Panic sliced through me and I struggled against my bonds, feeling bruises rise on my flesh where they pressed into my skin. “You told Anaïs you wouldn’t hurt me. She’ll kill you for this!”
My father chuckled softly. “I’ve no intention of hurting you, dearest Pénélope.” Reaching up with one hand, he stroked Lessa’s cheek as though she were a prized possession. Or a pet. “Make whatever you do look like an accident, darling.” Then he turned and walked into the adjoining room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Lessa stepped closer, and I turned my face away from the warmth of her breath. From the look in her eye. Because I realized now why she reminded me so much more of Roland than of Tristan – there was a darkness in her. A strange, perverse desire to cause harm solely for the pleasure of it. I would find no mercy in her.
Which meant my only salvation was escape.
“An accident, hmmm?” Her fingers caught hold of a lock of my hair, twisting slowly, gently, around the curl. “That’s more of a challenge given what a coward you are, never taking the slightest risk.”
She stepped around me, walking out into the empty foyer, me drifting behind in the net of her magic. “It will have to be the stairs, don’t you think?”
The marble gleamed ominously, squared edges suddenly taking on the appearance of a dozen knife blades ready to dash and slice my flesh. Even if I could survive a fall like that, she’d only toss me down again and again until something irreparable in me broke. A scream tore from my lips, echoing through the empty house.
Lessa mimicked me, adding her own screams to the cacophony, then burst into laughter. “No one can hear you, Pénélope. At least no one who cares.”
Reaching down, she released the magic binding my feet so my shoes could be removed, leaving my legs dangling loose. Tapping one pointed heel against my chin, she said, “Treacherous things. Such a shame that your vanity will be your undoing.”
Discarding one shoe halfway up the steps, she punched the heel of the other through the hem of my skirt. Then she made her way to the top, towing me along behind. “We’ll want to get this right,” she said. “So we’ll practice a few times.”
A shriek tore from my throat as she whipped me down the stairs, end over end, the steps brushing against my cheeks until I came to rest on the floor, magic splaying my legs apart, my skirts up around my waist. Then I was flying up them again.
“Dramatic, but not quite right. Let’s try something else.”
She threw me down again, my hair slapping the staircase as I flipped. Then my body jerked to a stop, the line of my neck pressed against the icy marble of a step.
“We’ll break your neck first,” she said. “Then smash your skull.” My body turned, my forehead resting on the stone. “Then break a few ribs.” I flipped and rotated down the rest of the steps, my skirts now sodden with urine as I came to a crumpled rest at the bottom, my face soaked with tears.
“Just like that. Enough practice. I think we’re ready.”
Last chance. Only chance.
I sobbed as she lifted me up to the top, cringing as she turned me to face her, brushing the hair from my face. “Last words, my lady?”
I slammed my knee into her stomach.
She doubled over, and I kicked her in the face, feeling her control over my own magic loosen. Lessa shrieked and pressed a hand to her broken nose, eyes streaming tears, and I took advantage, slicing through the power binding me. I landed hard on my feet, barely keeping my balance on the edge of the stairs.
“Bitch,” she howled, and I shoved her hard before turning to run.
I sprinted down the hall toward my father’s rooms. Heat roiled after me, and I dived onto my stomach, pressing my face against the carpet as silvery fire filled the air above me, igniting the wallpaper and artwork. Smoke billowed in all directions, and I held my breath, crawling on hands and knees until I was in the room, kicking the heavy door shut behind me.
The lock clicked into place, but it would only buy me seconds, the heavy wood no match for a troll of Lessa’s strength. I could feel her coming down the hall, feel the weight of her magic surging ahead of her.
And I was trapped.
I knocked a bookcase in front of the door, using my magic to shove a heavy table next to it, for all the good it would do.
“Quit making a mess, Pénélope.” Lessa’s voice drifted through the walls, lilting and singsong. “You know I’ll have to clean it up.”
“I hope you clean quickly,” I shouted, pushing more furniture between us. “It no longer looks like much of an accident.”
The door shuddered.
My breath caught, and I took a step back, then another, knowing she was playing with me. Knowing she could tear the whole manor apart if she wanted. My back pressed against the wall, and I gripped the soft velvet of the curtains as I watched the mess of door and furniture slowly shift inward.
Curtains. Window. A way out.
I whipped the fabric aside, flipping open the lock so that the pane swung out. Below was the atrium, the glass foggy with condensation. It would never hold my weight.
Which might just work in my favor.
Picking up a heavy chair, I lobbed it out the window, not bothering to watch as it crashed through the glass and into the atrium below. Instead I ran to a closet on silent feet, easing the door shut behind me and then taking a deep breath and forcing myself to relax.
Breathe.
My magic softened and diminished, only that which always burned, that which kept me alive, still present and tangible. And, I prayed, negligible enough that Lessa wouldn’t notice it.
Door and furniture were flung aside, and the other girl stormed into the room. Her eyes latched on the open window, and in a blur of motion she was leaning out over the edge, expression panicked. “Pénélope?” she shouted, mockery vanished in the face of my potential escape. “Bloody stones and sky, you better not be dead!”
