Stolen Songbird: Malediction Trilogy Book One (The Malediction Trilogy) (44 page)

CHAPTER 35

 

When I awoke back in the palace, it was to an agony that told me instantly my injuries were grievous. Mortal. It hurt to move – it hurt even to breathe – and I was so very, very cold.

“Cécile?” Tristan was sitting at my bedside, his eyes rimmed with red. “I am so sorry.”

I licked my parched lips. “It isn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice was bitter. “Anaïs warned me something like this would happen – she told me to take care of Roland before he got any more powerful, and I refused.”

“You couldn’t have known,” I whispered, unable to manage anything louder.

“I knew he was dangerous,” Tristan said sadly. “I was just too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

He pushed my hair back from my face. “But I won’t make the same mistake twice – I’ll deal with him and, when you’re better again, Trollus will be safe for you.”

“Tristan,” I said. “I think I need help. From a doctor. It hurts to breathe.”

He bit his lip. “We don’t have doctors.”

I knew that. Trolls didn’t need them. “It hurts.”

His jaw tightened. “It will get better.”

I gave a slight shake of my head. “I’m not a troll,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “I am only human. Mortal and breakable. There is no one here with the skills to help me. I’m afraid…” I broke off, coughing weakly.

He took a deep shuddering breath, and his trepidation grew thick as he slowly pulled the glove off his left hand. His lovely eyes fixed on the golden lace tattooing his hand. The vines, once so bright and vital, were dull and tarnished. “I was afraid to look,” he said. “I was afraid this is what I would see.”

“I’m dying,” I whispered. My voice was calm and completely incongruous with the riot of terror and anger in my head. I did not want to die. Only a day ago, it had seemed my future spread ahead of me like a wild, passionate, and unexplored sea, and I was the captain at the helm, eager to see where the winds would take me. I was in love, and I was loved. I’d never felt more alive and happy, and now it was all going to be over. My lower lip trembled and I clenched my teeth to make it stop. It wasn’t fair. Trollus was full of magic – magic capable of doing the impossible, but powerless to help me in this. An angry noise escaped my lips. “It isn’t bloody fair,” I swore. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

My chest spasmed, and I hissed in pain. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth. Because that was the worst of it – not only was I going to die, I was going to bring Tristan down with me.

“No,” he said, rising to his feet. “No!” He picked up a decanter and threw it, then backhanded a vase off his desk. I watched in horror as he set to destroying everything fragile in sight.

“Tristan, stop!”

He froze, turning back towards me. A shard of glass had sliced open his cheek and one drop of blood trickled down his skin before the cut sealed over. “There isn’t anyone here with the skill to help you. But somewhere else there is?” He turned. “Could other humans help you?”

“I don’t know. Possibly a surgeon could.” There is always hope, I thought, remembering Pierre’s words. Hope that I might live, and that my future with Tristan wouldn’t be cut short. But my hope was diminishing.

“There are always humans coming and going. They’re always wanting to sell something. Always wanting our gold.” His face set in determination. “One of them will be able to help you.”

 

Anaïs must have been waiting outside, because she came in right after Tristan left.

“Tristan said he was going to find you a surgeon,” she said, sitting next to the bed. “And medicines to help you heal.”

I said nothing, but something in my eyes must have told her what I was thinking. “They can help you, can’t they?” she pleaded.

I gave a slight shake of my head. “I don’t think so. A witch could, maybe.” But Tips was an all too recent reminder that even witches had their limitations.

“There are no such creatures in Trollus.” Anaïs gripped the sides of her chair so hard the wood creaked. “Except, it turns out, you. The whole city is talking about what you did for that miner.” Her eyes brightened. “If we got you the same materials – couldn’t you heal yourself?”

“No.” I mouthed the word, feeling short of breath. The pain in my side was sharp and internal. “I’m dying.” The words came out silently.

“No!” Anaïs shouted, leaping to her feet. “You can’t die! If you die, he…”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I said, sucking in a painful breath to make myself clear. “I know what it feels like, Anaïs!”

