ARC: Stolen Songbird

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “That’s much prettier,” I said, looking into the basin. “Where does it come from?”

  “Watch.”

  We waited for a long moment, then seemingly out of nowhere, a large droplet fell into the pool.

  “Stones and sky,” I muttered. “Where did that come from?”

  “You have to look from the right angle,” Marc said. “Like this.” Bending over, he tilted his head to look upwards. I mimicked him, gasping at what I saw. It looked like a circular window hanging in the air, but it was only visible when viewed directly. Looking through it didn’t show me Trollus – it was a window to somewhere else entirely. I could see part of a rocky cliff, a faint hint of glowing blue dampening it. As I watched, a droplet slowly formed and fell, dropping between our heads to land in the fountain.

  “Where is that place?” I wondered aloud.

  “The moon.”

  I blinked at him.

  “What you are looking at is a tear in the fabric of the world.” He straightened upright again. “This liquid is the magic that bonds the moon to the earth. We harness its power to bind the hearts of two trolls. Or a troll and a human.”

  Holding out my hand, I caught the next drip as it fell and went to taste it, the memory of its sweetness vivid in my mind. Marc caught my hand. “Only once in a lifetime.” Tilting my hand, he let the drip fall into the pool.

  “In the southern half of the labyrinth, there is a small opening where the sky shines through. Very few know of its existence. One night, I stole a vial of Élixir de la Lune and the key to the gate from my father – the Comte de Courville has been its guardian for generations – and took Pénélope into the tunnels. She was terrified of the small spaces and afraid a sluag would come upon us, but she came anyway. We bonded under the full moon.”

  “I bet you got in a lot of trouble for that.”

  A hint of a smile touched his face. “Yes. But there was nothing anyone could do. The bond cannot be undone by any power in this world or the next.”

  He was quiet for a long time, and I dared not break the silence.

  “We were together for sixty-three glorious days. Then she miscarried. The child died. Pénélope died.”

  Tears streamed down my face, but Marc’s eyes stayed dry. He had long since run out of tears for his pain, I thought. Pain I could well imagine because I’d felt it myself. “How did you survive it?”

  “I didn’t want to live. I wanted to throw myself from the highest precipice. Cut my heart out with a knife. Dash my brains against the rocks. Anything. I didn’t think I could live without her.”

  “So how did you?” I remembered how easily I had knelt down before the guillotine, ready to die rather than to live without Tristan. And ours was a new love, not one built over a lifetime.

  “Tristan was there with me when she died. The instant her heart stopped, he tied me up with magic so I couldn’t move. I fought him with everything I had, but even at fifteen, he was one of the strongest living. In the few moments he took to sleep, it required both the twins to hold me. He kept me tied up for weeks, forcing me to eat and to drink when I tried to starve myself. When I’d finally calmed down enough, he made me swear that I would live. Said I was his best friend, and his family and he needed me alive.”

  We were quiet for a long time, Marc remembering and me trying to take in what he had just told me.

  “Does it get better?” I finally asked. “The pain? The feeling that a part of you is missing?”

  Marc shook his head. “You just learn to live with it.”

  Fresh tears flooded my eyes and dripped down to stain the silk of my skirts. He had known she would die and the pain it would cause him, but he had bonded her anyway. It was the most incredibly brave and selfless thing I had ever heard – a love story such as songs were written about.

  “Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?”

  He smiled, eyes growing distant. “In a heartbeat.”

  We sat in silence for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  “Cécile, you asked me if I dreamed of the outside.”

  I nodded.

  “Everything I have known and loved has been in Trollus. All my memories are of here. I belong here, in the dark. But you…” He took my hand. “You don’t belong here, Cécile. This place is no good for you – you belong in the sun. And so does he.”

  Coming around the fountain, Marc gently kissed my forehead. “You must find a way.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to struggle with a burden that seemed to grow heavier by the hour.

  “How much of that did you hear?” I asked, once Marc was out of earshot.

  Tristan stepped out from around a glass fir tree. “A fair bit,” he admitted.

  “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

  “I know.” He walked over to the fountain and looked through the window to the moon. “You were afraid before.”

  “Angoulême paid me a visit.” I turned my back on the fountain and smoothed my skirts down. “Mostly, I think he wanted to boast about the trouble he had caused. It seems he has known for some time that our behavior was an act.”

  “That vile malignant pustule!” Tristan hissed. “He’s a craven, dog-breathed, interfering weasel of a man!”

  I waited for him to finish cursing before asking, “So, do we carry on as before? Is there any point?”

  “I don’t know.” Tristan rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can go back to it, though.”

  I nodded, feeling much the same way. “Another strategy then?”

  “Yes.” He was feeling conflicted about something. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

  I frowned. “And whatever it is you are not telling me, now is the time to come clean. We can’t have any more secrets between us, Tristan.”

