Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  But I couldn’t draw this out much longer. He knew I was toying with him.

  “I’d rather not destroy the last piece of our history remaining outside of Trollus,” I said, walking forward until I stood a few paces from the entrance. “Perhaps you might do the honorable thing and come out rather than hiding in yet another hole.”

  “I think not, Your Highness.” The Duke’s voice filtered out on threads of magic, and if he feared his imminent demise, his tone did not betray it. “I’m quite comfortable where I am. Did you find my gift, by the way? Why you bothered sending such a weakling was beyond me – especially one who knew so much.”

  Who could say what the librarian had told him under torture? But two could play at that game. “I haven’t seen the man in months, and I most certainly didn’t send him to do my dirty work. He was here to settle a different score. You are not a popular troll, Angoulême.”

  Silence.

  “Curious how I found you? I’ll tell you,” I said, not waiting for an answer. “It was straight from Lessa’s lips.” I adjusted the sleeves of my coat. “My sister is a double-crossing liar, Your Grace, and yet you’ve left her in charge of your puppet prince. It’s unlike you to be so trusting, but perhaps trust is a privilege you reserve for those who warm your bed.”

  All I could hear was the whistle of the wind, and a bead of sweat trickled down my spine. What if he suspected our plan? What if even now, he was setting a trap? But then he spoke. “You’ve always been over fond of your own voice, Tristan.”

  “We all have our faults.” I let the smile fall from my face. “She had you fooled for a time, though, didn’t she? Made you believe she was Anaïs, which I’m sure was infuriating. But she convinced you of the merit of letting the ruse play out, revealed a long game beyond what you’d ever imagined.”

  Staring at the cracked granite, I let down the walls between me and the hurt my friend’s name always conjured. “You know it was Lessa who killed Anaïs, not my father. Not even on his orders, though I’m sure she said otherwise. Still trust her?” I paused to let that sink in. “You’re a fool if you do. She’s clever, and willing to go further than either of us to get what she wants.”

  “She lived in my home her entire life, you blathering fool,” Angoulême snarled. “Do you think I don’t understand how her little mind works? How to dangle the carrot? How to use her like a tool?”

  The only time the Duke lost his temper was when he was not in control. “As you say, Your Grace, your family owned her for most of her life. Used her as a servant, and, I think, as your whore. How long do you think she’ll suffer you to live once she is queen?”

  “She’s no fool. She knows she needs me to control Roland.”

  I drew on my power, letting it seep through the cracks in the granite, knowing how it would prickle and burn on his skin. “And yet courtesy of my dearest sister, here I am.”

  They had to be inside by now. I could feel Cécile moving, her nerves and anticipation. But was she ready? If I stalled any longer, Angoulême would know I was up to something, and that would put everything in jeopardy.

  Sighing, I polished the last remaining button on my coat. “Enough of this, Your Grace. You know Roland won’t make it in time, so quit the stalling.”

  A chuckle rolled through the mountains. “No, I don’t suppose he will be arriving here anytime soon. But I trust you’re clever enough to understand the consequences of killing me and letting the boy off his leash, and that you will act accordingly. I’ve taken my own precautions – if you try to force your way in, everyone inside – including me – will die.”

  Including Cécile and my closest friends.

  “Unless you’ve grown wings,” he continued, “by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”

  Unease snaked down my spine as I parsed his words. “Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed.”

  “No,” Angoulême said, his voice full of mockery. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, and I heard the tap tap of his cane against the stone floor of the tomb as he retreated into his depths. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”

  Chapter Forty

  Cécile

  The twins’ mining skills had come in handy, as they’d easily drilled a tunnel into the rear of the tombs under the cover of Tristan’s attack.

  “Where did they put the bodies?” I asked, running a finger over the dusty statue lying prone on an altar of carved marble and glass. My finger left a streak of gleaming gold in its wake, and I bent low over the figure’s face, marveling at the level of detail, from the realistic swell of the troll’s lips to the slight creases at the corners of his sightless diamond eyes.

