” she purred. “You will agree never to speak of what I have told you. To anyone.”

  “Fine,” I said, knowing that somehow, I was getting the worst of this bargain. “Now bring me back to life.”

  “It will be done.”

  And before I could say another word, I fell back into blackness the only sound her voice. “Goodbye, mortal prince. For now.”

  “Tristan!”

  I blinked, Sabine’s face inches from mine, her eyes wild with panic. “They’re here,” she screamed, and with impressive strength, dragged me towards the stairs.

  Up and up we went, then out the door and she was pointing out over the city.

  My eyes tracked that direction, and there was no mistaking the cause of her fright. The streets of Trianon were full of troll-lights. Hundreds of them. And they were coming this way.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cécile

  “She’s dead.”

  The answer fell out of my mouth, and I immediately wished I could take it back and deliver it in a way that wouldn’t cause my sister’s eyes to fill with tears, her chin to tremble. As if there were such a way. Joss had disliked Genevieve, but she’d still been her mother.

  “How? Was it the witch? Anushka?”

  I swallowed hard. “She was Anushka.”

  Silence.

  “You killed her.”

  “I had to. It wasn’t her. Our real mother was already dead.” I was babbling. None of what I said made any sense, but I couldn’t seem to piece together a sentence that would do what I intended. “It was the only way.”

  “To free them?”

  “Yes.”

  She shoved me, and I landed hard on my bottom.

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “Let me explain.”

  “What’s there to explain?” she shouted, blind to the panicked expressions on the others’ faces. “This is your fault. You killed our mother and you set these monsters free to slaughter innocent people. And all for some stupid boy who can’t be bothered to come out from behind his castle walls to undo the damage that he’s caused.”

  “Joss–”

  “I wish you’d stayed dead,” she spat, then swung onto her horse and galloped up the trail.

  Everyone was staring, silent, with hands in pockets or resting on hips.

  Chris stepped up next to me. “You can explain what happened when we get back to camp. It’s not safe for us to linger here any longer.”

  * * *

  It took us the rest of the day and into the evening to reach camp, a set of cabins on the edge of Moraine Lake that hunters used and maintained. They sat in the midst of at least two dozen tents, and though it was too dark for me to see the faces of those moving between them, I recognized most of the voices.

  “That’s Joss’s horse,” Chris said, helping me off the back of his animal. “So you can quit fretting.”

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  He shrugged. “This way.”

  As I followed Chris toward one of the cabins, Marc and the twins fell into step next to me, and the world fell silent as we were enveloped in magic.

  “What do you intend to tell them?” Marc asked.

  “The truth.”

  I could all but feel the silent conversation taking place over my head. “These are my people,” I snapped. “They deserve to know.”

  “Perhaps they do,” Marc replied. “But will they understand what you tell them? Will knowing the truth about why Tristan remains in Trianon help or hinder them? Will it help or hinder us?”

  I chewed the inside of my cheeks, considering how I might explain to people who knew little or nothing about trolls why Tristan remained hidden while the people of the Isle suffered at his brother’s hand. How to explain the weight of a promise. The value of a name. It would sound like nonsense in their ears, a ridiculous excuse.

  “We need them,” Marc said, slowing his pace to buy us more time to talk. “We cannot hope to win this war without the support of the humans, but to have that, we need to give them a reason to fight for us. You need to give them that reason.”

  “I’m not a leader, Marc,” I said, my skin prickling as I counted down the steps to the doorway of the cabin. “And even if I was, I’m the one who unleashed Roland. What could I possibly say that would make up for that?”

  “You made that choice based on the belief that we would prevail over our enemies. That we could build a world where your kind and mine lived in harmony.” He caught hold of my arm, pulling me around to face him. “Did you think that it would happen easily?”

  I mutely shook my head.

  “You’re a princess, Cécile. The future Queen. Start acting like it.”

  The crackling of the fires and the whistle of the wind through the mountains filled my ears once more.

  “You coming in, or we having this me
eting out in the cold?” Chris stood in the entrance to the cabin, beyond him those men and women who were respected in our community, Jérôme, my gran, and my father included.