  He sighed heavily. “I know, but we can’t talk about it here. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  With a mind to evade my guards, Tristan led me to a well-hidden gate at the rear of the gardens and then down a meandering path to the river, where we crossed one of the many small bridges. It was a long walk down the valley, and by the time we reached the fork in the river, my feet were sore and aching. The soldiers guarding the River Road eyed us from the opposite bank, but despite our lack of escort, said nothing as we turned to follow the water branching off to the right.

  The tunnel we entered was loud with the sounds of rushing water, and soon the faint glow of Trollus faded away, leaving only my little light and Tristan’s larger one to illuminate our path.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We walked a little further until the cave walls fell away and Tristan pulled me to a halt. The river water spilled down an incline worn smooth by the current, but to either side of its banks it was terraced with large steps. The structure was entirely flooded with water, forming a large, dark lake.

  “The parade grounds.” Tristan’s light shot away from us, growing brighter as it traveled until it shone like a minute sun.

  “Stones and sky,” I whispered, trying to take it all in. I’d never seen a building so huge. Designed like a vast, circular theatre, tiered seating rose up from all sides, the topmost barely illuminated by Tristan’s magic.

  “The history books say that before the Fall, you could see the stadium from leagues away. It held fifty thousand people at capacity, and is the largest structure we ever built. Most of the army was here when the mountain broke, which is the only reason it wasn’t crushed. A great deal of magic and pride.

  “When King Xavier broke the hole the waterfall came through, he had not estimated the level of flow accurately enough and the River Road couldn’t contain the water. Trollus flooded and he ordered a path blasted through so that it would flood the parade ground instead. The water seeps through the rocks at the far end, but I doubt anything much larger than a river trout could make it all the way to the ocean.”

  Taking me by the hand, he led me down the ste
ps to the edge of the dark lake waters. A small boat was tethered to a stone pillar, and once I was settled, he untied it and jumped in next to me. The gentle current soon caught hold of the boat, and we drifted slowly across the lake. It might have been romantic, if not for our mutual anxiety. He had brought me here for a purpose.

  I arranged the piles of pillows around me, waiting for Tristan to speak.

  “I come here when I want to be alone,” he finally said. “To think, or to sleep, sometimes. And because it is a good reminder for me.”

  Light flared, illuminating the structure and revealing walls carved and painted with scenes of war. Time had faded many of the images, but not enough to completely wash away the pictures of destruction and carnage. I stared at the legions of troll soldiers, men and women, their faces beautiful but cruel. Toppled cities, piles of corpses, humans groveling at the feet of their troll overlords. Humans in chains, bleeding and emaciated, their eyes downcast and devoid of hope.

  I shivered, wrapping my velvet cloak tightly around me. “I read those history books you showed me, Tristan. I am not unaware of your dark past, and I realize that you think the curse is the only thing preventing history from revisiting itself on the world.”

  “If you know all of this,” he gestured at the walls, “then why does it feel like you are pushing me to find a way to break it. Bloody stones, Cécile, if we are set free, all you will be accomplishing is replacing those faces with those of your friends and family. Is that what you want?”

  “Do you think I haven’t considered that possibility?” I snapped, those exact images rising up in my mind. “Do you think it doesn’t terrify me?” I forced my hands to relax from their clenched grip, smoothing my sweating palms against my skirts. “The difference between us, Tristan, is that I don’t see the future as set in stone. It has been hundreds of years! The trolls who committed those crimes are long since dead, and I don’t think those living today should have to continue to pay for their sins.”

  “No, you think they should be released to commit their own.”

  “Why are you so convinced they will?”

  “Do you honestly believe that if the curse was broken tomorrow that my father would be any better than them?” Tristan pressed his fingers against his temples in obvious frustration. “The desire for vengeance might very well make him worse than his predecessors.”

  “I know that,” I said, leaning towards him. “That’s why we wait until he’s dead. We wait until you are king. Because I know you wouldn’t do those things.”

  Tristan looked away. “You overestimate the power I have over them. I cannot control the actions of every one of my people, and even if I could, I am not immortal. All it would take is one angry troll to slaughter hundreds of humans. Thousands even. And that blood would be on my hands, because I would be the one who unleashed him.”

  “But what if you made them all promise not to?” I asked. “A carefully worded oath that would check any chance of violence.”

  A sharp laugh was my answer. “And who would they make this promise to?”

  “You?”

  “Ah.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Do you know what the best way for a troll to get out of a promise is?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “To kill the one you made the promise to. I’d be a walking target – I wouldn’t last a week.”

  “Then make them promise not to!”

  He shook his head. “Then they would kill you. And if I made them promise not to, one of them would pay a human to do it. Trying to control them that way doesn’t work.”

  I winced and stared down at my hands, trying not to let the futility of his words take me over. “Regardless. I think you underestimate them,” I said softly. “I know I haven’t been here a long time, but from what I’ve seen, most trolls do not desire violence and oppression – they’ve seen enough of it and that’s why they are fighting for change now. It wouldn’t just be you keeping the few bad apples in check, it would be everyone.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Tristan made a sharp sound of disgust. “What then? The witch may well have saved humanity with her curse. And in breaking it, we may well be sacrificing it. If the curse is broken, your kind will lose the only power they ever had over mine.”

