Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (26 page)

F
allen straight
into Angoulême’s trap, and there was nothing we could do about it. This battle would be over in a matter of moments, and we were hours away. Tristan was on his own. Marc, Sabine, and all our friends in Trianon were on their own. There was nothing I could do to help.

“What are our options?” I asked, staring down at my boots. Melted snow was pooling around them, seeping in to chill my toes, but I couldn’t be bothered to move.

“If I travel light, I might be able to make it in time to do some good,” Victoria said.

I knew what travel light meant – without me. “Go,” I said. “Take Vincent. Run.”

“Cécile…”

“It’s not a request,” I snapped. “It’s a command. Go. Now.”

In a heartbeat, they were gone, leaving me alone with Chris and my grandmother.

“We always knew it would come down to a battle between trolls,” Chris said, taking my hand. “We’ve done what we can. Now we wait to see who wins.”

But his words were clipped, the muscles in his jaw standing out against his skin. Passiveness sat about as well with him as it did with me.

And it sat not at all well with my gran. “Enough of this defeatism,” she snapped. “Those are human beings surrounding Trianon and some of them are hurt. Which we can do something about. Pack your bag, Cécile. Chris, you saddle those horses, and be quick about it.”

We both gaped at her, but when she picked up a stick in a way that made it appear alarming like a switch, we scuttled in opposite directions to do her bidding.

“Where is Martin?” I asked, shoving my things into my satchel.

“Left while you two were whinging,” Gran replied, carefully packing the
lobelia
she’d gathered. “Said he was going to help.”

I didn’t know what he thought he could accomplish, but I said nothing. If he’d stayed, I could well imagine myself frozen in place, watching through a tiny portal while Tristan was slaughtered by his brother. Which did no good for anyone.

I stood and Gran moved with me, catching the front of my shirt and pulling me close. “No matter what happens to that boy, don’t you think about lying down to die, do you hear me?”

It was too easy to remember what it had felt like; the moment the sluag venom had pulled him away from me and all my will to live had vanished in an instant. How the cold press of the guillotine had felt like mercy.

“Do you hear me?” She jerked me closer with surprising strength for her frail frame. “It’s not just your life anymore.”

She was right. Tristan not surviving this encounter did not excuse me from the fight. I had a responsibility and a duty to keep going until the bitter end, and my ability to do so wouldn’t come from a spell or potion, but from force of will. “I hear you,” I said, lifting my chin. “Now let’s ride.”

But as we turned to the horses, a shriek filled the skies over our heads. A sound like an eagle, but far, far bigger. The horses went wild, tearing free from their pickets and galloping into the trees. The moment I looked up, I wanted to do the same, because cutting across the sky was a dragon.

“I thought Tristan said they couldn’t come back,” Chris shouted as we ran to the trees.

“He did.” Gran stumbled, and I hauled her up, risking a glance back as I did. The dragon had landed in the clearing, golden scales glittering in the sunlight. And I recognized it.

“Winter,” I breathed. “The Winter fey can’t come back.”

Letting go of her arm, I retreated to the clearing.

“Are you mad?” Chris dragged me backwards.

“Let me go,” I said, and his arms fell away.

My pulse roared in my ears as I approached the dragon, my eyes flitting between its enormous claws and teeth the length of my hand. It snorted, and a gout of steam rose into the air. “Are you Melusina?” I asked, flinching as it lowered its massive head until it was only a few feet from my chest. Emerald eyes gleamed and it huffed out another breath that smelled of sulfur and flame.

“Cécile!” Chris hissed my name from behind a tree as though the slender trunk would protect him from the enormous beast.

“There’s a statue of it… of her in Trollus,” I said. “She’s a Summer dragon.” I reached out a hand and, though it was probably not prudent to do so, pressed it against the creature’s hide. Her scales were hard as steel, but through them, I felt the same sort of preternatural heat the trolls exuded. “Are you here to help us?”

Melusina eyed me, then inclined her great head.

“Can you take us to Trianon?” I asked, terrified and excited at the prospect.

Wings snapped out with a crack, then tucked against the dragon’s body as she lowered her bulk to the ground.

