“Banish the idea from your thoughts,” she said. “Then come and hear me out before I breathe my last.”
I knelt next to her, desperate to find Tristan and get him free of Trollus before Roland found him. We could hide, or find a ship that would take us to the continent. Run and live while everyone else suffers for your mistakes.
“Thibault is dead,” she whispered, and I watched in disbelief as a tear trickled down her cheek.
“You do not know that for sure,” I said, taking her hand. “He’s strong, it’s possible that–”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t.” The air surrounding the hand I held shifted, illusion falling away to reveal blackened bonding marks. “When Thibault and Matilde were bonded, something unexpected happened. We kept it a secret, but the time for that is over.”
“I thought you hated him,” I said. “That you were helping Tristan with his plot to kill his father.”
“I did.” She smiled. “And I was. I’ve hated Thibault since he destroyed our plans over Lessa’s fool of a mother. Fought against his decision to bond my sister and made his life a living hell every day since. But over Tristan, we were united. Allies against enemies who would’ve seen that boy dead a dozen times over and comrades in our efforts to mold him into the man he needed to be.”
Like the gardens around us, I could spend a lifetime amongst these creatures and never stop being surprised at their duplicity.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered before breaking into a ragged cough. “I know Thibault was cruel to his son and that you think me equally so for supporting him, but it was all to protect Tristan. Believing that Thibault was Tristan’s enemy stayed the hands of Angoulême and his followers, because they believed Thibault would kill Tristan himself before allowing a sympathizer to take the crown. It was the only way.”
She shuddered and I gripped her hand tight, knowing death would come to her in moments.
“But our methods left their scars on him,” she said. “And that I regret. Please tell him that he was loved by all his family. That he was all we hoped him to be and more. A true king.”
She went still, and I thought it over, but then she stirred. “Cécile?”
“Yes?” I asked, afraid of what more there could be to say.
“What happened to Matilde was Angoulême’s doing. Roland may have wielded the blade, but he wept as he was doing it.”
She said no more.
Reaching down, I gently brushed her eyelids shut, then the Queen’s as well. When I looked up, Lessa, still wearing her Anaïs disguise, was smiling at me.
I jerked the knife out of the Queen’s chest, holding it up as I climbed to my feet. It was coated with her blood, but I didn’t know if there was enough power in it to bind Lessa or not. Nor was I sure if I could get close enough to find out.
“I ought to just kill you and be done with it,” Lessa said, her eyes glittering with amusement at the knife. “But keeping you alive might serve a better purpose. For now.”
Run.
But my feet were fused to the ground with magic, and before I could try to throw the knife or work another spell, Lessa threw back her head and screamed, “Help! Someone help! The Queen has been murdered.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cécile
Beneath Trollus ran a network of sewers. Below that, extensive caverns and vaults where grain and foodstuffs were stored. Underneath that, I discovered, was where the trolls kept their prisoners. That it was devoid of light was a given, but as the guards dragged me deeper into the earth, it seemed darker than the city, than the mines, than even the labyrinth, because it was so very far from any sort of light.
The low-ceilinged tunnels were damp with moisture, the air stale as though no one came down here very often. Or perhaps stale from the countless exhalations of prisoners who would never again see light.
The guards hadn’t doubted Lessa’s words when they’d come upon us, me holding a knife coated with blood, the troll queen and her conjoined twin sister lying dead at my feet. While most would’ve forgiven Tristan for killing his father – many even applauding him for it – having his human wife achieve the same results by killing his mother was another matter. At best, it made him a coward, and at worst… Well, the Queen had been well-loved by her people, and the Duchesse, too. Their murderer would not be forgiven.
I couldn’t even defend myself or offer up the truth. Lessa had gagged me before anyone arrived on the scene, warning the guards who took me away not to allow me to speak lest I use my witch magic upon them. They’d taken her words to heart – though in truth, I did not need to say a word to work with troll magic – guiding me at arm’s length with steel shackles, eyes wary and watching. I might have struggled still, but they were taking me in Tristan’s direction, and where he was, I needed to be.
“Put her in here,” one of the trolls muttered. His light gleamed against the heavy steel door, which swung open on oiled hinges to reveal mildew covered stone walls of a tiny space. Then he shoved me inside, and all there was to see was blackness. The shackles on my arms clinked, but they were nothing compared to the walls closing in on all sides, the space barely larger than a coffin.
Stay calm! I ordered myself, but I didn’t know how I was to do so when I’d been effectively buried alive. Tristan was very close, but what good was that with us both entombed and me gagged? Snot bubbles snapped and splattered against my cheeks as I struggled to breathe through my nose, through my tears, but I couldn’t get enough air.
My lungs fluttered like the wings of a sparrow, and I clawed at the liquid magic filling my mouth. But it did no good. I was drowning on my own tears, on my own panic, and my elbows slammed against the walls, tearing my skin and bruising the bone.
“Cécile?”
His voice did as much as a mouthful of air to calm me, and I rested my forehead against the door, my breathing steadying.
“There’s a gap at the base of your cell,” he said. “Reach down, and you will feel my hand.”