  “That is the body,” Victoria replied, smiling slightly as I recoiled, shoving my offending hand into my pocket. “They dip them in liquid gold after they die.”

  “Still?” For some reason, the notion horrified me: being encased in metal for all of eternity.

  “Maybe that’s why Thibault ate so much in his later years,” Vincent said, coming back from his assessment of the piece of stone sealing the room. “He wanted to ensure his final resting place was worth the most.”

  Victoria laughed, but I remained silent. Thibault had been a villain, but he deserved respect. “Do not speak ill of the dead,” I said, but my words were drowned out by a series of percussive blasts.

  Vincent took advantage of the noise to shift the stone blocking the entrance, and then he cautiously eased out before stepping back in and nodding.

  Sandwiched between Vincent and Victoria, I stepped out into the corridor, taking in what I could of our surroundings. I’d expected it to be dark and close, but much like the chamber we’d just left, the ceilings were high and painted with brilliant depictions of both trolls and fairies alike. The floors were dusty, but they were as smooth as polished tile, and railings inlaid with golden vines ran up both sides of the hallways.

  Though Tristan had plumbed the depths of his seemingly endless store of knowledge, all he’d been able to tell us was that the tombs were a vast multilevel maze of chambers and corridors that were illuminated with natural light through the use of tiny shafts and mirrors placed just so. More mirrors sat above the golden railings, and though we were encased in as much rock as we ever were in Trollus, the halls practically glowed with sunlight.

  Dusty and faded, the tombs remained beautiful. And entirely wasted, I thought, on the dead.

  “This way,” Vincent muttered, eyeing the compass in his hand. The Duke would be engaged with fighting Tristan at the entrance, so that’s where we needed to go. Magic coating our feet to muffle the sound, we ran as swiftly as we dared, passing great stone slabs blocking the tombs of the royalty of old, names and carved likeness marking who was interred within.

  “Come out, come out,” a voice thundered through the corridors, followed with a horrifying scratching.

  Panic flooded my veins, and turning, I went to run. And collided with Victoria. “It’s Tristan,” she said, wincing. “Aggressive use of acoustics, but I’m sure that’s purposeful. Though in irritating the Duke, he’s likely to render the three of us deaf.”

  We crept forward more slowly, listening to the one-sided conversation, Tristan doing his best to bait Angoulême. To keep him interested.

  But of the Duke’s responses, we could hear nothing.

  Until we did. “Unless you’ve grown wings, by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”

  Vincent held up a hand, and I extracted the vial of blood I needed to perform the spell and handed it to him. Leaning forward, I peered around my friend’s bulk. We were at the top of a sprawling curved staircase, which, from what I could see, was one of three winding down to a vaulted foyer lit with dozens of troll-lights. Angoulême stood in front of a great set of doors, one of which was cracked. He stood alone in a pool of blood and gore. Which didn’t feel at all right. Where were his
followers?

  “Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed,” Tristan said.

  “No,” Angoulême replied. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, tapping the tip of his cane against the floor, and I swore I heard the same sound come from somewhere else. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”

  I was still looking around for the other source of the tapping when Vincent stepped out onto the staircase to get the angle right for a throw. He made it down three steps, then the stone exploded beneath him.

  Victoria jerked me backwards, magic shielding us against the rain of razor sharp shards of rock, but it did nothing to stop her terrified scream from piercing my ears. “Vincent! Vincent!”

  We both scrambled toward the shattered ledge, and leaned over, peering down into the dust. Vincent lay in a pile of rubble beneath us.

  And Angoulême was gone.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Cécile

  “Vincent! No, please, no.” Tears cut tracks through the dust coating Victoria’s face as she moved to leap off the ledge.

  I grabbed her arm, heaving with all my might. “Be careful! There might be more traps, and we won’t be able to help him if we set them off and kill ourselves.”