“I think we’re going to need some rope,” I said.

I
spent
the bulk of the journey with my eyes squeezed shut and my face pressed between my gran’s shoulder blades. It wasn’t until Chris poked me in the side that I risked a glance downward. The sight of the hundreds of islanders surrounding the walls was as alarming as the distance from which I was seeing them. Gran had seemed confident we’d be able to help, but watching people desperately climb over one another in an attempt to breach the wall, I didn’t see how.

Nor did I see any hope for the citizens of Courville, who were packed into skiffs across the open water of the bay, the other city only barely visible in the distance. The skiffs appeared to be floating on thin air, but I could see where the surf broke against the magic, froth and foam soaking those it supported.

Melusina circled the city, and the three of us all gazed down the coast of the bay, past Trollus, to where Tristan and Roland still warred. The earth was razed for miles in either direction, clouds of black smoke filling the air, broken by the occasional gout of fire or steam.

“Land us on the castle tower,” I shouted at the dragon, my stomach rising into my throat as she plunged. The castle grounds teemed with soldiers running frantically to their posts, hands gesturing skyward; and as we dropped, a cloaked figure stepped out onto one of the towers, concealed face tracking our progress. It was Marc.

But my elation was short-lived. Melusina shrieked and pulled up as the air charged, all of us sliding to one side, barely holding on.

“Marc,” I called. “Marc, it’s us!”

The dragon screamed again, then dived, and I was sure we were done for. That Marc had pulled her from the sky. Then her wings snapped wide, and my spine cracked as she pulled up, hovering above the tower. With birdlike delicacy, she carefully took hold of the battlements and closed her wings to her side.

“Cécile?” Marc demanded.

“Get us down!”

I rested on the icy stone of the tower to regain my equilibrium before staggering to the edge to look out over the water. The magic road trembled and shook, countless people falling into the sea. Swimming. Drowning. “We need to help them,” I said, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth then the ground shook.

And all the skiffs plunged to the water.

M
y plan to
let Roland hammer away at my shields for the next hour vanished out from under me. I wouldn’t last another ten minutes.

Blocking his next blow, I dived into the woods, rolling behind a pile of boulders. The air whistled, an invisible blade slicing through the trees so cleanly that they didn’t topple, remaining upright until a gust of wind sent them falling like a series of dominos. A line of glowing red bisected the boulder next to me, molten rock dripping from where it was severed mere inches above my head.

I pushed out a wave of heat, lighting the forest on fire, and set a barrier above to hold in the smoke. Under the choking cover, I ran blind, tripping over rocks and debris even as I ducked under Roland’s attacks, using magic only when needed, conserving my strength. But I couldn’t keep it up for long. Angoulême would realize I was buying time for the citizens of Courville to get across and would start drowning them or worse to lure me out.

Killing Roland might be possible. He was more powerful, but I had years more training. Except there was every chance he’d rip the magic bridge out from under their feet in his death throes. I might be able to catch them, but I’d still have Lessa and the Duke to contend with. My only other option was to find Angoulême, kill him, and pray Roland wouldn’t turn to violence the second he was freed.

They were terrible plans, every one.

A massive tree, roots and all, flew over my head, crashing into the foliage where it was soon joined by another. Yet another hit home against my shield, exploding in a spray of splinters. Over my shoulder, I saw Roland had given up pursuit for the moment and was instead standing on top of an abandoned stone building lobbing everything in sight my direction. It was the chance I needed. Obscuring myself with magic and smoke, I sent an illusion of me running off in one direction while I turned back to where I’d last seen Angoulême and Lessa. The trick would only last as long as it took for Roland to land one of his projectiles, so I had to make every second count.

They were gone by the time I reached the clearing, but I’d expected that. Keeping myself concealed, I looked for tracks, but the heat of the battle had turned the ground to a slushy mess.

“Where are you?" I snarled, eyeing my surroundings. He’d need somewhere he could see the action without being exposed to the fallout of the battle. Somewhere nearby.

But there was nothing. The ground was rolling, but none of the slopes were high enough to give him the vantage he needed. Turning in a circle, I glanced out at Roland’s bridge, and noticed an old lighthouse sitting on a cluster of rocks about a hundred yards from shore. The roof was caved-in, but it was still tall enough to provide the vantage the Duke needed.

