Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (10 page)

I
shifted
one of the pieces on the Guerre board I’d made out of light and illusion, then turned to Fred, who’d insisted on standing and watching while I considered my next move. “Yes?”

“There are refugees outside the gates,” Fred said, his face flushed. “They managed to escape the Duke’s militiamen.”

“Tell them to seek refuge in the mountains.” I shifted several of the Duke’s human players closer to my own.

“They have no supplies. Even if they don’t freeze to death, they’ll surely starve.”

“A certain number of casualties are inevitable.” I took a sip of mulled wine and circled the game, nudging Fred out of my way. He huffed out a breath, one hand balling into a fist.

“What is it that you want?” I asked.

“For you to pay attention to me, for starts,” he snapped.

“I am paying attention to you,” I said. “I’m not so simple-minded that I can’t manage two things at once.” Although it would’ve been my preference that he left so that I could focus on puzzling through our enemy’s strategies, which, in my opinion, was a far better use of my time. I told him as much, and his scowl deepened.

“You need to let them into Trianon.”

I shook my head. “They might claim to have escaped my brother, but it’s just as likely they are lying. They could be spies, or worse, insurgents with orders to stir up what chaos they can.”

“Insurgents? There are children amongst them. Stones and sky, there are babies still in their mothers’ arms!”

“Roland is a child.”

Fred threw the jug of wine across the room, where it splattered against the wall, the air filling with the smell of cinnamon and cloves. Souris promptly ran over to the mess and began licking it up.

“A child can point a pistol as well as any man,” I explained. “Letting them in Trianon would put all those whom we know to be loyal at risk, which would be a disservice to them.”

“I’m not turning them away.”

I sighed, and sipped at my drink only to find my cup was empty. “I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter.”

Expletives fountained from his mouth, and I catalogued a few away for future use.

“You can’t turn them away, Your Highness.” Sabine came into the room wearing a gown that was too elaborate and costly to be hers, and judging from the sheen of her hair, she’d heeded my earlier advice and bathed. “It is a strategically poor decision in the long run,” she continued. “The people of the Isle will see you as callous and cruel, and they will hate you for it and seek to betray you.”

“Don’t they understand–”

She held up a hand. “No. They don’t. You must think of another solution.”

I set my cup down and extracted a map of the city from a pile, spreading it out smooth. “Is there room at the Bastille?”

“Putting famers and their families in a prison lousy with vermin and disease is no better.”

Frowning, I traced a finger over the map. “The opera house, then. It is easily secured, and it’s likely more comfortable than any residence these farmers have ever known.”

Sabine closed her eyes and muttered something I couldn’t make out before saying, “It will do.”

“Provide what they need,” I said to Fred. “They’re your responsibility.”

He turned and left without acknowledging the order, and Sabine gave me a black look as she sat, crossing her ankles beneath her chair.

We’d been through this earlier, her explaining that my reactions were inappropriate, hurtful, and offensive. That Cécile’s magic had wiped away not only the emotions I felt from her, but also my own. I believed her; knew, logically, that my mind was altered from its normal state. But I felt no displeasure or discomfort with the change – quite the opposite, as my ability to focus on a singular problem for hours at a time could only be an advantage.

“Is Cécile alive?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What if she’s hurt? Would you know?”

I shrugged. “Likely.”

“What if she needs your help?”

It seemed to me that Sabine was missing the logic behind why Cécile had created the seeds in the first place. “If it is dire, she can always use my name.” I refrained from adding that if there were a way to eliminate that particular avenue, I’d do it. Cécile had all but offered to promise never to use my name, but I hadn’t taken her up on it. That had been a mistake.

“I’m going up into the tower,” she said. “Are you coming?”

I shook my head. With Fred gone and Sabine lingering outside, I’d have a rare moment alone to think, and I intended to use it. Ignoring her exasperated snort, I waited until I heard the click of the door latch shutting, and then sat on a chair and let myself slip into my thoughts.