  For a heartbeat, I thought she meant to shrug me off and jump, but instead she scrubbed a gloved hand across her face and nodded. Lashing magic around a pillar, she flung out her hand and a glowing ladder uncoiled into the air, tumbling down to hang above her brother. She descended with impressive speed, and though I knew it cost her to do so, hesitated just above the rubble, her magic carefully testing for any hidden pitfalls before she stepped onto the ground.

  I scuttled down after her, my heart sinking at the look on her face as I found my balance on the shattered staircase. Vincent’s eyes were blank and unseeing, the pale stone beneath his head drenched with blood. Part of me refused to believe it was him: the twins were invincible, untouchable. Not… this. Vincent had known what he was doing – had been shielded and wary. And yet…

  Gasping, panicked breath filled my ears, and it took me a moment to realize it was my own. Keep yourself together, I silently screamed, clenching my hands so tightly my fingers ached.

  “Cécile?” The plea in Victoria’s voice cut me to the core, and I knew if he died that she would not last long. Their bond was natural, not magical, but it ran just as deep. Deeper.

  Swallowing hard, I said, “I’ll try,” even as I knew the delay in our pursuit of the Duke would carry a price. That to save one life, I was putting many more at risk. But that was the choice I’d always make.

  Tucking the vial into my pocket, I pulled off my gloves and pressed one palm to the pool of blood and the other to my friend’s cheek. Closing my eyes, I delved into the alien magic, feeling it curl and rise into my fingers. But it was faltering, fading. And even as I pulled, I knew it was hopeless. Knew he was too far gone.

  “Damn it!” Grabbing Victoria’s arm, I pulled out my knife and sliced it across her sleeve, cutting through fabric and flesh. Hot blood ran across my fingers, the magic within it eerily similar to that which I had just touched.

  No, not similar. The same.

  Victoria sagged against me, and my fragile control slipped and a sob tore from my throat. “I’ll get Tristan,” I said, knowing he was just beyond the door. “He’ll be able to help.”

  “No.” Victoria pulled me back down. “Angoulême has the whole place rigged. If you open the doors, this room will collapse. You need to go – you can’t let him get away.”

  “Cécile?” Tristan’s voice filled the room, and I stumbled to my feet. “Can he hear me?” I asked Victoria. She gave a weak nod, and I moved over to the door, careful not to touch it lest I set off the magic.

  “Tristan, the twins are hurt and Angoulême’s escaped,” I said, scanning the two remaining staircases leading up, and the one large one that lead down. The Duke we’d seen standing in the foyer had been an illusion, a projection of some sort. But I’d heard the echo of his cane tapping. He’d been close. Which way had he gone?

  “How bad?”

  I glanced back at the twins, Vincent unmoving and his sister slumped next to him. “They’re dying.”

  His jolt of anguish sent a fresh crop of tears down my face. “Move back, Cécile. I’m going to break the door.”

  “No!” I shouted the word, and it echoed through the cavernous room. “Victoria said it’s rigged to collapse.

  “Stay where you are,” he shouted. “I’ll come in the back.”

  Retreating back to my friends, I pulled the vial of blood out of my pocket and tilted it from side to side, watching the liquid move. Then I dropped to my knees next to them.

  “Go after Angoulême, Cécile.” Victoria lifted her face. “If there was ever time for one of your mad risky schemes, this is it. If he gets out of the tombs somehow, Tristan won’t be able to find him. He’s too clever. Far more clever than we ever gave him credit for.” Her eyes went to the vial in my hand. “You have what you need to stop him, but you need to be quick about it.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said, then I closed my fist on the glass. It shattered, and Tristan’s magic came to my call. Slapping my hand against Vincent’s cheek, I shoved the magic into him, praying it would know what to do. Praying that it would be enough.