  “Give me a minute alone with them,” I said to Marc and the twins, and then I stepped through the door.

  There were ten people crammed inside the small building, the fire at the center of the lone room more for light than heat, the press of human flesh enough to put beads of sweat on the brows of all present.

  “How much do they know?” I asked under my breath.

  “As much as I do. I’ve explained about Roland, Angoulême, and the King – they understand the factions,” he said. “And this building is ringed with steel, so you don’t need to worry about anyone listening in.”

  I lifted one eyebrow.

  “Tristan prepared me as best he could in the time he had. How to protect ourselves, and how to fight.” Chris jerked his chin at the group. “They know that much, too.”

  I licked my lips, tasting sweat. Tristan had laid the groundwork for building an army, and this was the moment when I’d either build upon that foundation or burn it to the ground. I coughed to clear my throat, then my father stepped in front of me.

  “Cécile, is it true what your sister says you’ve done?” he asked, and the anguish in his voice was like a knife to my heart.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Of course Joss had told them. How could I possibly have expected otherwise? My eyes raced around the room, taking in the crossed arms and mouths fixed in unbending lines.

  “Did you kill your mother?”

  Be a queen.

  I lifted my chin. “No. I killed her murderer. I killed the witch who’d stolen my mother’s body and used it as her own. I killed the woman who intended to do the exact same thing to me.”

  “You slaughtered the only thing that stood between us and these monsters,” Sabine’s father said. “And where is my girl? Is she well?”

  “Sabine is in Trianon,” I said. “She’s staying in the Regent’s castle, and is under the protection of my husband. There is no safer place.”

  A flurry of whispers filled the room, and I held my hand up to silence them. “Among trolls, as among humans, there are villains. Individuals who are corrupt, selfish, and cruel. The Duke d’Angoulême is one such troll. He controls my husband’s younger brother, Prince Roland, who is a child graced with incredible power, but also afflicted with violent madness. While it is the Prince who has been delivering wrath and ruin upon the Isle these past days, it is the Duke who is the mind behind the violence, his every move intended to bring him one step closer to his goal: taking the crown. We came to Colombey today to kill Roland.”

  “And yet he’s still alive,” Sabine’s father snapped.

  Chris coughed. “I’m afraid that’s our doing. Our stunt interrupted their plans, and…” He shrugged. “There was no way to know.”

  “If this Duke’s the problem, why not go after him?”

  “Because he’s gone into hiding,” I answered. “And by the time we found him, the war would be over.”

  Or so my friends believed. Between Tristan, Marc, and the twins, they’d come up with dozens of places related to the Angoulême family, which was almost as unhelpful as coming up with none. They were convinced they wouldn’t find him that way, although I was not so sure. There had been something about the way Lessa had said it. Something about the entire exchange between her and the Duke…

  “Why’d Tristan send you to do his dirty work?” Everyone turned to my father, who stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tensed.

  I hesitated. They were owed the truth, but was Marc right? Would telling them do more harm than good? “The Duke is building an army of humans. That’s why all the islanders are being rounded up – so that they can be made to swear fealty to Roland. An oath to a troll is binding,” I said. “And if you don’t believe me, ask Chris or Jérôme what it feels like for a troll to hold you to your word.”

  Both of them nodded.

  “My husband, Prince Tristan de Montigny, remains in Trianon to protect it. To keep it as a safe haven for all who seek refuge. To come and put an end to Roland himself would mean leaving those many thousands of people undefended, and,” I swallowed hard, “there are other villains who would take advantage.”

  “The troll king, you mean,” my father said.

  I nodded. “We are fighting a two-sided war, and if we lose…” If the world burns, its blood will be on your hands.

  “And if you win?” Sabine’s father demanded. “If this Tristan defeats his brother, this Duke, and his own father, will he be able to control his people?”

  “Yes,” I said, uncertain whether it was the truth or a lie.

  Mutters and whispers filled the cabin, people turning to those closest to them to voice their opinions.

  “But we cannot win without your help,” I said, sensing this was the moment I’d either win them or lose them for good. The door opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around. “You might be safe hiding in the mountains for now, but if the Duke takes the crown, he’ll hunt you down one by one. Now, he is at his weakest, which means now is the time for us to strike.”

