Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Tristan had gone walking with them earlier today, all the tears and goodbyes accomplished already. They were trying to maintain their levity now, but it was strained. With grief, yes, but also with an anxious sort of hope, because we did not know how the spell would affect Vincent.

  “There’s only one way to find out, Cécile,” Victoria said, seeming to read my thoughts. Another tear fell, but I nodded. “I’m ready.”

  My worktable was too small for the both of them, and given the connected nature of their power, I believed I needed to perform the spell on both of them at the same time. While Tristan dragged the table out of the way, the twins came over to me, each of them taking one of my hands. “You’ve been a good friend,” Victoria said. “And a mad accomplice. We’ll miss you dearly, you know that?”

  “Likewise.” I wiped my nose with a handkerchief. “The world will seem a much duller place without you two, and infinitely less alliterative.”

  Vincent smiled, and I knew it was time. They lay next to each other on the floor, Tristan standing in the shadows of a corner, his face revealing none of his anxiety. He gave me a slight nod, and I began.

  Neither twin made so much as a peep as the blood began to rise from their skin, grimaces the only sign of the intense pain they were feeling. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and though it was cowardly, I closed my eyes. I felt it the moment they changed, my hands falling into nothingness. Victoria would still be there, but would Vincent? Was there enough left of his mind to maintain his existence without a mortal body holding it together?

  No one spoke, and with my heart in my throat, I opened my eyes.

  Victoria sat in front of me, her eyes wide as she watched the mist of Vincent’s form fade and drift. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me, brother.”

  A hand gripped mine, and I cast a sideways glance at Tristan, who was kneeling with me in the twins’ blood. “Come on, Vincent,” he said. “You can do this.”

  I held my breath, and then slowly, improbably, Vincent solidified. He turned his head to his sister. “Victoria?”

  A sob tore from her lips, and she flung her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Tristan’s hand relaxed against mine, and it wasn’t until I felt the dull ache in my fingers that I realized how tightly he’d been holding it. Vincent was himself again, but the moment was bittersweet, because we were still losing them.

  Reluctantly, I handed the twins the last of my store of Élixir, watching sadly as they drank it.

  A tear opened behind them, the smell of summer filling my laboratory.

  “We have to go,” Victoria said. “He’s calling us.” They rose. “Goodbye, my friends,” she said, then to me, “Thank you.”

  I nodded, holding Tristan’s hand tight. And then the twins were gone.

  We were both were silent for a long time, then Tristan said, “Get cleaned up, and then let’s go for a ride. There is something I need to do.”

  * * *

  Tristan’s horsemanship had improved in the time he’d spent with Chris, and he rode with almost reckless speed, trusting that I’d keep up. He kept to the Ocean Road, slowing to a trot just before we reached the bridge spanning the rock fall. Sliding off his horse, he waited until I was on the ground and silently tied up our mounts. Then he took my hand, and led me down to the entrance to Trollus.

  I hadn’t been back since Tristan and I had fled, but he had. Often. The magic holding up the mountain was his once more, the Builder’s Guild all departed to Arcadia. The stone tree, which Thibault had very nearly completed for him, was hidden in the darkness of the cavern.

  “Would you like to see?” he asked, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeve.

  I shrugged, turning to examine a fountain that I’d always admired so that he wouldn’t see the smile on my face. “I suppose.”

  He was silent for a moment, then he laughed. “It’s almost as though you know me.”

  “Almost.” I sat on the edge of the fountain, tipping my head back to watch as the magical tree illuminated, its light revealing the stone structure Tristan had dedicated so many years of his life to create.

  “It’s lovely,” I murmured, wondering if trolls were even capable of building something that was otherwise. Slender pillars and elegant arches filled the cavern, and it seemed impossible such a graceful structure was capable of holding so much weight.

  “Care to see if it works?” Tristan asked.

  I blanched, but before I could speak, the light of the tree blinked out. The groan of shifting rock filled the cavern as the rocks settled, and I clutched at Tristan’s arm.

  “It feels as though you doubt me,” he said, squeezing my hand and sending a hundred balls of light up toward the ceiling to replace the light of the tree. Little rainbows of color danced in the mist of the waterfall, and slowly, very slowly, I relaxed. “You’re mad.”

  He grinned. “Runs in the family.”

  I let him lead me toward the palace, the silence of the city seeming strange. “There’s no one here.”

  Tristan shook his head. “None of the half-bloods cared to stay, and everyone else…” He lifted one shoulder, face reflecting the sorrow of his heart.

  All his people were gone. For as much as the half-bloods shared some of the same blood, they were not the same. And not for the first time, I wondered if he’d be lonely. If all the humans he’d come to know and care for would be enough to replace what he’d lost.

  We meandered through the palace, that beautiful structure full of the work of artists with skill the world might never know again, our boots thudding against tiles that inexplicably remained polished to a high shine. Our travels ended at his rooms – our rooms – as I’d known they would, and I sank into the sumptuous covers while I watched him carefully pack certain items into a bag. A few books. A rolled up painting. Miniatures of his mother and aunt. A ring. A broken blade.