Sure enough, a shadow passed one of the narrow windows.
Clever. But not clever enough.

Smiling, I walked down to the edge of the sand and built an invisible bridge of my own over to the tiny island.

It was harder to hide oneself in the brilliant sunlight of midday, but only someone watching carefully would see the distortion in the air caused by my illusion as it crossed over the water. And the ruckus Roland was causing as he searched for me was a substantial distraction.

Swiftly across the bridge. Up onto the rocks. The rotten wooden door at the base was slightly ajar, but one gentle touch…

The island and everything on it disappeared in a pillar of white-hot heat that seemed to stretch up to the sun itself.

Stepping back into the shadows of the forest, I knelt down. And I waited for them to come ensure that I was dead.

Moments later a hooded figure stepped out of the trees, arms crossed beneath the cloak that dangled to his heels. Part of me wanted to see the Duke’s face – for him to know it was me who had ended him. But enough was at risk without theatrics, and vengeance was vengeance.

Magic honed as sharp as a razor flew from my hand, blood spraying as it sliced the Duke’s neck in two. The hooded head toppled even as the body slumped to the ground, rolling end over end until it stopped next to my feet, face up.

It wasn’t Angoulême.

Which meant he was still in control of my brother. And there was one very easy way for him to test as to whether I was still alive.

Swearing, I threw all the magic I had toward the ocean, and prayed it would be enough.

D
ismay echoed
from the lips of everyone on the tower, followed by a collective sigh of relief as the skiffs were caught just above the waterline, visible fingers of magic grasping and clawing at the wood to keep them upright and steady.

Marc swore. “That has to be Tristan holding them, but it isn’t sustainable.”

There was no missing what he meant. What had been a straight and steady bridge over the water was now little more than a floating dock, waves pummeling both magic and skiffs, sending them swaying back and forth.

Chris rounded on Melusina, who remained perched on the edge of the tower. “Will you take me closer?” She ruffled her wings and then dropped a shoulder for him to climb on, barely waiting for him to hook his feet into the ropes before taking off.

The door slammed open and Tips clattered out on his crutch. “Are you seeing this?” he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of me.

“Can you hold the wall?” Marc demanded.

Tips nodded. “For now, anyway. Might not have to for much longer – they’re killing each other out there. Countless injured or dead.”

“I’ll try to think of something,” I said. “Are there trolls amongst them?”

“No, not yet,” he said. “Though I expect it’s only a matter of time – this human shield of theirs won’t do much good if they’re all dead.”

“I’ll think of something,” I repeated, though I had no idea what I could do that would help in time.

“Pray to your god that these people aren’t oath sworn to Roland,” Marc said, bracing himself against the stone. “Because I’m bringing them to shore.”

We stood mutely as Marc plucked skiff after skiff off the failing bridge, dropping them on the beach. But people still over the water were climbing from their craft, trying to run toward shore. They slipped on the slick surface of the magic, unable to keep their balance as it bucked and plunged, sending them tumbling into the water.

“Idiots,” Marc shouted, but his voice was full of desperation, not anger, as he abandoned the skiffs on the bridge to save those who’d fallen in the water.

It was impossible to look away, especially knowing that Tristan’s power was beginning to fail. His panic was thick in my mind, as was his fear. There were still countless skiffs out there, and even more people in the water, but there was no more time.

“Hurry, Marc,” I pleaded, knowing he was doing the best he could. “He can’t last much longer.”

“Cécile?”

I turned in time to see Sabine running toward me, Souris at her heels, barking like mad. I caught her and we went down in a heap. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, tears smearing against my cheeks. “We don’t know what to do. It’s madness outside the walls: they’re all so afraid, but they can’t seem to help themselves. So many people are dead or hurt, but no one knows what they’ll do if we let them in.”

Gran was leaning against the wall next to Marc. “I’d say we put them to sleep or in a trance like you did in Revigny, but we haven’t the supplies for so much potion, and even if we did, I’ve no notion how we’d get them to drink it.”

