Stolen Songbird

by Danielle Jensen

  “Just because it hasn’t manifested doesn’t mean I don’t have it, Cécile. It’s in me. I’d pass it down to my children.” Her shoulders slumped. “I am an unfit wife, for the future king or for anyone. I have been told so to my face by the King himself.” I watched as all her cool composure fell away, her body trembled with unshed tears. “I wasn’t good enough to marry Tristan. I am not good enough to marry anyone. No one will even touch me for fear of tarnishing my reputation. I will always be alone.”

  A knock at the door interrupted her.

  “Yes?” I called out, feeling rattled by the swell of sympathy Anaïs’s confession had inspired in me. The door opened and Victoria walked in, shoulders bent with exhaustion.

  “Well?” Anaïs snapped. Her composure was back in place again, and I half wondered if I’d imagined her losing it in the first place.

  “Six dead in the city, a dozen more injured. Two mineshafts collapsed – we think there are five gangs of half-bloods trapped, but there could be more. Miners’ Guild is waiting for the tremors to finish before they go after them, but there isn’t much hope of reaching them in time.”

  I gasped and leapt to my feet. “We have to help them! They have no way to get themselves out.”

  “She’s right.” Anaïs got to her feet and began pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “They may not have much time.”

  “No sense risking more lives. We don’t even know if they are still alive,” Victoria said, picking through broken glass, trying to find an unbroken cup and eventually giving up.

  “It’s worth the risk,” Anaïs argued. “I’d do it myself if I didn’t have to stay here to mind the human.”

  “Go then,” Victoria said. “I’ll stay with Cécile. You’re probably the only one left in the city who isn’t nearly drained, and no doubt she will prefer my company to yours.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Without a backward glance, Anaïs bolted out the door and I watched resentfully as she went. She could move rocks the size of horses with the flick of a finger, dig out miners buried beneath the mountain. She could save lives, and all I could do was sit here and wait. Worse yet, both Victoria and Anaïs could be out helping, but instead their magic was wasted on minding me.

  “I feel so useless.”

  “No one is expecting you to help, Cécile,” Victoria said, her voice sympathetic. “This is work for trolls.”

  I sighed. “Let me find you an unbroken glass, then. I can do that much at least.”

  With my little ball of magic in tow, I wandered from room to room, picking my way through overturned furniture, fallen items, and broken glass. The entire palace looked like a dollhouse that someone had picked up and given a good shake.

  Spying an unbroken goblet on the floor, I called out, “I’ve found you a…” but then trailed off as I looked through the doorway. My friend was leaning back in a chair, mouth open, the sound of gentle snores filling the room. “Glass.”

  Walking out onto my balcony, I looked down at the city. It was darker now. The trolls were all spent and had retreated to their homes. The tree was flush with power, the pillars, arches, and canopy visible even to me. It was up to the builders now to direct the magic to best balance the load. Up to Tristan.

  I could feel him, so I knew that he was well enough. Anxious and tired, but unharmed. My knee ached unmercifully, but I tried to ignore the pain as best I could. I didn’t want Tristan coming back here because he thought I was hurt when his people desperately needed him. I racked my brain for what should be done to treat it, berating myself the entire time for not paying more attention to Gran. Why couldn’t I be strong like a troll, not… fragile. Human.

  Tiptoeing around Victoria, I extracted Anushka’s grimoire from its hiding place. Flipping through the pages, I found her healing spell, but the plants were not native to the Isle. Turning to the last page, I stared at the word curses. Once again, I hoped for inspiration to come. For some answer that would save all the good in Trollus while protecting the world from the bad. But as before, there were no answers.

  “Victoria,” I said quietly, deciding it was time to wake her. She didn’t even twitch, so I walked over and shook her shoulder. One eye opened and regarded me blearily, and I watched as realization struck and she leapt upright. “Cécile! My apologies!” She looked around wildly. “Has something happened?”