Then she jumped out the window.
Go.
I flew from the closet, leaping across broken furniture and out into the smoldering hallway. The smoking walls were a blur as I ran, faster than I ever had before, because I had to beat her. Had to make it out the front and into the streets before she realized I wasn’t bleeding and broken in the atrium.
Run.
I leapt down the stairs, relying on momentum over balance, my magic throwing open the doors so I didn’t lose my pace. The soles of my feet slapped against the paving stones, and I coated them in magic to protect them as I raced toward the gate, the guards watching me with astonishment. “The upstairs is on fire,” I gasped. “Go help.”
Then I was running in the street.
But where would I go? Who would help me? Who cared enough about my life to risk my father’s wrath? The answer was, and always would be, the same.
Marc.
Ignoring the startled expressions of those I passed, I zigzagged my way through the city, down carved white steps, over the river, and into the Dregs.
The tavern where I knew he was meeting the half-bloods appeared ahead, and I drove toward it, certain that despite my circuitous route, Lessa was behind me. Certain that she’d catch me and drag me home to my father.
The flimsy door swung on its hinges, and I shouldered past the proprietor, seeking the sense of power that only a full-blooded troll would possess.
Down.
My hands hit the door to the cellar, my feet catching on the frame. Then I was falling. I had a heartbeat to contemplate what a strange twist of fate it was that I should die from the very same accident I had just fled when magic enveloped me.
I landed softly on the ground, and all around were startled half-bloods who were even now fleeing in all directions.
Then Marc’s face was above my own. “Stones and sky, Pénélope,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
I burst into tears, and said, “I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Eighteen
Marc
Those two wor
ds, those fateful two words explained everything. And yet I said, “What?”
Her expression crumpled. “I’m–”
I shook my head, forestalling the repetition. “I heard. I just… I don’t… How?” Another stupid question requiring another shake of my head to keep her from answering, because I damn well knew how.
Just as I damn well knew the consequences.
I sat down heavily next to Pénélope, the stone floor of the cellar cold beneath me. I felt a hand grip my shoulder and, looking up, I saw Tips. He was the lone half-blood who hadn’t fled, and his expression was filled with unexpected sympathy given his sentiments toward the aristocracy. But everyone knew who Pénélope was. Everyone knew the nature of her affliction.
And everyone, including me, knew there was little chance of her surviving this.
“I’ll tell them not to disturb you, my lord.” He inclined his head to Pénélope. “My lady.”
His boots trod heavily up the stairs, and then we were alone.
“He knows then?” I asked, staring at the toes of my boots, because it hurt to look at her. And because I could feel, ever so faintly, the sense of a third troll’s magic. My eyes burned, and I scrubbed at them furiously, keeping my hood pulled forward though I knew she hated it.
“Yes.” Her voice was toneless, hands smoothing the fabric of her destroyed gown. “He had Lessa try to kill me. I escaped, but…”
But there was no escape in Trollus.
“I’m not going to let them hurt you,” I said. “I’ll speak to the King again. Now that you’re pregnant, that has to change things.”
“Again?”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, not wanting to tell her but knowing I had no choice. “I spoke to him after I last saw you. He… My aunt…” I broke off. I didn’t want her to know about the foretelling, which all of a sudden made a great deal more sense. The fey saw all. They’d known.
“Then there is no point.” Her voice was chiding. “You know if he wouldn’t help before, he won’t help now. I’m not worth the cost. Especially not now.”
And in my mind’s eye, I could see the King’s face when I asked the boon: a mixture of irritation and scorn. The condescension in his voice as he explained that he had no interest in meddling in Angoulême interests for the sake of a girl whose death was already in the cards.
“Then I’ll kill him. And your grandmother and Lessa, too, if I have to.”
“And be executed for it. You’re no more exempt from the law than Anaïs is.” She curled in on herself, tucking her knees to her chest. “If you believe I’ll sacrifice your life just to save my own skin, you’re mistaken.”
“It’s not just you, though,” I said. Though even if it had been, I still would have been willing. She was precious to me, and the idea of a life without her was intolerable. A life alone. Maybe if we’d never walked this path, such an existence might’ve been made palatable, my days filled in service to Tristan, my passion fulfilled by the fight for our cause. But we had walked this path, and now, knowing what life could be like, how good and precious it could be, there was no going back. And there was no replacing her.
Her forehead dropped to her knees, one hand pressed to her stomach while the other balled into a fist.
No replacing them, I silently amended, knowing what I had to do. “Pénélope, do you trust me?”
She lifted her face, then said, “With my life.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m going to have to risk it to save it.”
* * *
I strolled back home, Pénélope trailing behind under a cloak of illusion that I had more trouble than usual maintaining. My magic wavered and trembled, and without my hood, the concentration on my face would have given away that I was up to something, if not what. I deliberately avoided Tristan, knowing where he’d be on his inspection of the tree, because if he discovered my intentions, he’d do everything in his power to stop me.
We went in through the servants’ entrance, several of them eyeing me with interest, but it was better than being waylaid by my parents if I’d come in the front, especially since they weren’t alone. There was an oppressive weight of power in the house, which meant the King was here. I was confident about my ability to sneak Pénélope past my family, but not past him. He missed nothing.