Nearly everything I knew about the fey was information I’d been told or read. Nearly all, because, for a brief moment at the height of summer, I’d been in Arcadia and met the Winter Queen. It was into that memory that I delved.

It had hurt. The moment when my heart had stopped and I’d felt the bond between Cécile and me sever almost completely, the few frayed threads doing nothing to combat the feeling of loss. The empty void in my mind where my sense of her, and all her kaleidoscope of emotions, had lived.

Darkness.

Then the scent of grass and flowers and rain had filled my nose, and I’d opened my eyes to meet the verdelite gaze of a woman, her breath icy against my cheek. “Greetings, mortal.”

I’d tried to scramble back, but my wrists and ankles had been bound to the earth with ice, which, inexplicably, I couldn’t break. I reached for my power, but it wasn’t there.

“The last fleeting moment of consciousness of a soulless thing has no magic, mortal.” She smiled, revealing a mouth full of fangs. “You’ve little time –
she
has little time
–
and we’ve much to discuss.”

Cécile. If I was dead, then she… “Who are you,” I demanded, though I already knew. This was Arcadia. We were in a meadow, and all around things grew lush and fragrant. Alive. Except, where her hands rested, the grass was brown. Death snaked out and away from her, leaves changing color and falling from the trees, petals withering into dried little husks. Which should not be possible. Not at the height of summer, in the depths of my uncle’s court.

Winter.

“What do you want?” I demanded, trying to maintain focus. But it was hard, because I was dead and I had not been through with life. There had been so much left to do, and Cécile…

Winter ran one clawed finger down my cheek, and I felt the burning cut of cold. The silver lace of bonding marks covered her knuckles, the back of her hand, her wrist. “It is a cruel thing,” she whispered, “to be tied to the one whom you hate. To battle and war for eternity while knowing you will never see your enemy’s demise, for it would also be your own.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snarled. But the bravado was false, because I could feel myself fading. Soon I would be nothing, and Cécile…
Please live,
I silently pleaded.
Please try.

Amusement filled the fairy queen’s gaze, and she said, “Summer was in the bloom of its power those many millennia ago when
He
allowed his brother, and his brother’s warriors, to wander in your world unchecked.
He
was so convinced of his invulnerability with me quelled and chained to his throne that he did not see the danger. But
I
did. And it was a sweet thing indeed to watch him lose so much out of his own arrogance.”

Her eyes were bright and vicious, and I wanted to tell her to get on with it. To tell me what it was that she wanted, because she would not be wasting her time on this conversation if moments later I’d cease to exist.

“There was a reason no fey of ice and snow were trapped in your miserable world,” she said. “I protect my people. I keep them safe.” Bending over, she kissed my forehead, and it was all I could do not to scream in pain. “And now, Winter is once again in power.”

“What. Do. You. Want.” I said the words between my teeth.
Please don’t let me be too late.

“I can send you back.” She sat on her heels, the ice disappearing from my wrists and ankles. “The sluag are mine. Their power is my power. I can bring you back to life.” She licked her lips, her tongue silvery and forked. “For a price.”

I’d give her anything. I knew it. She knew it. “Name it.”

“A life-debt,” she said, rising to her feet and drawing me to mine. “To be called at a time of my choosing.”

If it ever came to pass that she and I stood face to face once more, she could ask anything of me, even to take my own life. But what choice did I have? “Done.”

“And one more thing,” she purred. “You will agree never to speak of what I have told you. To anyone.”

“Fine,” I said, knowing that somehow, I was getting the worst of this bargain. “Now bring me back to life.”

“It will be done.”

And before I could say another word, I fell back into blackness the only sound her voice. “Goodbye, mortal prince. For now.”

“Tristan!”

I blinked, Sabine’s face inches from mine, her eyes wild with panic. “They’re here,” she screamed, and with impressive strength, dragged me towards the stairs.

Up and up we went, then out the door and she was pointing out over the city.