  It was like watching a flower bloom. As I stared, it seemed as though nothing was happening, but when I blinked, his injuries had healed a little more, the gruesome wound to his skull sealing over until only the mess of blood in his black hair indicated he’d been hurt at all. His breathing steadied, and I withdrew my hand, wiping it on my trousers. “Follow when you can.”

  Victoria squeezed Vincent’s hand, then stood. “I’m coming with you.”

  “He’ll expect that,” I said. “Which is why you’re staying with Vincent. I have a plan.” Moving to the center of the foyer, I dropped a rock, listening to how the sound bounced off the walls. Moving to the left, I dropped another rock. Then another. I knew acoustics. And I knew which way Angoulême had gone.

  * * *

  The lower levels were filled with the crypts of lesser Montignys: princes and princesses, lords and ladies of various ranks, but I paid them no mind as I ran, following the tracks in the dust as I was sure the Duke expected me to do. This was a trap.

  And it was set for me.

  But Angoulême wouldn’t kill me, because he needed me as a hostage to get past Tristan and the twins. Which was fine, because for my plan to work, I needed to get close.

  Gripping my knife tight, I used my other hand to muffle my false sobs as I minced forward, carefully peering around each corner before I proceeded forward. It was much darker on this level, long expanses of blackness stretching between each of the clever little skylights. My heart thundered in my chest as I made my way further and further into the mountain. What if I’d been wrong about the direction he’d gone? What if he’d looped back to dispatch the twins while they were weak?

  I stepped past a slab of rock blocking the entrance to a crypt, and magic lashed around my waist, jerking me toward the hard surface. I shrieked, certain I was about to be dashed to pieces, but then I passed through the illusion and was slammed against the floor between two altars, burning ropes pinning my wrists and ankles to the floor. The blow knocked the air from my lungs, but as I was gasping for breath, the first thing I noticed was the smell of unwashed body. Then Angoulême was in my face, his eyes wild and hair disheveled.

  “Stupid, blubbering fool!” he hissed, his breath vile.

  I turned my head, sobbing, “You killed my friends. You killed them.” The crypt was littered with clutter, rotting scraps of food in a corner and the stench of waste. He’d been living in here. Hiding in here.

  Alone.

  “They deserved it.” He plucked the knife from my clenched fist, tossing it out into the corridor. “Foolish half-blood-loving idiots. Just like you. You’ll deserve it when I finally slit your throat. Now wher
e is it? Where is it?”

  His hands roughly searched my body, tearing at my clothes and bruising my skin, leaving not a square inch unscathed. I cringed and wept. “Where is what?”

  “The blood!” Drops of spittle sprayed across my face. “I know you have it, you filthy witch.”

  “It broke,” I sniveled. “It spilled. Look at my hands.”

  He launched himself back and away, watching me like I was some sort of venomous snake. Then he snatched up a wine skin and poured the contents over my palms, washing away all traces of Tristan’s magic. Only then did he relax, sitting on his haunches, silver eyes fixed on me. “Where is he?”

  “Outside.” Snot bubbled around my nose, and his lip turned up with disgust. As though he were one to talk. From the smell, he hadn’t washed since the day he left Trollus. Seeing him this way was unnerving, all the polished veneer gone, a strange fearful madness in its place. “He’ll kill you,” I whispered. “He’ll kill you for this.”

  He twitched, ever so slightly. “Oh, I doubt that, Cécile. There are consequences to my death, and now that I have his precious little peach, he’ll do nothing at all. You, you, you!” He was on his knees over me. “You are such a wondrous creature, because you make him weak. You make him stupid. You’ll be the death of him.”

  I shook my head and looked away. “No.”

  “Yes. Now, up-up. Time to go.” He dragged me to my feet, his cane still firmly gripped in one hand. He didn’t need it – he had no infirmity – and it wasn’t a weapon. But he always had it as he walked sedately, carefully, through Trollus. I marked his high collar, his hands gloved with thick leather. Nothing but his face exposed.