Stolen Songbird: Malediction Trilogy Book One (The Malediction Trilogy) (8 page)

The King and Queen waited with the rest of the troll nobility at the water’s edge. Their eyes were not on us, but rather on a marble platform sitting in the middle of the river. At its center stood a glass altar glittering not with the eerie light of the trolls, but one with which I was much more familiar. “The moon,” I whispered, and raised my eyes to the tiny hole in the rock ceiling far above.

“The moon,” Tristan agreed. “It took fifty years after the fall for my ancestors to make that opening, and for those fifty years, no one could be properly bonded. Lucky bastards.”

“How sad,” I murmured, my panic receding as I watched the beam of light grow in strength. If only I had wings, then I might fly up and through that hole to escape. My heart fluttered in my chest, and everything around me seemed unreal, as though I was walking in a dream. “Can you fly, my lord?” I asked, my voice sounding distant even in my own ears. “Can your magic take you to the sky?”

“No,” he said, and I swore I heard regret. “Our magic can do a great many things, but not that.”

I was distantly aware of passing through the ranks of trolls and of the heat beneath my feet as we stepped up on a bridge of power forming magically ahead of us. It was transparent and faintly glowing. I’d never have dreamed it would hold our weight, but Tristan drew me resolutely across. My heels clicked against the surface as though it were made of glass. My eyes remained locked on the opening above us. Then abruptly, the edge of the moon appeared. My gasp was drowned by the collective murmurs of the thousands of trolls lining the banks of the river.

Tristan moved to the far side of the altar from me. “Cécile,” he said, and I tore my eyes from the sight of the growing moon to meet his gaze. “Give me your hand.”

Without hesitation, I reached across the glass surface and let him interlock his warm fingers with my own. His face betrayed no emotion, if he felt anything at all. Do trolls feel the same way a person does?
I wondered. Does a troll know sadness, anger, or happiness? Can a troll love another troll? Or are they as cold inside as the rocks they were buried beneath? The dreamlike euphoria the drink had induced began to fade, and I cast my gaze skyward again just as the lights of all the trolls winked out. Countless pairs of eyes watched silently as the moon grew full over Trollus. As it reached its zenith, a cool tingling swept over my knuckles, almost as though a damp paintbrush was tracing across my fingers, but I dared not look down. I was afraid if I looked down, my moon would disappear forever. Mist from the river dampened my skin, and my hair clung to the sides of my face, but the chill did not touch me.

I could not say how much time had passed, but slowly, inch by inch, the moon crept across the opening in the rock until only a sliver was visible, and then nothing.

Trollus fell into darkness and the dream fractured, breaking into a million pieces of black glass. Emotions that were not mine bombarded me, and my knees buckled. I collapsed on the platform and pressed my forehead against the damp stone.

I was no longer alone in my mind.

CHAPTER 7

 

Light flared and I looked over my shoulder. Tristan knelt on the far side of the altar, one hand gripping the edge for support. “What have you done to me?” I choked out. There was something invading my thoughts. He was in my mind – his emotions, burning hotter and brighter than my own.

His eyes met mine. Misery and shame built in the back of my skull until I half forgot my own fear. “Stop!” I screamed, my voice rising above the thunder of the river. “Get out!”

Tristan turned away from me.

“Did it work?” More troll-lights blazed and the King was next to me, his thick fingers digging into my wrist. He examined my hand, which now bore a mysterious silver lace pattern, and then let go of me, the corners of his mouth creeping up. His attention turned to Tristan, who was watching him much as a mouse does a snake. “Did you bond her?”

“Yes.” The word was flat, emotionless.

Triumph flashed across the King’s face. “Check the River Road!” he bellowed, charging over the invisible bridge, his son forgotten.

“What have you done to me?” I repeated. “What did he mean about you bonding me?”

Tristan rested his forehead against the altar. “I didn’t do anything more to you than you did to me.”

“What does that mean?” I asked precisely, with venom.

