ARC: Stolen Songbird

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Luc groaned. “Idiot! Now what are we supposed to do?”

  I listened to the sound of him fumbling in his pack and looked around, if such a thing is possible in complete darkness.

  Or perhaps not so complete after all.

  In the distance, a silvery glow beckoned that could only be one thing: moonlight. And moonlight meant my escape.

  “Drop the rope,” I whispered, my prayers somehow finding their way into my voice, hope giving them power that fear had not.

  “What?”

  “I said, drop the rope.”

  Water dripped. Luc’s breathing grew still and even. A draft chilled my skin and the rope around my ankle grew slack.

  But before I got the chance to run, the light was upon us. Someone else was in the tunnel.

  “What the…” Luc started to say, and then with a grunt, he tackled me from behind.

  “Help!” I gasped, but I couldn’t draw breath beneath his bulk. Squeezing an elbow underneath me, I pushed up, gasped in a mouthful of air and screamed. Luc’s fist connected with the back of my head, driving my face into the rocky floor, but my voice echoed through the tunnel. Help… help… help…

  I tried to turn over to fight, but Luc pummeled my skull, sending a wave of dizziness through me. Light flashed in my eyes, and abruptly his weight disappeared. With a muffled “Ooofff” and a groan of pain, Luc fell to the ground next to me. Every inch of me ached, but I didn’t think anything was broken. I could still run.

  “I don’t believe this was part of the arrangement, Monsieur Luc.”

  Rising to my knees, I gazed up at the man standing in front of us, his figure outlined by moonlight. “Help me,” I pleaded, tugging on the silken fabric of his cloak. “Please help me! He’s kidnapped me from my family and intends to sell me to the trolls.”

  “Is that so?” His voice had the lyrical cadence of the court, although I was surprised to find a nobleman stooping to treasure hunting. I was in no position to judge, though. I’d take assistance where I could find it. I crawled on hands and knees, putting the man between Luc and me. Anyone had to be better than Luc.

  My eyes fixed on the glowing lamp dancing behind his head. No, not a lamp – an orb that seemed to be floating through the air of its own accord. It swung round, hanging near my face, dazzling me with brightness but exuding only a little warmth.

  “How badly are you injured, Mademoiselle de Troyes?”

  I reached up to touch the light, then, thinking better of it, withdrew my hand. Only then did I realize he’d called me by name. I met his eyes. Or eye, rather. He stood peculiarly and kept his face turned to one side, revealing only his profile. He was perhaps my brother’s age, and particularly handsome. The light of the orb reflected in his silvery grey eye as though the glow came from within. I’d never met anyone in my life with eyes like his.

  “I’m afraid you have the advantage, monsieur, for while you know my name, I don’t know yours.” My heart beat faster. Something was dreadfully amiss. Apprehension made my hackles rise like a dog’s as I eyed the man up and down. Who was he and what was he doing beneath the rubble of Forsaken Mountain?

  “I should beg your pardon, mademoiselle, for failing to introduce myself. I am Marc de Biron, Comte de Courville.” His attention moved to Luc. “You were to bring her unharmed.”

  “You’re lucky she’s still alive – we nearly got ate by that sluag,” Luc retorted.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t bring half a dozen of them down upon you the way you two carried on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they could account your argument word for word in Trollus, you were so infernally loud!”

  “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.” Every instinct said to run, but which way? I had no light, and the sluag blocked the way we’d come from. But forward was where he’d come from and he was… Rising to my feet, I cowered against the wall. “You’re a… He’s a…”

  “Aye, Cécile,” Luc said, finally taking notice of my yammering. “He’s a troll all right.”

  “But you said they were monst…” The troll abruptly turned and faced me straight on, and the word died on my lips, replaced by a scream. Luc had been telling the truth.