I dropped to my knees, scrabbling around until my fingers found his, warm and familiar. Fresh tears threatened, and I bowed my head, pressing my face against our linked hands.
“Say something. Tell me you’re all right.”
My nails dug into his skin, and I shook my head, strands of my hair brushing against our fingers.
He was silent, then, “They’ve gagged you? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”
I squeezed once for yes.
“They told me that you killed my mother and my aunt–” He broke off. “Is it true?”
He didn’t want to believe it, I could feel it. But there was doubt there, too, and I couldn’t blame him for it. Maybe I’d done it in a desperate attempt to save him, or maybe I’d decided to finally have my revenge. I squeezed twice. No.
His relief was staggering, but short lived. “Lessa?” he asked.
No.
Then reluctantly, “Roland?”
I didn’t want to answer, because he already shouldered too much of the blame for his brother’s actions.
“Cécile?”
A tear dripped off my nose. Yes.
He pulled his hand away from mine, his pain making my teeth ache. I shoved my fingers through the hole, my fingernails scratching against the stone, but my manacle caught on the edge, holding me back. He’d drawn away, pulled in on himself. And as I rested my cheek against the wall, very faintly, I could hear him weeping. In a moment, he’d lost nearly all his living family, the remaining two the perpetrators.
They loved you, I mouthed against the wall, wishing he could hear, though the knowing might make it worse.
“It’s my fault.” His voice hitched. “Because of me, the gates were left unguarded. They might not have been able to stop him, but they would have slowed him down. Given my father enough time to get to her.” A sob tore from his throat. “He knew. That’s why he was running to find her, and I stopped him. Stole those precious seconds that might have made a difference
.”
And I’d sent the Queen and the Duchesse running straight toward Roland. If I hadn’t told them Tristan was in the palace, perhaps they would’ve stayed hidden in the garden maze for those precious seconds. We were both complicit. But we weren’t at fault, and neither was Roland.
I clawed my nails against the stone, snagging and tearing them in an attempt to get his attention. “Stop.” Tristan pressed my hand against the ground. I retracted my arm, then turned my hand over and slid it back through, catching hold of him. Flattening his palm, I traced the letters. L.I.S.T.E.N.
Slowly, but methodically, I spelled out my message: I was there. Spoke to Sylvie before she died.
His hand stiffened at the mention of his aunt, but I continued. Angoulême made him do it. Roland wept as he struck the blow.
Silence.
I saw red even in the darkness, and Tristan said, “I’m going to rip his heart out for this. I’m going to make him pay.”
I agreed with the sentiment, but how we would accomplish the act was another matter. Roland might not wish his brother dead, might hate the Duke as much as we did, but he was wholly under Angoulême’s control, which made him an unreliable ally, to say the least. Even if he did somehow help us kill the troll who held his leash, the world would be no better off with us having our revenge. He’d be violent and uncontrollable, and without his magic, there would be no way for Tristan to stop him. Try as I might, I could not see a way through.
I squeezed Tristan’s fingers tight, refusing to give up, and a shiver ran through my body. It was cold, and growing colder by the second.
She was coming.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tristan
The walls crackled as the moisture coating them crystallized into frost, the chill biting with every inhalation, my skin burning wherever it was exposed. But even without Winter’s familiar calling card, I would’ve known it was her. The magic she’d taken prickled with familiarity, and I felt almost – almost – as though it would do my bidding if I bent my will to it.
“Be silent, no matter what you hear,” I whispered, then I got to my feet, even as I heard a familiar clink of metal coming from Cécile’s cell.
The heavy door tore from its hinges, flipping end over end until it smashed against the end of the hallway with a reverberating crash. “I see you’ve been practicing,” I said, inclining my head to the Queen of Winter and praying Marc had bargained well.
She scowled, face fixed in the visage she’d worn when last I’d seen her. Magic slammed me against the rear of my cell, and I forced a groan into a laugh. “Careful now, I’m feeling fragile, and it would do neither of us any good if you were to accidentally kill me.”
“What makes you believe it would be an accident?” she hissed, grabbing me by the shirt and jerking me forward until we were separated by mere inches.
“Because you wouldn’t have risked coming here if there were anyone else capable of releasing you from this burden,” I said, prying her fingers loose one by one. Physically, I was stronger than her, and that was a very good thing.
Her lip curled. “Take it back. You may consider it a gift.”
I straightened my shirt. “No.”
Magic flexed in the air, and I held up one hand to stall her. “Not as a gift, but I will take it back in exchange for something from you.”
“You have no ground to stand on,” she said, lifting her chin. “You either take it or I kill you.”
“You give me what I want,” I said, “Or you remain bound to this world as surely as any troll.” It had been one of the gambles I’d made stepping outside of the safety of the castle walls. One, that couched in her offer of support was the desire to see all my kind dead before my uncle could put us to use. Two, that if I eliminated grounds for an alliance – which she intended to use as a guise for killing off as many trolls as possible – she’d take my magic to do the job herself. Three, that in taking my magic into herself, which was as corrupted by iron as was my flesh, she’d be bound to this world. Corporeal, and vulnerable.