My eyes tracked that direction, and there was no mistaking the cause of her fright. The streets of Trianon were full of troll-lights. Hundreds of them. And they were coming this way.

“
S
he’s dead
.”

The answer fell out of my mouth, and I immediately wished I could take it back and deliver it in a way that wouldn’t cause my sister’s eyes to fill with tears, her chin to tremble. As if there were such a way. Joss had disliked Genevieve, but she’d still been her mother.

“How? Was it the witch? Anushka?”

I swallowed hard. “She
was
Anushka.”

Silence.

“
You
killed her.”

“I had to. It wasn’t her. Our real mother was already dead.” I was babbling. None of what I said made any sense, but I couldn’t seem to piece together a sentence that would do what I intended. “It was the only way.”

“To free them?”

“Yes.”

She shoved me, and I landed hard on my bottom.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “Let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” she shouted, blind to the panicked expressions on the others’ faces. “This is your fault. You killed our mother and you set these monsters free to slaughter innocent people. And all for some stupid boy who can’t be bothered to come out from behind his castle walls to undo the damage that he’s caused.”

“Joss–”

“I wish you’d stayed dead,” she spat, then swung onto her horse and galloped up the trail.

Everyone was staring, silent, with hands in pockets or resting on hips.

Chris stepped up next to me. “You can explain what happened when we get back to camp. It’s not safe for us to linger here any longer.”

I
t took
us the rest of the day and into the evening to reach camp, a set of cabins on the edge of Moraine Lake that hunters used and maintained. They sat in the midst of at least two dozen tents, and though it was too dark for me to see the faces of those moving between them, I recognized most of the voices.

“That’s Joss’s horse,” Chris said, helping me off the back of his animal. “So you can quit fretting.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

He shrugged. “This way.”

As I followed Chris toward one of the cabins, Marc and the twins fell into step next to me, and the world fell silent as we were enveloped in magic.

“What do you intend to tell them?” Marc asked.

“The truth.”

I could all but feel the silent conversation taking place over my head. “These are my people,” I snapped. “They deserve to know.”

“Perhaps they do,” Marc replied. “But will they understand what you tell them? Will knowing the truth about why Tristan remains in Trianon help or hinder them? Will it help or hinder us?”

I chewed the inside of my cheeks, considering how I might explain to people who knew little or nothing about trolls why Tristan remained hidden while the people of the Isle suffered at his brother’s hand. How to explain the weight of a promise. The value of a name. It would sound like nonsense in their ears, a ridiculous excuse.

“We need them,” Marc said, slowing his pace to buy us more time to talk. “We cannot hope to win this war without the support of the humans, but to have that, we need to give them a reason to fight for us. You need to give them that reason.”

“I’m not a leader, Marc,” I said, my skin prickling as I counted down the steps to the doorway of the cabin. “And even if I was, I’m the one who unleashed Roland. What could I possibly say that would make up for that?”

“You made that choice based on the belief that we would prevail over our enemies. That we could build a world where your kind and mine lived in harmony.” He caught hold of my arm, pulling me around to face him. “Did you think that it would happen easily?”

I mutely shook my head.

“You’re a princess, Cécile. The future Queen. Start acting like it.”

The crackling of the fires and the whistle of the wind through the mountains filled my ears once more.

“You coming in, or we having this meeting out in the cold?” Chris stood in the entrance to the cabin, beyond him those men and women who were respected in our community, Jérôme, my gran, and my father included.

“Give me a minute alone with them,” I said to Marc and the twins, and then I stepped through the door.

There were ten people crammed inside the small building, the fire at the center of the lone room more for light than heat, the press of human flesh enough to put beads of sweat on the brows of all present.

“How much do they know?” I asked under my breath.

“As much as I do. I’ve explained about Roland, Angoulême, and the King – they understand the factions,” he said. “And this building is ringed with steel, so you don’t need to worry about anyone listening in.”

I lifted one eyebrow.