  CHAPTER 4

  CéCILE

  The two sides of his face, so flawless on their own, were like halves of a fractured sculpture put back together askew. The lack of symmetry was more than unsettling – it was shocking, gruesome even. One eye higher than the other. One ear lower than the other. A mouth marred by a permanently sardonic twist. I leapt back and into Luc, who clamped a filthy hand over my lips, silencing the scream.

  “Not a wise idea,” he whispered in my ear before dropping his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and repeated myself again because my mind didn’t seem able to come up with any more words. “I’m sorry.”

  The silence stretched. When I raised my head, the light had retreated behind him, casting his face in shadows once more.

  “Come,” he said. “They are expecting you.”

  Abruptly, he turned, cloak flaring out as he strode down the tunnel. Then he hesitated, and to my dismay, extended his elbow. “Mademoiselle.”

  I didn’t want to take his arm, because doing so meant agreeing to go with him. I stared back the way we came – towards the surface, where my father and our neighbors were frantically searching for me. But they’d never suspect where Luc had taken me. I’d have to rely on my own gumption to get free, but now was not the time – not when they expected an escape attempt.

  “You have my word, mademoiselle. I will not harm you in any way.”

  Something about the way he said the words made me believe him. Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the troll and rested my hand on his arm. The brocade of his coat felt warm and rich beneath my cold fingers. There was strength, too – caged like the tiger in the circus my father had once taken me to see. But that wasn’t what sent a shiver down my spine. Like the prickle of a sand-filled wind, or the charge in the air during a thunderstorm, power washed over me. Though I never thought such a thing was possible, magic existed here with the force to lift a man and light the darkness. Perhaps my ready belief was naive, but I knew in my gut that the trolls possessed magic.

  My tongue ran over dry lips. For now, I would play along. “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  He escorted us through the maze of tunnels, always confident of which way to turn, though to my eyes, nothing distinguished one tunnel from another. A labyrinth designed to lure a man in, but never allow him out again. Despite my best efforts, I shivered.

  The troll glanced down at me. Silently, he disengaged his arm from mine and unclasped his cloak, draping warmth on my shoulders. “Thank you,” I said, wrapping the silken fabric around me. One silver eye met mine, his face tilted to restrict my view to his profile. I wondered if he always carried himself this way, or whether he concealed his deformity for my benefit. “It is nothing,” he said. “I’ve been instructed to ensure you are well treated.”

  Behind us, Luc gave a soft snort. I ignored him and took the troll’s arm again.

  The ground grew more even, rubbed smooth in a manner suggesting countless feet had trod this path over the years. Eventually the bare rock gave way to paving tiles set in flowing mosaics of black, grey, and white. On the walls of the tunnel, a clear, horizontal line delineated the break between mountain and a rubble of man-made, or perhaps troll-made, structures. The line rose as we walked, as though an invisible force held the fallen mountain up higher and higher the further we went, a city street rising from the rubble. I reached out to trail my fingertips along the seemingly empty space and jerked back.

  It was warm.

  Tentatively, I raised my hand again and slid my fingers into the gap. Liquid heat enveloped my skin, tangible, but somehow not. I tried to scoop some out, but the magic flowed through and around my hand, bound to its place. The break rose until it was beyond my reach.

  “The magic holds the mountain up,” I murmured, examining the
walls of stonework between which we now passed.

  “It does,” the troll agreed. “It is part of the tree.”

  Tree?

  Glancing up, I realized he had been watching me. The look in his eye was considering, appraising, even. But it was the pity I saw there that revived my fear. Why was I here? What deal had Luc negotiated with the trolls and what part did I play?

  We rounded a turn and ahead metal gates barred our path. Beyond shone a silver glow that I knew better than to mistake for moonlight. A faint gust of air blew down the corridor, dampening my cheeks with mist, accompanied by the sound of falling water. Curiosity warred with fear. Dropping the troll’s arm, I stepped through the gate and out on a ledge. The cavern was enormous and what lay in the valley below drew me to my knees.

  The lost city of Trollus.

  “Stones and sky,” I whispered.