She hesitated, and I added, “Time flows different in Arcadia than it does here. How long have you been gone from your throne? Do your people still owe you their allegiance, or have you been replaced? Have you lost the war?”
Silence. “What is it that you want?”
“Your oath that you and yours will never venture into this world again.”
She snorted. “Your boldness undermines your cleverness, troll. Let’s see how well you bargain while the witch bleeds.”
Winter wrenched open Cécile’s cell door; but out of the darkness swung heavy steel shackles, one of them catching the Queen hard across the cheek, slicing it open. Blood poured down the fairy’s cheek as Cécile stepped out of her cell, her face tight with focus as she bound the Queen’s magic. My magic.
“Witch!” The fairy shrieked, but before she could attack Cécile, I tackled her to the ground, wrapping the manacle chain around her.
“Where are your wolves?” I whispered into her ear. “Where are your dragons and leviathans? Have they abandoned you now when you need them most?”
It was that more than the burning metal around her neck that brought fear to her eyes. The idea that she had been gone too long, and that her desire to be queen of all had rendered her queen of nothing. “You cannot go back while in the possession of my magic,” I said. “You are trapped.”
Her throat convulsed. “If you take your power back, I’ll swear it.”
I eased off her throat. “Say it.”
“I swear to keep the Winter fey from this world.”
I smiled. “Done.”
This bargain, much like the first I’d made with her, reverberated through me like a thunderclap. But with it came the sweet ache of power, and almost immediate relief as my multitude of injuries began to heal. Releasing her from the steel wrapped around her neck, I sat back on my haunches.
Her outline blurred, the shape of a woman falling into semi-transparent mist. Then her glamour shifted, and what rose to its feet was a thing of fangs and claws, elongated pupils alien and unreadable. It snarled once, then the world tore and it sprang through the opening, which disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Cécile stood shivering, one arm braced against the wall, the other pressed against her stomach. I removed the magic that had been gagging her. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She blinked once, eyes glazed. Then her knees buckled. I caught her, pulling her close even as I knew we couldn’t linger. Holding her chased away any lingering need I had for the seeds; made me forget why feeling nothing had ever appealed to me. With her, whether she was in my arms or on the far side of the world, I wasn’t alone. Never had that meant more than now.
“That was quick thinking with the spell,” I said, needing to break the silence before I broke down. “How did you get free?”
Opening her balled-up fist, she held out a hairpin decorated with a jeweled flower. I recognized it, pain stabbing through me anew. “She fixed my hair just before…” She swallowed hard. “Take it.”
It felt like punishment, but I plucked my mother’s hairpin from Cécile’s palm and placed it in my pocket. One final gift that seemed laden with foresight; because without it, Winter might have come out ahead in our transaction.
“Your aunt left me with some things to tell you,” Cécile said, squeezing my hand.
“They will have to wait. We need to get out of Trollus before someone discovers I’ve recovered my magic.” That no one had come down yet was concerning. Marc was supposed to have bargained for the safety of trolls and humans alike before releasing her from the circle, but what if she’d gotten free some other way? What if everyone in Trollus was dead?
I helped Cécile to her feet, then lifted her into the air. She’d been pushed to the point of death and beyond in this past day, and we weren’t done yet. I needed her, and that meant conserving her strength. “I can’t risk an encounter with Roland within Trollus,” I said, cloaking u
s in illusion and dimming my light. “The city would be destroyed along with everyone in it. We’ll need to lure him out to fight, but I don’t know how.”
“We lure him out by capturing the one who holds his strings.”
I risked a glance down at my wife. She was so very pale, skin marked with livid bruises and scratches. What had happened to her in the days that she’d been gone? In the days where I hadn’t cared whether she lived or died? One thing was certain: I needed to get her help immediately. “That would be a good plan, but I don’t know where Angoulême is.”
A faint smile cross her lips. “But I do. He’s with your ancestors,” she said, then she passed out in my arms.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cécile
I woke to the smell of wood smoke and roasting meat, my body sore, but the worst of my aches and pains gone.
“She’s awake. I’ll give you two a moment alone,” I heard my gran say, and as I blinked away the stickiness in my eyes, Tristan leaned over me. “How do you feel?”
“Better.” I looked around the interior of the cabin. “I don’t remember getting here.”
“That’s because you slept the entire way,” he replied, then twisted from side to side, cracking his back. “You’re heavier than you look.”
I made a face, allowing him to help me upright. “I meant, how did you find the camp?”
“I have my methods,” he said, then he kissed me. “Though you might wish I hadn’t. Everyone is quite angry about that stunt that you pulled.” His lips found mine again, harder this time, his teeth catching my bottom lip. “What were you thinking?”
“What were you thinking with that stunt you pulled?”
He made a noise that was both agreement and exasperation, then sat next to me on the cot, his arm strong and steady behind my back. I took in his messy hair, torn clothes, and face marked with a streak of soot. His mouth was drawn into a thin line, and I wondered when I’d last seen him smile. Or if he ever would again. How much of the truth did he know about his family? And if he knew nothing, would me telling him do any good?
Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three Page 20