I started coughing, the pain of the motion so intense it made me dizzy. It was a long time before I could speak again, and Anaïs was forced to lean close in order to hear me. “I need your help, Anaïs. I don’t trust his father, and the twins told me you’re the only other one as powerful as Tristan. You have to keep him alive. I know he did it for Marc, so can’t you do the same for him?”

Her shoulders slumped and my hopes fled. She shook her head. “There is a reason they have ruled us for so long, Cécile. There are none in this world as powerful as the Montigny family – I wouldn’t have a chance of stopping him. Only his father could restrain him, and even then, it would be a struggle.”

I tried to take shallow little breaths, but I could taste blood on my tongue. “Is there no other way?”

Anaïs grimaced. “With iron.”

I frowned.

She hesitated as though the information was a great secret. Perhaps it was, if it were something that could control their magic. “It is a method usually only used to bind prisoners until the time of their execution. Sometimes it’s used as a punishment,” she said. “The troll is physically restrained and iron spikes are driven into the body. The metal interferes with our magic – if enough are used, he might be controllable.”

A shudder ran through me. She’d have to torture him to save him.

“He’d have to agree to it beforehand, though,” she said. “And he won’t.”

I bit my lip. “Is it the only way?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, but glittering tears forced their way through her black lashes. “Except for one thing. He has my true name.”

I squeezed my eyes tight, giving her a slight nod so that she would know that I understood the implications of that knowledge. Tristan had complete control over Anaïs – and in this situation, he would use it.

“The same goes for Marc and the twins,” she said bitterly. “He has the name of anyone we dare ask who is powerful enough to do it.”

But what if I could handicap him enough that a less powerful troll might be able to control him. Could I do it? Did I have the strength?

“There’s a book hidden in the garderobe.”

Frowning, Anaïs went into the side room and came back holding the grimoire. “What is this?”

“Anushka’s grimoire,” I said. “There are spells in here for use against trolls.”

Anaïs recoiled. “Blood magic!”

I nodded and explained the spell that would cut a troll off from his magic.

“Can you make it work?” she asked, eyeing me warily. “Using my blood?”

“I hope so.”

“I prefer certainty to hope.” She made a face. “What makes you think you are even capable of subduing one of us? And not just any Fa…” She broke off. “Not just any troll. The most powerful troll in this world.”

I blinked. “I could test it on you, I suppose.” My eyes met her metallic gaze. “If I can cut him off from his magic, a less powerful troll could restrain him. Stick him full of metal until he is sound enough of mind to be set free.”

She looked ill.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

“I will do what it takes,” she said. “Whatever it takes to save him.”

Relief flooded through me.

“It doesn’t need to come to that, though.” Anaïs squared her shoulders. “We can get you help. Get you another witch who can fix you with magic.”

“If the King allows it,” I replied. “I think he might rather see me die than allow another witch in this city.”

“He wouldn’t dare – he knows the risks it entails.”

“There is always Roland,” I said softly.

Magic prickled over my skin as Anaïs’s anger rose. “If it comes to that, we are all of us doomed.”

 

When Tristan eventually returned, it was with Jérôme and Christophe trailing along at his heels. “Oh, my dear girl,” the weathered old farmer said upon entering the room. “What has happened to you?” Pulling back my layers of blankets, he rested a hand on my forehead and then laid his ear against my chest, listening to the rapid thudding of my heart. Then, very carefully, he felt along my side, quickly withdrawing his hand when I squealed in anguish.

“This is far beyond my skill, or that of any of the others who do business with you, my lord,” he said. “Her ribs are broken, and I suspect she is bleeding internally. She needs a skilled surgeon, and soon, for there to be any chance she’ll live.”

“She needs her grandmother,” Chris said from where he stood in the corner. He pointed a finger at Tristan. “I told you this place would kill her.”

“You bring her grandmother, then,” Tristan said. “Just name your price – I’ll pay.”

“Only a troll would try to put a price on something like this,” Chris said, not bothering to hide his disgust.

“Shut your fool mouth,” Jérôme snapped at his son. “We’ll bring her grandmother, my lord. If we ride fast, we should be back here by morning.”