  “But at what cost?” I argued. “There has to be a better solution.”

  “The witch found the only solution. I will not undo her work.”

  I stared at him, aghast. “You make her sound like she is some sort of saint, but let me assure you, she is not.” I searched his stony expression. “Why do you insist on believing trolls are so evil?” And why did he seem so bent on proving he’d been painted with the same malevolent brush?

  Tristan twisted away from my scrutiny, and the lights surrounding us blinked out, leaving only my own to light our passage across the lake. “I think it is in our nature to be selfish, and in our capacity to do a great many evil things,” he eventually said.

  “There are evil humans,” I argued. “And I don’t see you suggesting we be all locked up in a cave.”

  “How much damage can one human do? Even the Regent of Trianon, who commands a great army, could do nothing compared to one of us. One troll could reduce Trianon to rubble and kill all of its inhabitants. His magic could protect him not only from blades, but stop a bullet shot directly at him. Not even a cannon ball has the force to break through our shields.”

  “But why would a troll want to do those things?” My words sounded pitiful in the face of his logic. He was right. Trolls had the potential for great destruction. But I did not see evil as part of their nature. “Not all of them are Angoulême!”

  “But enough of them are,” he said, gently. “And I can’t execute hundreds of my people because of what I think they might do, Cécile. It’s better this way. Once we gain control over Trollus and I can complete my plans, it will be possible to live here without magic. Perhaps as generations pass, the troll blood will become diluted enough by humans that the witch’s curse will no longer be effective.” He took my hands in his. “We are too powerful for this world – it is better that we remain caged.”

  “Too powerful for this world because you don’t belong here,” I said, pulling out of his grasp. “Maybe you should go back where you belong.”

  Tristan grew very still. “We can’t. Otherwise I would send them all back in an instant.”

  My breath caught. I had not expected him to be frank. “Where?”

  “Here, but not here. The in-between place of shadow and light.”

  “Well, that’s certainly vague.” I scowled at him. “Does it have a name?”

  He nodded gravely. “It does, but it’s better you don’t know it. There is power in a name, and I’d rather not bring their attention down on us at the moment.”

  “Who?” I demanded. “Are there other trolls there?”

  “Yes, although I suspect they’d object to being called so.” He grimaced. “Humans were the ones to first call us trolls and we encouraged the moniker because it held no power over us. But it is not what we are.”

  I pressed my hands to my temples. “What are you then?”

  Tristan shook his head. “It is best that you don’t know.”

  Always with the secrets. It seemed he knew everything there was to know about me, but every time I peeled back a layer of his mystery, another lay beneath. It made me angry that he always kept me in the dark. He seemed to think it was for my own good, but I wasn’t a child. I deserved the truth. Whether because of the look on my face or the anger he sensed from me, Tristan started talking.

  “Those of our kind have always been able to move between worlds or wherever we pleased, and usually caused a fair bit of trouble wherever we went,” he said. “Fourteen hundred years ago, my ancestors came to this place, the Isle de Lumière, and fell in love with the gold.” He thought about it for a minute. “Love isn’t even the right word. Obsession is probably better. But they could not bring it back with them. There is no gold in… where they were from.”<
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  Reaching into his pocket, Tristan pulled out a gold coin, turning it over in his hand. “Neither, as it turns out, was there iron. But here, there is iron in everything. In the water. In the plants and animals we eat. In your blood.” His eyes flickered away from the coin to meet mine. “They discovered they had been here so long that they couldn’t go back. The iron infecting their bodies wouldn’t allow it. And in staying, they lost their immortality.”

  He pulled back the sleeves of his coat and shirt, revealing the scars on his arm – the only scars he had at all. “We are sensitive to iron still. Injuries caused by steel heal slowly. If they are bad enough, we can bleed to death.”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry – I didn’t know.”

  He grinned. “Despite what you might think, I’m not so vain as to prefer death over a few scars.” But the smile was short lived, slipping from his face as he placed the coin back in his pocket. “Bound to this world, they set to conquering and enslaving its inhabitants. They were unstoppable until that fateful day that Anushka brought down the mountain.”

  I frowned. “What about all the trolls who weren’t here? What happened to them?”

  “Almost every troll was,” Tristan said. “It was King Alexis’s birthday. But those who were not found themselves inexplicably drawn back to Trollus until everyone was bound within its confines.”

  “And what about your nameless brethren from the nameless place you come from? Do they still visit this world?”

  “They dare not. Coming to this world means getting caught up in the curse. But they are watching.”

  “Ah.” I stared into the depths of the dark water, understanding sinking in. He wasn’t protecting me by keeping the knowledge secret, he was protecting himself. From me. “So Anushka knew the real name of your kind. And because of what she did with it, you don’t trust me enough to tell it.”

  “Yes.” He said it so simply, the admission that he did not wholly trust me, and it stung.

  “The sluag,” I said, pushing aside the hurt. “They come from there too?”