Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (13 page)

“This is why we need to find Angoulême and stop him,” I said. “He doesn’t even care about the lives of his own followers.”

They all made sounds of agreement, but I could feel their judgment. And I deserved it. With one swift motion, I reached down to close the lids of the troll’s unseeing eyes. “Where is our next target?”

T
he only thing
I cared about, the only thing I thought about, was discovering what Winter wanted and how to thwart her.

Nothing else mattered.

I surrounded myself with the pieces of the puzzle. What I could accomplish for Winter that she couldn’t do herself. How Cécile’s powers might be manipulated. What I knew of the fey and what I knew of the conflict between courts, because that would be the heart of her motivation. All the foretellings given my aunt over the years, their phrasing, and how we’d benefited. How Summer had benefited. The moves Winter had made since her return; the words she’d said. All these things turned and twisted around me as I contemplated how they fit together.

I spoke to no one but Souris, who was the ideal companion, as he listened well and said nothing at all, his only demand the scraps from the plates of food Sabine brought at regular intervals.

They all came and went, talking at me or to each other, and I stored the things they said in the back of my mind in case I required them later.

Marc returned to Trianon.

“All he does is play with his imaginary games and jabber at the dog,” Sabine said, slamming my dinner down on the table in front of me. “We don’t even know what he’s doing other than abandoning us.”

“He’s thinking,” Marc said, wandering through my puzzle while I picked at the roast chicken, setting the greens on the floor for the dog. He didn’t want them either. “And he hasn’t abandoned us – he’s merely focused on the most central problem.”

“You’ll excuse me if I see it differently,” she said. “He’s left us undefended, and even from here, we can see his cursed brother burning his way through the countryside. There’s nothing to stop Roland from attacking Trianon at his leisure. Pigalle was destroyed when the waves swamped the harbor, plus we have hundreds of refugees who fled Roland’s attack looking for succor. We have to feed them, keep them warm, and he won’t so much as stir from this room.”

“The situation is dire,” Marc agreed. “But we cannot reasonably expect him to be a solution to every problem.”

“So what do you suggest? That we leave him to sit here and do nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Marc said, “if he comes up with a solution. But in the meantime, we must hold up our end until he is himself again.”

“When will that be?” Sabine demanded. “He’s still got two more of those wretched bits of magic.”

“That might need to be rectified.”

I patted the pocket containing my seeds, the lump of the handkerchief containing them chasing away the momentary pang of unease.

“We need to assemble our council,” Marc said. “Fred, Marie, Tips, and whatever half-bloods he feels should be present. They need to be informed that our plan to take down Roland failed, but that Cécile, the twins, and Chris’s followers are working to get as many to safety as possible. We need to keep Trianon secure for those who are here and for those who will come.”

Sabine nodded. “I’ll fetch them here.”

As she turned to leave, Marc caught her arm. “You aren’t helpless in this, Sabine. Circumstance has put you in a position to make a difference, if you are willing.”

“I am,” she said. When she reached the door, she hesitated. “I’m very glad to have you back with us, Marc.”

My cousin waited until the door shut before turning to me. “Think faster, Tristan. We don’t have much time.”

I nodded once, then turned back to my puzzle.

T
hey met
in the council chambers – five of them, for Tips had brought Zoé. All of them glared at me until Marc came into the room. “Ignore him,” he said. “Tristan isn’t the reason why we are here.”

“Then I don’t have time for this.” Marie stood.

“My lady,” Marc said. “I’d ask that you reconsider how your time is best spent. Trianon is bursting at the seams with those who have lost their homes.”

She crossed her arms. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

Marc inclined his head. “I’ve no doubt that you do. But the fact remains that they need shelter, and you are in the best position to manage that process. The peerage, I expect, have empty rooms they could fill.”

“Then order them to open their doors.”

Marc leaned back in his chair. “You have a more deft touch. Better for them to delight in their own charity than resent being ordered about.” His gaze shifted. “Zoé will watch over your son.”

“I’m not leaving Aiden in the care of one of you creatures.”

Both Zoé and Tips stiffened, but Marc raised a calming hand. “Zoé’s power is formidable. If Trianon is attacked, she is capable of taking Aiden to safety. Can you claim as much?”

Marie’s jaw tightened.

“My lady, your grievance is with King Thibault. Please don’t allow your hatred of him to color the rest of us with the same brush. We are not him, and even if we were, you have a duty to your people.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, then left the room.

“Fred,” Marc continued. “I need you to send men out to bring back what grain and supplies you can in order to keep the city fed.”

“I’m not leaving Trianon’s walls undefended,” Cécile’s brother said, glancing my direction.

“Tips and his half-bloods will hold the wall,” Marc replied. “With my help.”