  As he walked by the closet doors, he shoved them open to reveal the dozens of elaborate gowns I’d worn during my time here. “Put on your favorite.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  There was something about the tenseness in his shoulders that told me not to argue. And with his assistance, I donned an emerald velvet evening gown, my fingers brushing against the familiar fabric. With the ease of someone who’d spent a lifetime surrounded by wealth, he plucked matching jewels from the box, brushing aside my hair to fasten them around my neck.

  “Take anything else you want,” he said, seeming not to notice when I shook my head.

  We moved on, making our way to the throne room. He led me between the statues lining the walls, their eyes brightening with magic as we passed, then dropped my arm to go to enormous golden throne, where he sat. “I’m going to abdicate.”

  “Pardon?” It was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “To whom?”

  “Aiden.”

  I frowned, disliking the choice. When we’d returned to Trianon, I’d woken him from his sleep, only to discover that he’d been mostly aware the entire time. That he’d remained sane was a miracle, the only sign of his tribulations the haunted expression he wore when he thought no one was looking. Zoé had watched over him for most of his ordeal, and he remained as attached to her as though all their time together had been waking. More than attached, and Zoé seemed inclined to be more forgiving than I was of the mistakes he’d made.

  “This is an Isle of humans,” he said. “It makes no sense for me to rule. And besides, I was thinking we might travel for a time. See the continent. The world.”

  As if I could begrudge him that.

  “Besides,” he said. “If he turns out to be dreadful, I can always take it back.” Unhooking the crown that had been left on the back of the throne, most likely by his father, he tucked it in his bag. “There’s one more thing we have to fetch.”

  And it was fitting that it was in the glass gardens. Though no doubt he knew the exact location of what he wanted, he led me on a meandering route t
hrough the maze of glowing foliage. We crossed the place where his mother and aunt had been slaughtered, but, mercifully, someone had cleaned up the mess, and I said nothing. Eventually we ended up next to the small fountain where, through the tear in the fabric of the world, dripped the Élixir de la Lune. The fountain was almost empty, depleted from all the trolls I’d sent back to Arcadia. “Planning on taking another wife?” I asked, as he carefully filled a small vial.

  “I can barely keep track of the one I have.” He lifted the glass cylinder and sniffed at it before stoppering it. “I’ve a promise to fulfill.” He gave no further explanation, and I followed him out of the gardens and down to the river, where he turned in a slow circle as though drinking the city in.

  “The time of the trolls is over,” he said, though it seemed the explanation was more for his benefit than mine. “To the half-bloods this place is nothing more than a broken cage – none will ever willingly live here again. And I do not wish to see it taken by those who care only for its riches, who would steal the gold, the art, the knowledge, and use it for their advantage.”

  “What do you propose?” I asked, my chest aching with a pain I couldn’t explain.

  “It’s a tomb,” he said. “And it’s time it was sealed.”

  Gripping my hand, he led me down the river toward the gates, and as we walked, I felt the heat of magic manifesting. When we were almost at the River Road, the roar of falling rock shattered my ears. Twisting to look over my shoulder, I watched as column after column collapsed, the rock of Forsaken Mountain falling from the sky to smash into the city below. Elysium disappeared, then the library, then the palace. The glass gardens – so many long years of labor – destroyed in a moment. Tears flooded down my cheeks, but Tristan didn’t look back.

  Not once.

  Instead he drew me into the tunnel of the road, his magic stalling the collapse of the mountain until we stood on the beach, sunlight on our faces. Then he turned back to look at the rock slide that had given him so much purpose and nodded once.

  Trollus was gone.

  * * *

  I’d returned to my laboratory to pack what things I wanted while Tristan had gone to the castle to give Aiden the keys to the kingdom and to deliver the Élixir to Zoé to use as she wished. I sang as I packed, thinking about the plans we’d made on our ride back to Trianon. The places we’d go. The things we’d see.

  “You’re beautiful when you smile like that.”

  I turned to see Tristan leaning against the door frame, coat unbuttoned and shirt loose at the throat. His hair was longer than he usually kept it, inky black where it brushed against the white of his collar. Silver eyes unearthly bright and beautiful, and for the first time that I’d known him, free of concern. “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like you’re happy.”

  “Then expect to see it often,” I said, crossing the room. “Because I am.”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him, relishing the feel of his lips against mine. The heat his touch sent racing through my veins.

  “I love you,” he murmured into my ear, the warmth of his breath making my body ache. I parted my lips to respond in kind, when the smell of summer washed across my face. I turned in his arms in time to the tear open wide, and the King of Summer stepped into our world.

  “Your Majesty,” Tristan said, and to my surprise, he stepped away from me and bowed low.

  I stood my ground, goosebumps rising to my skin despite the balmy temperature of the room.

  The King inclined his head, then turned his attention to me. “You owed me a debt, Cécile de Montigny.”