  “What exactly do you suggest we do?” Jérôme demanded. “Pick them off individually? That’s no way to win a war.”

  “He’s right.” Marc stepped up next to me. “Which is why we aren’t going to limit ourselves to a few trolls – we’re going to take away his army.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tristan

  “I don’t understand how they got past my wards,” I said to no one in particular, peering through the lowered portcullis at the silvery glow moving through Trianon. My first thought was that Cécile’s brother had let in several hundred of what he’d believed were humans, but were actually trolls in disguise. Only the lights weren’t coming from the direction of the gate, so I’d swiftly rejected the notion.

  “What difference does it make?” Sabine snapped. “They’re in. What matters now is what we’re going to do to stop them.”

  Turning from the portcullis, I stood unmoving in the snow as human soldiers raced through the courtyard and outbuildings, arms loaded with weapons, eyes wide and mouths drawn into straight lines. Fred, having arrived only moments before on a winded horse, stood amongst them, shouting orders. Despite the chill, the sharp scent of sweat drifted on the breeze, and, from time to time, I heard a muttered prayer from one of the men.

  I patted the pocket of my coat, feeling the bulge of the handkerchief holding my magic seeds. Fear made them act like fools, all logic lost upon them, whereas I saw clearly. Cécile would need to recast the spell for me when she returned. If she returns, I reminded myself, tucking away the idea that I should find another witch.

  Just in case.

  The thought scratched at me, but only for a moment. “They are wasting their time. Against so many, all of this,” I waved my hand at the chaos of soldiers, “will do nothing.”

  Sabine’s hands balled into fists. I watched with interest to see if she’d actually go so far to use them, but she only inhaled and exhaled, then said, “Do you intend to do something to stop them?”

  “Obviously.” I snapped my fingers at Fred, motioning for him to follow us up the stairs into one of the guard towers. “I’ll need them to get closer so that I can identify who is amongst them,” I said. “I’ll pick off the strongest, but I’ll need you and your men to distract the rest. You’ll be like a swarm of flies to a bear, but you should be able to give me the time I need. Once the most powerful are dead, it will be no trouble for me to kill the rest.”

  Both Sabine and Fred were staring at me. “Well?” I said. “Go prepare yourselves for my signal.”

  Turning my back on them, I rested one hand in the narrow arrow slit. I needed to capture at least one alive to ascertain how they had passed my wards. Though why I was bothering with the wards at all was a mystery to me. They were a drain on my magic, and their sole purpose was
to protect the humans in Trianon.

  Which was no longer important. So I let the wards drop, raising them up around the castle walls instead.

  The city was silent, the river muffled by the heavy sheet of ice resting on its surface. The haze of troll-light came closer without spreading out, almost like a procession through the street. A peculiar tactic, and not one I’d expect from my father. He was a strategic master, but it had been a long time since I’d played against him so directly.

  A very long time.

  I’d been ten years old, and it had been a timed game of Guerre played before most of our court. Though the hourglass had only allowed us a minute per move, we’d been at the game for hours and I’d been bored. Partially because losing to my father was inevitable, and partially because I’d intended to go swimming in the lake with my friends.

  Anaïs sat in the first row behind my father and, despite my best efforts, my gaze kept tracking to her. Her grandmother, the Dowager Duchesse, had forced her to wear a dress, and Anaïs was twitching irritably, casting the occasional sideways glance at her sister, who was deep in conversation with Marc. The twins had been forbidden from the throne room after the last prank they’d played, but I knew they’d be waiting for us at the boat. Anaïs caught my gaze and then crossed her eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from grinning.

  “Tristan.”

  My attention snapped back to my father, then to the timer, the last few grains of sand falling to the tiny white peak below. I shoved a piece onto a different square, my stomach clenching a second later as I saw the error. My skin prickled as my father’s magic manifested with his anger, but I kept my eyes on the board, too afraid to look up.

  In one swift move, he snatched up my piece and hurled it across the throne room where it shattered against the wall. “Everyone out,” he bellowed, and the court fled, Anaïs the only one brave enough to hesitate, but even then, it was only for a second.