“Not happening,” Fred said. “I’m not delegating the defense of the city to a bunch of miners and chambermaids, never mind that they might just decide to abandon their posts halfway through the battle.”

That comment, I was quite certain, was directed at me.

“Then don’t,” Tips snapped. “Try defending yourselves if Angoulême’s followers come calling, and see how long you last.”

“Enough,” Sabine said. “Fred,
you
wanted these people in the city, so it’s your responsibility to take care of them. And you, sir,” she glared at Tips, “don’t forget that you came here looking for salvation as much as any of them.”

There were glares all around, but eventually all departed but for Marc and Sabine. There was an unexpected level of comfort between the two, as though they’d engaged in far more conversation than I’d been privy to. “What would you have me do?” she asked him.

“You’re doing it,” he said. “We need to have a unified front if we are to have any hope of making it through this war. They need to see that they are on the same side, and I think you can make that happen.”

“He’s not helping the cause,” she said, coming over to stand in front of me. I handed her my empty plate and walked away.

“This isn’t him,” Marc said. “You know that. They all know that.”

“It is so him,” she said. “It’s just a him that isn’t tempered by empathy.”

My cousin didn’t argue.

“I respect Tristan,” Sabine continued. “Sometimes I even like him. And I truly believe he loves Cécile, and for that, I can forgive his faults.” Staring at the plate, she set it on the table. “But damned if he isn’t the most entitled creature I’ve ever met.”

Marc laughed softly. “It’s a common trait amongst the nobility, human and troll alike.”

Her eyes flicked to him. “Not you.”

“Yes, well…” He turned, tugging his hood forward so that his face was obscured. “He had some advantages I did not.”

She touched his sleeve; and though they looked nothing alike, for a moment, she reminded me of Pénélope. “I think you are the better man for it.”

The room was silent for the first time in far too long, but unfortunately, it didn’t last. A knock sounded on the door, and one of Tips’s miners leaned into the room. “Got a girl here who claims to be Cécile’s sister.”

“Let her in,” Marc said, and both of them straightened in surprise as Josette de Troyes entered the room, setting Souris off into a flurry of barking.

T
hree days
and six villages later, and we were all exhausted. As was the twins’ supply of tricks. The only strategy we had left was direct conflict between them and Angoulême’s followers, and given their drawn faces and sluggish steps, I was desperately afraid of how that would go. The thought of losing one of them terrified me, not only because they were dear friends, but because together, they represented half of the trolls we had on our side.

I rested my shoulders against the rough wood of the cabin and closed my eyes, wishing Tristan was here. Or that I was in Trianon. It was strange that we’d fought so hard to get back together, to be physically in each other’s presence, and almost as soon as we’d managed it, I’d left.

You could go back.

I bit the insides of my cheeks, knowing that if I returned to Trianon, it would be for my own selfish reasons. I hated the effects of the spell I’d cast on Tristan, hated the flat, toneless intensity of his presence in my head. It wasn’t him. Was like being bonded to a stranger. The purpose of the spell had been to allow me to leave the safety of the city, and if I went back, it would no longer be required.

But what good would I do once I was there?

The solution to our troubles was not in Trianon, but neither was it in this camp. We weren’t going to win this way. It was a stopgap, but the fact remained that Tristan was the only one capable of defeating Roland, and he was as much caged within the Regent’s steel-rimmed castle walls as he ever had been in Trollus. By the time we found a solution to his debt to the Winter Queen – if there even was one – all the folk we’d hidden in the mountains would either have starved to death or sworn oaths to our enemies in a desperate attempt to save themselves. We needed to find Angoulême, capture him, and use him to bring Roland to heel, and I knew we weren’t going to discover his hiding spot through any of his followers. I’d already lost count of how many had fallen dead at my feet as I tried every trick I could think of to extricate the information on their leader’s whereabouts. But he’d been too clever – had been planning his strategy for far too long. The only information I’d gleaned was that Lessa was the only one who knew his location.

Lessa.

The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that the key was the statement Tristan’s half-sister had made to the Duke.
A shame I can’t go with you – I would’ve liked to see the faces of my ancestors.
Yes, Anaïs’s ancestors were famous and powerful trolls – there were countless portraits of them in Trollus. Probably dozens of places on the Isle where others still hung, but what would be so special about them?

Nothing.

Which meant that was the wrong track, because there had been reverence in her tone. This place was somewhere special, somewhere unique. And just because Tristan and my friends didn’t know about it didn’t mean no one did.

I chewed on my bottom lip, knowing that it would be risky. But we were running out of options and out of time, so maybe it was time to take a chance. I needed to go back to where the answers to my questions always seemed to be.