  “Just stones here,” Luc commented from behind us. The troll’s hand balled up into an angry fist, but Luc spoke the truth. Darkness cloaked the cavern and solid rock formed the ceiling. No stars shone through, no moon.

  “This way, mademoiselle.” He took my arm, and pulled me to my feet. The three of us started down a flight of granite steps lit periodically with crystal lampposts glowing silver. The sides of the valley were terraced, the white stone buildings lining each level. Most impressive, though, was the waterfall cascading out of the blackness to form the churning river below. The roar of water echoed ceaselessly through the cavern. It was enough to drive one to madness, and I wondered how the trolls abided the constant din.

  Realization struck me. “That’s the Devil’s Cauldron!”

  “We call it Heaven’s Gates,” the troll murmured, and I did not miss the irony in his voice. I had heard the legend of the Cauldron. It was said that the Brûlé river flowed between Forsaken Mountain and its southern neighbor, but where it met the rock fall, it disappeared into a hole in the ground. It was said that a past duke had paid a beggar man to brave the Cauldron in a wooden barrel, and that a dozen years afterward, he had appeared in Trianon hale and healthy, but unable to account where he had been.

  “Good evening to you, Lord Marc.”

  The approaching voice startled me and I jumped, then peered into the darkness. A glowing orb moved steadily towards us – a faintly visible shape moving awkwardly across the ground. The troll rolled into our pool of light, and I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping at the shrunken, useless limbs attached to the creature’s torso. Rolling to its crippled feet, it reached out to touch a crystal lamppost, the light flaring brighter.

  “Good evening, Clarence,” the Comte said, his voice soft as he tugged me towards the next set of steps.

  “Is she the one?”

  “We’ll soon find out, I suppose,” Marc replied. His tone indicated that no further questions would be appreciated.

  The thing called Clarence looked me over with glowing silver irises, as if wondering whether I was good enough to eat. I turned away, cringing. When I found the nerve to glance back, the troll had resumed its rolling progress.

  “Am I the one for what?” I asked, darting a look at his face. But the Comte did not answer. My mind raced with possibilities, but none seemed to justify the effort that had gone into procuring me.

  An impeccably clean cobbled street snaked down the side of the valley, but the Comte led us instead down the long flights of stone stairs towards the river below. The masonry was unlike anything I had ever seen, no surface left unadorned. It would have required centuries of work, but I supposed that centuries they’d had. Fountains and statues graced every corner. In place of greenery stood gardens of glassworks sculpted into trees, bushes, and flowers. The delicate displays would not have lasted more than a month exposed to the elements above ground. Then again, hailstorms likely did not trouble Trollus.

  But it was an empty beauty. With the exception of ourselves and Clarence, I had not seen a single sign of life within the city. “Where is everyone?” I asked in a low voice.

  “It is past curfew,” the Comte replied. “They are inside.” He gestured towards a building, and I noticed a set of curtains twitch shut, but not before I’d glimpsed a set of luminescent eyes staring out at me.

  “That’s new,” Luc muttered, and I looked around with unease at the dark windows lining the streets. Now that I knew they were there, I could feel eyes on me. The Comte gripped the hilt of his sword with one leather clad hand, tension cloaking his shadowed form as he scanned our surroundings. “We should not linger,” he said, lengthening his stride so that I had to trot to keep up.

  He relaxed only when we reached the palace rising up next to the misting river. Although the darkness prevented me from ascertaining its total magnitude, I suspected it was enormous. Passing through gilded gates guarded by armored trolls, we walked up a long drive flanked with marble statues and glasswork. The entrance to the palace loomed ahead of us, white and glittering gold in the Comte’s approaching light. It was more opulent than even the Regent’s palace in Trianon, but it was the silence that struck me most. No horses’ hooves, no barking dogs, no voices. Only falling water and the ever-present silver glow of troll-light.

  “This way, please,” the Comte said, leading us through an unguarded entrance into the palace.

  It was much darker within than without, illumination limited to the small orb dogging the troll’s steps. “Do you all have one of those lights?” I asked. “How do they work?”