“Tristan prepared me as best he could in the time he had. How to protect ourselves, and how to fight.” Chris jerked his chin at the group. “They know that much, too.”

I licked my lips, tasting sweat. Tristan had laid the groundwork for building an army, and this was the moment when I’d either build upon that foundation or burn it to the ground. I coughed to clear my throat, then my father stepped in front of me.

“Cécile, is it true what your sister says you’ve done?” he asked, and the anguish in his voice was like a knife to my heart.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Of course Joss had told them. How could I possibly have expected otherwise? My eyes raced around the room, taking in the crossed arms and mouths fixed in unbending lines.

“Did you kill your mother?”

Be a queen.

I lifted my chin. “No. I killed her murderer. I killed the witch who’d stolen my mother’s body and used it as her own. I killed the woman who intended to do the exact same thing to me.”

“You slaughtered the only thing that stood between us and these monsters,” Sabine’s father said. “And where is my girl? Is she well?”

“Sabine is in Trianon,” I said. “She’s staying in the Regent’s castle, and is under the protection of my husband. There is no safer place.”

A flurry of whispers filled the room, and I held my hand up to silence them. “Among trolls, as among humans, there are villains. Individuals who are corrupt, selfish, and cruel. The Duke d’Angoulême is one such troll. He controls my husband’s younger brother, Prince Roland, who is a child graced with incredible power, but also afflicted with violent madness. While it is the Prince who has been delivering wrath and ruin upon the Isle these past days, it is the Duke who is the mind behind the violence, his every move intended to bring him one step closer to his goal: taking the crown. We came to Colombey today to kill Roland.”

“And yet he’s still alive,” Sabine’s father snapped.

Chris coughed. “I’m afraid that’s our doing. Our stunt interrupted their plans, and…” He shrugged. “There was no way to know.”

“If this Duke’s the problem, why not go after him?”

“Because he’s gone into hiding,” I answered. “And by the time we found him, the war would be over.”

Or so my friends believed. Between Tristan, Marc, and the twins, they’d come up with dozens of places related to the Angoulême family, which was almost as unhelpful as coming up with none. They were convinced they wouldn’t find him that way, although I was not so sure. There had been something about the way Lessa had said it. Something about the entire exchange between her and the Duke…

“Why’d Tristan send you to do his dirty work?” Everyone turned to my father, who stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tensed.

I hesitated. They were owed the truth, but was Marc right? Would telling them do more harm than good? “The Duke is building an army of humans. That’s why all the islanders are being rounded up – so that they can be made to swear fealty to Roland. An oath to a troll is binding,” I said. “And if you don’t believe me, ask Chris or Jérôme what it feels like for a troll to hold you to your word.”

Both of them nodded.

“My husband, Prince Tristan de Montigny, remains in Trianon to protect it. To keep it as a safe haven for all who seek refuge. To come and put an end to Roland himself would mean leaving those many thousands of people undefended, and,” I swallowed hard, “there are other villains who would take advantage.”

“The troll king, you mean,” my father said.

I nodded. “We are fighting a two-sided war, and if we lose…”
If the world burns, its blood will be on your hands.

“And if you win?” Sabine’s father demanded. “If
this Tristan
defeats his brother, this Duke, and his own father, will he be able to control his people?”

“Yes,” I said, uncertain whether it was the truth or a lie.

Mutters and whispers filled the cabin, people turning to those closest to them to voice their opinions.

“But we cannot win without your help,” I said, sensing this was the moment I’d either win them or lose them for good. The door opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around. “You might be safe hiding in the mountains for now, but if the Duke takes the crown, he’ll hunt you down one by one. Now, he is at his weakest, which means now is the time for us to strike.”

“What exactly do you suggest we do?” Jérôme demanded. “Pick them off individually? That’s no way to win a war.”

“He’s right.” Marc stepped up next to me. “Which is why we aren’t going to limit ourselves to a few trolls – we’re going to take away his army.”