Back to Trollus.

T
here was
no time to make preparations, nor any real need, given that I’d be going alone. It was reckless, I knew, but there was no other option. Victoria and Vincent were the only two holding back Roland’s growing army, Tristan was stuck in Trianon, and he needed Marc to help him hold the city. It had to be me.

But convincing my friends to let me go without them would be next to impossible. They’d argue that my life shouldn’t be put in danger, because I’d also be putting Tristan at risk. Except that was why we’d created the seeds – so that I
could
do what needed to be done. And judging from his ceaselessly neutral emotional state, the magic was still in effect.

I waited until the darkest part of the night, when everyone except those on watch would be fast asleep. Gran stirred as I stood, and I bent down to murmur, “Nature calls,” before edging the door open wide enough for me to sneak outside.

The twins had a tent next to my cabin, but only one of them would be sleeping in it, the other patrolling our camp until it was time to be relieved. I lingered in the shadows, watching the horses on the picket line until, almost as one, they turned their heads and stared off into the darkness. It was something I’d noticed with all animals around the trolls, especially Souris: they
watched
them. And they
listened.
The twins had only shrugged when I’d asked why, but now the observation would serve me well.

Marking the direction the animals were staring, I eventually picked out the faint crunch of snow beneath the boots of an invisible troll. Waiting until whichever twin it was moved on, I crept over to the horses, compelling them to be silent as I slipped a saddle and bridle on my mount and led him into the trees, walking slowly as I searched for the wards I knew were in place.

The twins disdained the tall fences Angoulême’s followers used to surround their camps, preferring to use a series of what could only be described as triplines. They used so little magic that they were virtually undetectable, but would instantly warn either of them if they were triggered. Fortunately, I knew where they were and how to get by them. The first set were about knee height, and I set a branch across two rocks so that my horse would step over it. The second would cut across my waist, and it took me several minutes to build a jump in front of it. Mounting my horse, I walked back until I was almost at the first tripline, then dug in my heels and cantered toward the jump, praying the wind would drown out the sound of hoof beats.

I leaned forward as the horse leapt, my gut clenching as I heard his hoof clip one of the branches.
Don’t fall, don’t fall,
I prayed, pulling the animal up on the far side and listening for alarm in the camp.

Nothing. I’d made it out, but I only had a few hours until my absence was noted. I needed to put them to good use.

T
he wind howled
, and I scanned the blackness of the forest, praying I wouldn’t run afoul of a mountain cat or pack of wolves. I’d brought a bow and handful of arrows, but they were unlikely to do me much good. I watched my horse’s ears, trusting the animal’s instincts to warn me if danger lurked in the darkness.

The river flowed in near silence, the winter so cold that even the roughest rapids now rushed beneath a frozen surface. I guided my horse down the trail flanking the fall, watching for the pond that marked the entrance to the labyrinth.

I almost missed it.

The pond was frozen over and then blanketed with snow, the marks that Angoulême’s party had made when they ventured out long since buried. If not for the rough paddock the traders had built, I would have bypassed it entirely. Slipping off my horse, I led him through the gate before removing the saddle and bridle and turning him loose. The fence was enough to keep him here for a time, but should something happen to me, he’d have no trouble breaking free if he put his mind to it.

Shouldering my satchel, I held up the lantern and stepped onto the ice, the light trembling as I ascertained whether the way was passable or if the cavern was frozen over for the winter.

It was open. But barely.

The ice groaned as I crept toward the rocks, the sound so loud that I was sure anyone within miles would hear it. Reaching the overhang, I dropped to my knees and set the lantern aside so I could shovel snow out of the way.

It would be tight.

Even with the snow cleared down to the ice, there was less than a foot between pond and rock. Easing the lantern under the ledge, I shoved my bag after it, then lay on my back, tipping my head to the side so I could pull myself through. The ice bit and scraped at my cheek, and the rock caught at the front of my cloak, making me glad I wasn’t busty. My breath was deafeningly loud, pulse racing as I considered how exposed I was: head and shoulders in one world and feet thrashing for traction in another. I kept waiting for someone or something to grab me from either end, the cruel press of teeth or the bite of steel, and I wriggled harder.

Then I was through.

The ice creaked as I rose to my hands and knees, the sound echoing through the small cavern. With the lantern flame as high as it would go, I scanned the darkness to ensure nothing was lying in wait before crawling deeper inside.

Though I’d been in this place only twice and never lingered, it was deeply familiar to me, the jagged rocks of the ceiling and sharp embankment leading down to the pond featured often in my dreams. It was the beginning and end of my time in Trollus – the pathway to a world I’d never imagined, a life I’d never dreamed possible.