“Or not.” The door clicked shut. “The grandmother is a witch – and it seems we already have one too many of those within the confines of this city.”

Jérôme and Christophe dropped to their knees. Anaïs’s grip on my hand tightened, and Tristan spun towards the door.

As soon as I heard the King’s voice, I knew my time was up. He wanted me dead, and this way it would happen without him even muddying his hands. I would be just another human who succumbed to the darkness of Trollus.

“Have you lost your mind?” Tristan shouted. “She’s injured! If we don’t help her, she’ll die!”

Thibault tsked through his fat lips. “Tragic, to be sure, but such is the way of life. The strong flourish, the weak perish. It is not our way to interfere.” He walked over to the bed and leaned over, cold eyes taking in my weakness. I felt like a small, injured creature under the eye of a hungry vulture. “Pathetically weak,” he said, turning away. “I am sure we can find you something stronger.”

Tristan’s eyes bulged with fury. “She is my wife,” he howled at his father.

“Your Majesty, you must reconsider,” Anaïs gasped. “If she dies…” Her eyes flickered to Tristan.

The King chuckled. “Never fear, Anaïs. I won’t let my boy die. If I have to tie him up for months and force-feed him gruel myself, I’ll do it.”

Even though he was discussing my impending death, I felt relief at the King’s words. He wouldn’t let Tristan die. Tristan wouldn’t have to endure torture in order to survive. But while this knowledge relieved that anxiety, it did nothing to quell my fear of what was to come for me. I did not think I could stand it if the pain got much worse, but the thought of losing consciousness was worse. I didn’t want to lose my last moments. I wanted to live. Clenching my eyes shut, I prayed for a higher power to intervene and keep this hour from becoming my last.

“No,” Tristan said, the word ripping me out of my reverie. “I won’t live without her.”

His father smiled. “How poetic. Unfortunately, kings and their heirs cannot afford such romanticism, Tristan. When she dies, you’ll take a nice troll girl to your bed, one of my choosing.” He shot Anaïs a nasty grin. “Not you, bleeder, so don’t get your hopes up. A nice, unflawed one. Once she produces an heir or two, you, Tristan, can drown yourself in the river for all I care. It won’t matter. You won’t matter.”

“You’re a monster,” I said, my words barely loud enough to hear.

Thibault leaned down over my bed, his breath hot and smelling of garlic. “Yes, but you knew that before you even came, didn’t you, Cécile?”

I cringed away from the creature above me, for the King was like a thing of nightmares. The beast hunting in the midnight spaces, beneath bridges and in forest caves. Always watching and always waiting for the chance to strike.

He pressed a hand against my forehead. “You are in a great deal of pain, I think.” He looked at Jérôme, as if noticing him for the first time. “Do you have something you can give her? No need for her to spend her last days in agony.”

Jérôme’s face was white from fear. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King turned his attention back to Tristan. “You will do nothing to interfere, do you understand?”

“I hear you,” Tristan said. “But I far from understand why you are doing this.”

“All that matters is that you obey.” The King strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“I’m sorry.” My voice was quiet, even in the silence of the room.

“I won’t let you die,” Tristan said, the words almost a groan. In two strides, he was next to the bed, his forehead pressed against mine. Magic enveloped us, blocking our words from the others in the room. “I can’t lose you.” His words were muffled against my hair. “I won’t.”

“There isn’t anything you can do,” I said. “Except to let me go and promise me you’ll live.” It took every ounce of control for me to keep my voice calm and reasonable. I wasn’t even certain why I bothered, because I could see my anguish reflected in his eyes. He felt it too.

“No.”

“You aren’t making this any easier for me by saying that,” I said, my fingers clutching at his shirt. My voice cracked, and a sob racked my body with pain.

“It is the truth.” I could hear his heart thundering against my ear, feel his misery and fear. “I should have made you go when I had the chance.”

“It wasn’t your decision to make.” I kissed him hard, clinging to him with what little strength I had left. “I would never choose to leave you.”