Tristan looked up, a faint smile on his face. “Old magic, neither troll nor human, although we’ve made use of it over the years. It bonded us, or linked our minds, if you prefer.”

“I would prefer the bond ended,” I hissed. “Or better yet, never happened at all.”

“In this, we are of an accord, dearest wife. However, it is something we must both learn to live with.”

“For how long?”

He grimaced and climbed to his feet. “Until one of us ceases to draw breath, one heart stills, one body is consigned to dust. Or in less poetic terms, a bloody long time.” Leaving me to scramble to my own feet, he fixed his attention on the mob of trolls making their way to the far end of the valley. “Unless, of course, this doesn’t work,” he said softly and half to himself. “Then we may not have long to wait at all.”

“If what doesn’t work?” I shouted, seizing hold of his arm. “Quit talking in circles and explain what is going on and what any of it has to do with me.”

Tristan ignored both tugging and words, his eyes fixed down the valley. His anticipation grew in my mind. Anticipation and fear. My own anxiety growing, I turned my attention to the hoard of trolls standing in front of the wall of rock at the end of the city.

We waited for what seemed like an eternity, then, abruptly, a collective groan of disappointment passed through the throng of trolls. Tristan did not echo them. His face was expressionless, but I sensed his relief and elation.

“Did it work?” I asked, heartily wishing someone would explain what it was.

“No,” Tristan said. “It didn’t.” He tore his gaze away from the mass of trolls and took my arm. “We should probably hide you out of the way – he isn’t going to be best pleased.” In the faint light I could see that fights were beginning to break out in the crowd, but instead of fists, the trolls struck invisible blows with magic. Screams echoed through the cavern and the air grew blisteringly hot.

“Not that it will matter if they kill you first,” Tristan growled over the noise. “Establish curfew,” he shouted at the guards surrounding us. “Get the half-bloods back under control!”

“We need to get out of here.” Tristan bolted across the invisible bridge, but when I tried to follow, my feet got tangled in the damp fabric of my skirts, slowing me down. I thought he would keep going and leave me to the crowd, but he was back in an instant. Snatching up the train of my skirt, he tore the thick fabric as easily as if it were paper and tossed it into the river. Then he grabbed hold of my wrist. “Run!”

 

We stopped running once we reached the safety of the palace walls; then Tristan dropped my arm and stepped ahead of me. I scurried after him through the maze of palace corridors with no small amount of difficulty. Even without the train, the skirts on my dress were heavy and prone to tangling up my feet. Pride kept me from asking him to slow down and fear kept me from falling behind. It was made all the worse by Tristan’s anxiety pressing hard in my skull. If he was afraid, what did that mean for me?

Once I was thoroughly turned about, Tristan finally opened a door and pulled me into a room I recognized as the one where we had first met. He went immediately to the sideboard and, to my surprise, bypassed the decanter of wine and poured himself a glass of water instead. He guzzled the liquid down and poured another. “Wine?” he asked.

“I’d prefer an explanation.”

He gave me a curious look. “I suppose there is no way you could know.”

I shook my head.

Passing a tired hand across his face, he nodded. “Fine. We are cursed, and by we, I mean trolls, not you and me; although perhaps you might consider yourself so. Nearly five centuries ago, a human witch broke the mountain in two, burying Trollus in rock. Through magic, we were able to keep the city from being crushed; but suffice it to say, it took a significant length of time to dig a way out, only for the trolls to discover that the witch had cursed them to the confines of Trollus for as long as she drew breath.”

“If your ancestors were half as irritating as you are, I can understand why.”

Tristan glowered. “This is no laughing matter, Cécile.”

“Why not?” I said. “You think everything else is.”

“We’ve known each other the space of three hours and already she thinks she knows me,” Tristan muttered. “Do you want the rest of the story, or not?”

“Please.”

“As I was saying, all of those trolls and their descendants have been trapped within the confines of the city for the past five hundred years, while you humans carried on your merry way above. Three weeks ago, my aunt – you may remember her, tiny woman, practically inseparable from my mother – anyway, she has the gift of foresight. She foretold that when a prince of night bonded a daughter of the sun, the curse would be broken.”