  “Nothing,” I said calmly. The last thing I needed was for her to overreact like Anaïs had. “I cut my knee during the earthshake. It isn’t that bad,” I added quickly when her eyes widened. “Anaïs stitched it up, but I need some herbs to clean it properly.” I listed off several. What I really wanted was an opportunity to go to the library. There had to be more grimoires in that vast collection of books, and maybe there was one with a spell I could use to fix up myself.

  Victoria nodded uncertainly. “The kitchen, perhaps? Anaïs stitched you up?”

  “The kitchen is a good place to start,” I said, pulling on my cloak. “And yes, she did.” Opening the door, I walked out into the hallway. “It turns out she isn’t as awful as I once thought.”

  Victoria was utterly useless at helping me find anything in the kitchen – not that I was overly surprised. “What about this?” she asked, holding a sprig of rosemary. “Smells nice.”

  I shook my head and took the sprig from her. “Sit over there and wait,” I said, scanning the shelves filled with spices and herbs. The palace’s kitchen seemed to have everything but what I was looking for – most likely because what I was looking for didn’t go in a pot for flavor.

  “Élise, where are you when I need you?” I muttered as I moved deeper into the kitchen, which was devoid of life. Everyone was out helping fill the tree with power – including both my maids. I could hardly begrudge them their absence, but they would have been useful in my search. They both had minds like steel traps. If they’d ever seen comfrey or calendula or any of the other herbs that I could use, they’d remember.

  Remember.

  I glanced down at the sprig of rosemary in my hand, the smell of it triggering my recollection of a spell in Anushka’s grimoire. Making sure I was out of Victoria’s sight, I motioned for my light to come closer and flipped through the pages until I found what I was looking for: a spell for retrieving lost objects. “The incantation can be performed to help retrieve the memory of where the object was last seen,” I read softly. “The memory is pulled into the mind of she who casts the incantation.”

  Neither of my maids had precisely lost what I was looking for, but I thought the spell might do. That is, if earth magic worked on them at all. They were half-human, but would that be enough? Never hurts to try, I thought to myself.

  Firstly, I tracked down paper, pen, and ink. After giving it a bit of thought, I wrote clove oil on the paper and then rolled it up. Next, I needed something belonging to one of the girls. I looked myself up and down. Élise had lowered the neckline on the dress I was wearing – that meant the work was hers. I hoped that counted. Carefully, I pulled loose the piece of thread and wrapped it around the bit of paper, followed by a twist of rosemary. “Water,” I mumbled, finding a basin and filling it to the brim. From what Martin had told me about human magic, I understood that a witch drew power from the four elements, in this case water, but I didn’t understand why. Nor did I know why certain herbs were used in certain spells, but not others. Her grimoire was like a recipe book that told me how to perform certain spells, but I had no idea how or why they worked. And I didn’t have time to figure it out now.

  Looking over my shoulder, I checked to make sure Victoria hadn’t moved from the spot where I left her. But my friend was slumped in a chair, chin resting on her chest. I could faintly hear the sound of her snores.

  Speaking in a quiet but firm voice, I recited the strange incantation, substituting Élise’s name and clove oil in the appropriate spots. Eleven times, I repeated the phrase. On the twelfth time, I threw the rosemary-wrapped package into the basin. On the thirteenth repetition
, I touched my finger to the water. The sound of waves roared loudly in my ears, and the package began to rotate around the basin. Faster and faster it spun, and with each turn, I felt magic flood up into me. I pulled my hand from the water and the contents stilled. Nothing. I could see nothing. Either the spell hadn’t worked because Élise wasn’t completely human, or she had no memory of what I’d asked for. Or maybe the thread I’d included didn’t count as hers. There were so many factors, and I had no way of knowing which one had interfered.

  Sighing, I reached for the basin, but pulled back when an image appeared in the water. It wasn’t my reflection. I watched wide-eyed as a pair of hands folded linens and stacked them on shelves. The same hands then picked up a dark bottle and carefully tucked it in next to the folded sheets. This was a memory. This was Élise’s memory.