  He glanced up at the orb and it flared brighter and larger, split into three little orbs, and then reformed into one. “Magic,” he replied, “defies explanation.”

  And I had no chance to ask for one as we reached a set of doors guarded by one troll. No… two? I tried not to stare at the troll as we walked by, but I’d never seen a man with two heads before. Both heads saluted and said, “My lord,” to the Comte, so I settled on two.

  “I’d advise you to speak only when spoken to,” he murmured as we marched down the long hall. Looking over his shoulder at Luc, he added, “You as well.”

  Our boots thudded against the tiled floor, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous room. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting my terrified expression back at me. Next to each of the columns supporting the roof stood a golden floor lamp carved into a fantastical creature, troll-light glowing from its eyes. The ceiling above was painted in a fresco, but the details were obscured by the dimness.

  The two trolls on the far dais drew my gaze, for they could not have been more different. The male troll sat on the throne, or rather perched, for his enormous, silk-encased rolls did not fit between the arms of the chair. He stared intently at me, his glittering eyes shrewd. At his side stood an exceptionally lovely troll, long black curls cascading over her jeweled velvet clothing. Her expression was vacant and unseeing, and I shivered as a dreamy smile crossed over her lips.

  The Comte stopped and bowed deeply. I curtsied awkwardly next to him.

  “Your Majesty, may I present Mademoiselle Cécile de Troyes.”

  The corpulent King peered down at me and then made a flapping gesture next to his head. The Comte hastily pulled back the hood of my cloak.

  “Hmmm,” the King said, making a face. “I’m not sure this is what we bargained for, boy. We expected the girl to be attractive.”

  If I hadn’t been so terrified, I would have been insulted.

  The Comte came to my rescue. “She’s been through quite the ordeal, Your Majesty. They had a near encounter with a sluag, and she’s been ill treated by her guide. I’m certain once she’s cleaned up and properly attired, she will be a fair beauty.”

  Whether the trolls found me attractive or not was the least of my concerns, but I was grateful for Lord Marc’s defense. There was something about the tone of his voice that suggested he did not support what was being done to me. And he had given his word that he would never harm me. Between Luc and the King, I was beginning to think that Marc was the closest thing I had to an ally in this place.

  “
Hmmm.” The King looked me up and down, silver eyes narrow. “I suppose there might be something beneath all the filth.”

  “Let me see her,” said a shrill voice, and I searched the room for its source. “Turn around!” the voice demanded, and so I did.

  “Not you, girl,” said the King.

  Turning back to face the throne, I felt a wave of dizziness hit me. “Oh my,” I said. “Oh my, oh my.” It had been the Queen whom the voice had ordered to turn, and from her back sprouted a doll-sized woman who gestured for me to step closer.

  “Come here, girl.”

  Stiff-kneed and frozen in place, my heart pounded so hard it rivaled the waterfall for noise. The Queen began an awkward backwards shuffle towards me, her skirts tangling up her feet and threatening to send both of them toppling. Marc rushed forward to grasp her arm and prevent disaster, while I remained rooted still.

  The little troll scowled. “You’d think after all these years you’d have learned to walk backwards, Matilde.”

  “Thank you, Marc,” the Queen trilled, ignoring her twin. She shuffled until her miniature attachment and I stood face to face. “I am Sylvie Gaudin, Duchesse de Feltre.” She clamped child-sized hands on my cheeks. I squeaked, fighting the urge to slap her away. Her silver gaze bore into me, and I swear she delved into the depths of my soul. “This is the one.”

  “Are you certain?” the King asked from his perch on the throne. “She rather smells.”

  “She meets the criteria given to us by the foretelling. You do sing, don’t you?” the troll woman asked.

  “Yes,” I croaked, not knowing why it mattered. “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “Why, to bond you to our dear Tristan,” the troll said, smiling at me. “You are to be a princess of Trollus and mother of his children; and in doing so, you will set us all free.”