“Wait here,” I whispered once we reached my room and I dropped the illusion, revealing Pénélope’s wide eyes and tight expression. Then I hurried down the hall toward my mother’s chambers, where I proceeded to dig around in her closet until I found what I was looking for.
Back in my room, I said, “Put this on,” and handed her the leather and armor that had been my grandmother’s. “You’ll move easier in it.”
“And where exactly will I be wearing it?” she asked, setting the garments aside while she worked on unfastening the buttons on her dress. I turned to give her privacy, hearing the faint splash of water as she wiped away the filth from her ordeal.
I hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “The labyrinth.”
The splashing ceased.
“Is that your plan, then?” she asked. “That I hide in the tunnels with the sluag for the rest of my days? Because that isn’t precisely the standard of comfort I’m used to.” She laughed at her own joke, but it was high-pitched and strange.
“No.” I pulled on my scaled coat, then put my cloak back on, checking the inner pocket for the small bulge that had been present with me every waking minute, my fear of losing it almost as great as my fear of being caught with it. “Wait here. I need to get the key.”
Ducking out into the hallway, I glanced in both directions before coating the floor with a layer of magic to muffle the sound of my steps. From the lower level, the King’s laughter echoed through the floors along with the awful weight of his magic. Such an enormous amount of power that he never used but to intimidate. Never used but to further his own ends, which never amounted to any good but for him. Angoulême was supposed to be his enemy, yet in this, they were as good as allies.
“Laugh while you can,” I muttered under my breath, then delved into the lock on my father’s study, muting the sound of the click as it opened. It was black inside, but I moved through the room on memory alone until I was next to his desk, then formed the faintest ball of light to guide my motions.
The key sat in a golden box on the table, and I unraveled the magic that was its true protection, easing a weight I’d constructed years ago onto the key’s cushion before allowing the trap to settle back into place. When I was younger, I’d taken it countless times without asking to go adventuring with my friends, but then the only risk had been a slap on the wrist.
Tonight, the stakes were much higher.
* * *
Shutting the gate, I led Pénélope into the tunnels until we were round several bends before dropping my illusion and illuminating our surroundings. Her eyes were wide, the sluag spear she gripped shaking, her heart a rapid thunder that matched my own, although for different reasons.
“Stones and sky,” she whispered, reaching out to touch the crushed wall of a building, fingers tracing what had once been a window frame. “It’s like walking through an enormous tomb, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” The truth was, I had never given it much thought. We came here for fun, excitement, and adventure, not to contemplate the dead. And death was too pressing, too imminent, for me to want to think about it now.
“I thought it would be more ominous,” she said, bending to examine the pattern of the cracked paving stones. “But it’s more sad than anything else. All those lives lost in the space of a heartbeat, not even a chance to say goodbye. To tell those who mattered that they were loved.”
“But at least it was quick,” I said, taking her hand. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
She made a noncommittal noise, but followed me through the ruined streets without hesitation until we reached the narrow crevice leading into the labyrinth proper.
“It looks like th
e pathway to a nightmare,” she said, her steps faltering. “Marc, I don’t know if this is a good idea. I’m not trained to fight – especially not against the sluag – and if we were to become separated, I haven’t the wherewithal to find my way back.”
“That won’t happen.” I pulled her close, wanting to tell her that if I had my way, we’d never be separated. But I wanted the moment I said those words to be right, to be special, not to be forced out by circumstance in the way so much of our relationship had been. “As long as we’re quiet, the sluag are unlikely to even notice we’re here.” And with a dozen half-bloods having been recently sentenced to the labyrinth, the creatures were likely sated. But I didn’t tell her that.
Her grip on my arm tightened, and she said, “I’m afraid.”
But before I could offer any words of comfort, she turned sideways to ease through the crack and into the depths of the labyrinth.
We moved silently through the tunnels, and not for the first time, I realized how much I’d underestimated her. How much we’d all underestimated her bravery. Though her heart never ceased its frantic drumming, Pénélope did not hesitate again, squeezing through tight spaces, climbing over slick boulders, and jumping down into holes without question. True bravery was not doing something without fear, but rather, I thought, doing it despite fear.
“It’s this way,” I said, gesturing left. “Close your eyes.”
Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, but her lids closed over her eyes and I took her arms, guiding her forward until we stood at the end of the tunnel, the fresh air clean and tantalizing as the faintest breeze caught at the loose strands of her hair. “Open your eyes,” I said.
A faint gasp exited her lips as her eyelids opened and she took in the cavern. I’d come back twice since stealing the Élixir. In those visits, I’d removed the bodies and drained the foul water, but that hadn’t seemed enough. So though I had no talent for the creation of beautiful things, I’d set to making the cavern as worthy of her and this moment as I could, clearing rubble and scrubbing away mildew and dirt before redirecting a stream of water so that it ran through the center and beneath the stone platform I’d carefully constructed. On the walls, I’d placed tiny pieces of silvered mirror that caught and reflected the large orb of light I suspended in the middle, making the shadows appear filled with stars.
The Broken Ones Page 14