  Clapping my hands together, I crowed with delight.

  “What’s going on?” Victoria shouted, the chair she’d been sitting on clattering to the ground.

  Snatching the water-soaked package out of the basin, I shoved it in my pocket and spun around. “Nothing,” I said, wishing for a moment I could be truthful to my friend. “I just remembered where to look. In the laundry room.”

  Victoria tilted her head slightly and pursed her lips. “And when, precisely, was the last time you visited the laundry?”

  Never. I grimaced. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Of course I do,” Victoria replied. “But I’m not going to show you until you tell me the truth about whatever it is you’re lying about.”

  I wiped my hands on my skirts and stared at the floor. Tristan had told me to keep my magic a secret – that it would be dangerous for anyone to discover I was a witch. But this was Victoria, and I couldn’t imagine a circumstance where my friend would ever try to harm me. It was Tristan who never trusted anyone, not me. For me, it was second nature to have faith in my friends – to believe they’d do right by me no matter what. And maybe that was stupid. But I didn’t want to live in a world where I couldn’t trust those closest to me. “I did a spell,” I said, handing her my water-soaked package. “It told me where to look.”

  “So, you’re a witch?”

  “Yes.” I hazarded a glance up to see how she was reacting. Victoria had a smile on her face.

  “Well,” she said, pausing for a long, dramatic moment. “There are worse things to be – things that rhyme with witch. And at least you aren’t one of those.”

  A wave of relief passed over me. “I certainly hope not.”

  She slung an arm around me, squeezing me so tight I wheezed for breath. “Rhyming is as good as alliteration, you know. Possibly better. Now let’s go find what you’re looking for.”

  CHAPTER 33

  CéCILE

  The next morning, I set out to see if I could learn anything more about the nature of human magic. As much as I’d been successful the night before in lifting the memory from Élise’s mind, I didn’t understand anything about what I was doing.

  Trollus was a mess. Broken glass and pieces of rock littered the streets, and enormous waves from the ocean had pushed the river back, causing its banks to flood. Trolls were busy at work trying to clean everything up, but it would be a long time before the beautiful city was back to its usual glory.

  With Élise at my side, I headed to the library. I hoped that Martin would be there, because I would be at a loss to find anything in the massive building.

  “Oh dear,” I said, looking around with dismay. There were books everywhere.

  “My lady!” Martin came around the corner, an armload of books floating behind him.

  “I came to see if you had any other… er, grimoires,” I said, casting a backwards glance at Élise. The girl was already asking one of the other librarians if she could help. “But I can see that you are rather busy.”

  “Not at all, my lady. I had set some aside for you, but I haven’t had a chance to send them over. My apologies. I’ll go get them for you straight away.” He bowed to me, but I noticed his eyes were on Élise.

  “You’ll keep her occupied while I read?” I asked, trying not to grin.

  “Certainly, my lady. Miss Élise is always a pleasant conversationalist.”

  The corners of my lips twisted up despite my best effort. Élise was as quiet as a mouse, but perhaps that made her well suited for a librarian. Mostly, I was pleased to see that Martin was willing to overlook the fact she was half-human. I settled down at a table and picked up the first of the three books. It was almost entirely dedicated to love potions, the prevention of pregnancy, and predicting the weather. The second and third were focused on healing remedies and magic, but they were all clear that healing could not be done on oneself. So much for that idea.

  None of them used blood or sacrifice, and none of them mentioned curses. And much like Anushka’s grimoire, none of them explained why certain elements and plants worked better for certain types of spells. The only truly interesting thing the books taught me was that witch magic was passed down from generation to generation, but only manifested itself in women. Ability and strength varied between women, and many lived their whole lives never knowing they possessed the power. Which was certainly the case in my family.