  I lifted my chin. “And I have paid it. You have your people back.”

  His head tilted, and I found I had to look away, my eyes burning as though I were staring at the sun. “Not all of them.”

  “You cannot have the half-bloods,” I said, catching hold of the fabric of my gown and clenching it tight. “They belong as much here as they do there, more so, in fact. If I tried to take the iron from their flesh, they’d die.”

  “Not them,” he said. “Their magic and that of all those born to them I will bind by name.”

  “Then…” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t breathe.

  “No,” Tristan said, and the word sounded torn from his throat. “I will not go.”

  The Summer King’s words rang through my mind: Your debt has been called due, Cécile de Montigny. I will have all my people back, and you will make it happen.

  All.

  All.

  “Please.” Tristan dropped to his knees. “I’ll do anything. Promise anything. Bind my magic, take it away, I don’t care. Just don’t make me leave her.”

  The fairy said nothing. He didn’t need to. The weight of my debt was enough.

  My body moved, picking up the pouch of lobelia and then the basin, my hand mechanically preparing the potion even as sobs tore from my chest.

  “Cécile, don’t.” Tristan jerked the basin out of my hands and tossed it aside with a clatter. “Please don’t do this.”

  “I have to.”

  The pouch burst into flames in my hands, the flowers incinerated but my hands untouched. “Fight it,” he pleaded.

  But it was like stopping an ocean tide. A hurricane wind. The sands of time. It could not be done. Flowers burst up through the floorboards, the reek of lobelia filling the air, cloying and horrible. Tristan tore at them, the petals turning to ash at his touch, but more sprang up in their place.

  “Tristanthysium,” the King said. “Abide.”

  His fury made my mind scream in pain, but he could not deny his name, especially when uttered by the one who had given it to him. Tristan dropped to his knees in front of me, and I flung my arms around him, refusing to let go.

  But it was for naught.

  The spell tore from me, magic rising from all directions to take back what belonged to this world. I wrenched the iron from his veins, feeling his pain as though it were my own even as I forced his magic to heal the damage I was causing. And when it was done, I was holding on to nothing.

  He was mist, and the tears running down his face disappeared the moment they left his skin. But that did not stop the King from closing a hand on his shoulder. He handed Tristan a vial, waited until he’d drained the contents, then drew him back toward the tear. Back and back.

  “Tristan, I love you,” I said.

  Then he was gone.

  * * *

  They found me in a carpet of flowers, my anguish uncontrollable. Voices. Questions. Hands lifting me up and carrying me out. A tonic forced down my throat, and then nothing.

  Even when the tonic wore off, I clung to that nothing.

  Because I’d lost everything.

  * * *

  Days passed.

  It wasn’t fair.

  They took me home to the farm; to a familiar bed. Familiar sheets.

  We’d fought so hard.

  Joss and Sabine took turns forcing food down my throat.

  We’d won.

  I could still feel him, distant, but there. But not here.

  We’d been happy.

  Days passed.

  * * *

  Then one morning, I got up. On weak knees, I dressed in an old gown of homespun and tied back my hair. The kitchen was empty, so I went out into the yard and into the barn where I found my sister working. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, but she said nothing until I picked up a pitch fork and started mucking a stall.

  Setting aside her shovel, she came over and gently pried it from my hands, meeting my gaze. “It will be a fall baby.”

  “Yes,” I said, a tear running down the side of my nose.

  “Gran knew, you know. She told me before she died.”

  I bowed my head, not able to speak.

  “Maybe he…” She hesitated, and I caught her hands, cutting off the thought. “Just give me something to do. Something to keep me busy.”

  Joss nodded, but she didn’t give me back the
pitchfork. Instead she said, “Perhaps you ought to do what you do best.”

  For a moment, I wanted to refuse. To tell her that it was not in me to seek respite in something that had once given me pleasure. But Tristan wouldn’t have wanted that. And I found that I didn’t either.

  So I sang.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Tristan

  And I listened.

  Time was different here, and it seemed I spent days with that song in my ears, sitting in silence while I watched through a fissure I’d torn between our worlds. It was all I’d done since my uncle had forced me here against my will, and if I had my way, it would be all I’d ever do.

  Vines sprung from the earth, twisting up a web of green and brown, obscuring my view. I scowled, and turned. “Cécile’s pregnant. You must let me go back.”

  “Must?” As always, his voice was amused. As though I were some minor curiosity providing a few moments of entertainment. “I fail to see why?”

  “She did what you asked,” I snarled, tearing the vines away only for them to spring forth anew. “You have the lost bloodlines back in Arcadia, are gaining the ground you lost, are driving Winter from worlds frozen for millennia, and all because of Cécile. Yet you punish her for it.”

  He cocked his head. “Do I?”

  Questions answered with more questions. The fey were irritating, and he was the worst of all. I stared down at my hands, at the golden marks painted across my knuckles. Were they really still there, or were they only a reflection of what I wanted to be?

  No, I decided. They were there. I could still feel her – a whisper of presence in my mind.