“I’m the daughter of the sun,” I said, my mind racing.

“Far cleverer than you appear.” Tristan stuck his head out into the hallway and looked both ways before slamming the door shut.

“But the magic didn’t work. You bonded me and the curse is still in place.”

“Correct again. Remind me to choose you for my team if we ever play charades. I like a stacked team.”

“But how does the curse work?” I envisioned trolls turning into stone and crumbling to dust once they passed out of the darkness and into the sun.

Tristan went to a drawer, removed something, and handed it to me. It was a small sphere of glass and, inside, what appeared to be a highly detailed miniature version of the city of Trollus. “It is like being enclosed in an impenetrable glass bubble,” he said. “One that humans and animals and water can pass through, but which we cannot. As if pulling a mountain down on our heads wasn’t enough.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.

The sound of boots coming down the hall caught both our attentions.

“Hide in here.” Tristan pushed me into a small closet. “Be silent – your life may depend on your discretion.” The lock clicked shut. Kneeling down, I peered through the keyhole and waited.

I didn’t wait long. The door slammed open, the King’s bulk filling the frame as he passed through. Tristan’s anxiety spiked, but to his credit, he didn’t even flinch. I wished desperately that the bond would allow me to read his mind, but despite my best efforts, all I felt were his emotions. And even then, it was hard for me to decipher what was mine and what was his.

“Where is she?”

“Never mind her,” Tristan said, “I’ve got her locked up safe.”

“Good, good,” his father replied, rubbing his hands together. He was breathing hard, and big drops of sweat beaded and ran down his fleshy jowls. I half expected his heart to blow out of his chest, and I didn’t feel at all bad for wishing it would.

Tristan poured his father a glass of wine. “From what I gather, all did not go as planned.”

An understatement, if I had ever heard one.

The King took a long swallow of the red liquid. “No.”

Tristan hung his head. “You are disappointed, I expect.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’ve gone through a great deal today and still the curse remains. How do you think I feel?” Tristan answered without hesitation.

The King eyed his son with critical interest, considering his words. The glass drained, he motioned for Tristan to pour him another. “What do you propose?”

“I propose,” Tristan said, pouring the wine nearly to the rim, “that we bind her with oaths swearing her to secrecy and send her on her merry way.”

“Or we could just cut off her head. The dead, as they say, tell no tales.”

My blood ran cold and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Tristan’s apprehension rose, but the shrug he gave his father told another story. “You could, although given that I’ve just been bonded to her, the process would cause me no small amount of discomfort.”

“Attached to the little thing already?” the King smirked, the chair he settled into groaning beneath his weight.

“She was brought here to serve a purpose,” Tristan scoffed. “What I am attached to is my life. You know the risks.”

The King chortled at this and his son laughed along with him. Tristan’s words were surprisingly painful to me – not that I had any reason to expect anything different. I’d been brought to Trollus to lift the curse – and I’d failed. Why should he care what happened to me now? But why would my death jeopardize his life?

“As it turns out,” the King said, laughter cutting off abruptly, “she’ll be neither leaving nor dying.”

Tristan froze, and this time the shock on his face matched that in his mind. “Pardon?”

“Your aunt believes it premature for me to give up on her fulfilling the prophesy. She proposes we keep her around for a while longer, and that you should treat her as any man does his wife. We need to give the people some form of hope or who knows what sort of trouble they’ll cause.”

Tristan blanched. “You can’t be serious?”

The King raised one eyebrow.

“She’s a human.”

“I noticed.” The King took another mouthful of wine, leaving a red stain on his upper lip.

“You want me to…”

“Yes. You’ve bonded her, and now you shall bed her. I can’t say I relish the idea of a bunch of half-bloods running about the royal nursery, but quite frankly, I’d breed you to a sheep if that is what it took to break the witch’s blasted malediction. You’re seventeen years old, time to man-up.”

“I don’t care for mutton.” Tristan crossed his arms. “It’s too tough.”