  Leaning back, I rubbed my tired eyes, trying to ignore my sore knee. I’d cleaned it last night with the oil my spell had led me to, then again this morning, and it had scabbed over. It didn’t need magic, it just needed time to heal. Coming here had been a waste of my morning. None of what I’d found was helpful. I wasn’t helpful. Anaïs could dig trolls out of collapsed mines, but the best I could come up with was how to put boils on someone’s bum. And I couldn’t even do that to the King, because earth magic didn’t work on full-blooded trolls. And I didn’t exactly have a supply of troll blood on hand, nor did I expect any of them to provide it willingly.

  Suddenly, I jerked upright. When Christophe had accused Tristan of using magic to make me love him, Tristan had said that such things were not the magic of trolls. I stared at the grimoires and mentally skimmed through the pages of Anushka’s book. Witches could make you fall in love, heal a wound, or bind you to a place, but their magic always affected the flesh or mind. While a troll could lift a rock, create light, or toss you across the room, they couldn’t make you sick or cause you to fall in love: their magic was primarily tangible.

  “Anushka didn’t break the mountain,” I whispered. She had been caught up in the rockslide as much as the trolls, and whatever had driven her to curse the trolls to eternal captivity had happened during the four weeks it took to dig out the city. But what? What had they done to make her turn to such evil? And if she hadn’t broken the mountain, then who had?

  Élise abruptly appeared, and to my surprise, she sat down heavily across from me.

  “What has happened?” I asked, her bowed head filling me with anxiety.

  She looked up, eyes glistening. “It’s Tips. He snuck into the mines with one of the day-shift gangs to help them meet quota.” Élise squeezed her eyes shut. “He was pinned by a falling rock. The rest of the miners got him out, but his leg was crushed.”

  I blanched. “Is he healing?”

  Her tears fell faster and faster. “Anyone else would have been, but he’s mostly human. He heals like a human.” She looked up at me. “They don’t think he’s going to make it – and even if he does, he’ll never walk again. The guild will put him in the labyrinth for certain.”

  My stomach tightened, and I gripped the edge of the table hard, breathing deeply in an attempt to control my hammering heartbeat. My eyes fixed on the stack of grimoires in front of me, two of which I knew contained spells for healing humans. Spells that I knew would work on half-bloods. “I’m not going to let him die,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  “There isn’t anything you can do,” Élise sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

  There wasn’t anything I should do. Tristan had been right when he said that bravery and wisdom made poor bedfellows. It had been one thing to te
ll Victoria, but if I helped Tips, everyone would know I was a witch. And the trolls hated witches – they’d been hunting them down for centuries. It would not surprise me in the slightest if some of them demanded I be burned in the streets when they found out, no matter the risk to Tristan. I bit my lip hard. Risking my life meant risking his, but if I did nothing, Tips was a dead man, that much was certain. And I couldn’t quietly stand back and let that happen, even if it was the smart thing to do.

  Picking up the two grimoires, I rose to my feet. “What,” I said softly, “would you say if I told you I could help?” I swallowed hard, knowing I wouldn’t be able to turn back once the words were out. “What would you say if I told you I was a witch?”

  CHAPTER 34

  CéCILE

  I kept my hood up and my head down as I made my way from the library towards the Dregs. My light bobbed about in front of me and, unless anyone looked closely, I’d be mistaken for a troll. I was alone – Élise had gone in search of the ingredients I needed for the spell, but not before she’d convinced Martin to let us out the small back entrance. I didn’t need my guards following me – the fewer who knew about what I was going to attempt, the better.

  Knocking on the door to the miners’ dormitory, I glanced surreptitiously up and down the street, hoping no one would notice my finery and question what a noble woman was doing at the door to a half-blood home. But everyone nearby walked with the hunched shoulders of weariness, too set on their own business to pay me mind. I was still relieved when the door swung open.

  “Your Highness!” said the girl who answered, her eyes wide with surprise. She started to curtsey awkwardly, but I held a finger up to my lips and gently pushed her inside. “I’d rather no one know I am here,” I said, shutting the door behind me. “Where is Tips?”