And it was a pathway that had seen a great deal of traffic in recent days.

Muddy footprints marred the surface of the ice, and there were signs that several trolls had tarried here for some time: remnants of meals, a discarded wineskin, and the less than pleasant smell of urine. Angoulême and his followers had come this way; had others as well? How many had snuck out of Trollus before the King had locked the city down, and where had they gone? Were they inflicting their own form of destruction on the Isle or were they only trying to flee the war between three powers?

But such thoughts were only procrastination on my part. Right up until this moment, I’d felt confident that I could brave the labyrinth once again, yet looking into that yawning black tunnel, I was tempted to slide under the rocky overhang and scuttle back to camp. And maybe that was the right thing to do.

I stood frozen in place, second-guessing my decision, which, frankly, had the potential to be the latest in a series of less than wonderful choices. Except, try as I might, I couldn’t think of another way to find the answers we needed. So I started forward.

It seemed impossible for the labyrinth to become any more treacherous, but it had. The dank wet of spring and summer had made the rocks slippery enough; now there were patches of ice hidden in the shadows to contend with, and my numb fingers were reluctant allies in my attempts to keep my balance.

The only aspect that was no longer a challenge was finding the correct path. Where the traders’ markings had once been were now arrows slapped onto the stone in red paint, and even without them, there were obvious signs of traffic. Boot prints and discarded bits of food. Smells that were a different sort of rank than what the sluag left behind. It added another level of fear, because while before the labyrinth had been empty with the exception of sluag and the occasional trader, now I was at risk of coming across a troll at every turn. So I kept my lantern turned as low as I dared and stopped often to listen.

“Only a few left, and you can get back to standing in front of the gate.”

The sour voice bounced off the walls, and I squeezed into a crack between the rocks, snapping the shield closed on my lantern and tucking it behind my cloak for good measure. A boot scraped against stone, and though I was a few paces away from the path, I held my breath.

Silver light illuminated the blackness and, seconds later, an orb floated past my hiding spot. Then an armored guard carrying a sluag spear, followed by what looked like a troll in a miner’s guild uniform, then another guard. They were moving in the same direction as I had been, which meant they’d either been outside or somewhere else within the labyrinth.

“Here.”

Steel clinked against rock and feet shuffled. I wanted to see what they were doing, but I didn’t dare move. Trolls had exceptional hearing, and my luck wasn’t good. Either way, they didn’t linger, footsteps falling away. I waited until I was sure they were gone, then squeezed out of my hiding spot. Looking both ways to make sure I saw no trace of silver light, I turned up my lantern and proceeded forward, passing a bright red X.

I paused. It wasn’t the first such marking I’d seen, but I hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of what they indicated, so I’d ignored them. Only this was where the group had lingered, so it must mean something. The X was above a fissure in the rock; otherwise, I could see nothing remarkable about the location. Pulling off my glove, I tentatively lifted my hand to the crack, then froze as heat warmed my fingers.

Magic.

But for what purpose, I couldn’t say. My skin prickled, but standing here staring seemed unlikely to provide answers, so I kept walking.

I passed several more X markings as I made my way toward Trollus, but no other parties of trolls. Other than tired feet, a skinned knee, and a bruised elbow, I’d escaped the labyrinth unscathed. Rather than filling me with confidence, my skin prickled with gooseflesh and my mouth felt dry no matter how many sips I took from my water skin.
Something’s not right. Something’s not right.

Trailing one hand along the wall, I walked across the cracked cobbles of the parts of Trollus that had been destroyed by rock, hearing the first echoes of the waterfall and remembering when I’d come this way with Marc and Luc. How it had been terrifying and magical and unknown, and now… I swallowed down the pang in my heart. Now it felt almost like coming home.

Voices. I closed the shield on my lantern, pressing a hand against the crushed buildings. I rounded a slight bend, and stopped, a group of a dozen trolls standing next to the closed gate. I’d suspected it would be guarded, and I swiftly retreated back until I found an open street branching off the main. Angoulême and his followers hadn’t come through the gate – they’d used a hole in the upper reaches to gain access to the labyrinth. And it was that entrance I sought.

What I found was the slime and the stench of sluag, and judging from the slick mess beneath my feet, more than one.

“Stones and sky,” I whispered, covering my mouth and nose with one hand while the other held the lantern up so I could see.

I instantly regretted it.

The street was filled with bones. It was impossible to say how many bodies there were, because the remains were all mixed together in pools of offal. Dozens. Maybe more. The sluag had carved their way into some of the crushed buildings to create dank warrens from which smell and darkness poured, and my heart escalated into a staccato beat as I crept past the openings, my legs wanting to run even as my mind knew it would only draw their attention.