“Compulsion?” Marc asked, his voice strained. “Roland’s oath is a weak method of control – it might be that you can overcome it for a time.”

The very idea was overwhelming. I’d compelled a handful of people simultaneously, but it took an incredible amount of focus on each individual, and I’d never been able to sustain it for long. “I don’t think I can,” I said, explaining why.

Grim silence filled the tower as we all came to terms with the idea that we might not be able to do anything. That the survival of those people was entirely dependent on whether Tristan persevered.

“What about a song?” Sabine asked, and when I raised both eyebrows in askance, she added, “I saw your mother, I mean Anushka, do it at the masque. So did Tristan. When she sang, it seemed as though everyone was in a trance. No one moved – they barely seemed to breathe.”

But that had been Anushka, a witch who’d been honing her craft for five centuries. What she had been capable of and what I was capable of were two very different things. Still, the idea resonated with me, and the more I thought about how it might work, the more I believed it was possible. To focus on the song as sort of a spell. Not to compel, but to… mesmerize?

“It won’t hurt to try,” Sabine said, squeezing my hand.

I nodded slowly. “Marc, could you amplify my voice enough that everyone could hear without stopping what you’re doing?” I had no intention of sacrificing those at sea to save those outside the wall.

“Yes,” he said, then tapped a gloved finger against his chin. “We’ll have to muffle the ears of any human we don’t want affected, half-bloods, too.”

“Marie might still have rowan, which would work just as well. I’ll go find her,” Sabine said, helping me up before she departed.

My gaze went to the open sea. “I won’t be able to do this forever, Marc. What is it that we can hope to accomplish?”

“I’ll go out and help as many injured as I can,” Gran said before he could respond. “I’ll see if Sabine can get me the materials I need.”

“Speak to Lady Marie,” Marc said. “She’ll be able to help you faster. Tell her I sent you. And find Joss – she could be of use.”

It was only the two of us and the dog left on the tower. “Marc?” I asked again.

In a rare move, he pulled his hood back, revealing his disfigurement in its entirety. It struck me then that if I removed the iron from him, he wouldn’t have to look like that anymore. That is, if he didn’t want to. Part of me was certain that even given the chance, he’d remain the same.

“We’ll be buying time for Tristan,” he said. “That’s all.”

“And if he falls?” Even saying it hurt; as did the idea that there would be more for me to do if he did.

Marc was quiet, and I swore I could hear the screams of those outside the walls. “We can run,” he said. “Take those who matter to us and get far away, regroup, then try again another day. Or not.”

His eyes met mine, straight on, without a flinch. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever done that before. What had changed?

“Or we fight,” he said. “To the bitter end. Try to rally Trollus against Roland and Angoulême. Roland isn’t invincible and Angoulême isn’t infallible. There are more ways to end them than pure strength of magic alone.”

“You’d make a good ruler,” I said, having thought it for a long time but never voiced it.

“Maybe during times of peace,” he said. “But to effect change, to rally people to risk everything, that requires a more ambitious and charismatic individual than I’ll ever be. Either way, I hope we’ll never have to find out.” Then he waited, because I hadn’t answered his question.

“We fight,” I said. “Until the bitter end.”

Sabine returned to the tower top. “Tips says they’re ready,” she said. “The half-bloods have blocked their ears with magic, and Fred’s men still had their rowan from the night of the masque.” She went to stand next to Marc, and it was not lost on me that she stood near enough to him that their elbows brushed. It made me wonder if Marc was ready, or even capable, of moving on from Pénélope, or if Sabine was pining for a young man who had nothing left to give. Either way, it was not my place to interfere, and given we might all be marching toward the end, what would be the point?

Sabine handed me a skin of warm lemon water, and I drank deeply, then ran through a series of exercises to warm up my neglected voice. She started to stuff her ears with wool, but Marc turned from his task and gently pushed her hands down. “Better not to take chances with you.”

Sabine touched the side of her face, and I knew she was feeling the warm press of magic protecting her from my spell.

Turning so they wouldn’t see the tears burning in my eyes, I took a deep breath, and then I sang. I chose a lullaby my mother – my real mother, not Anushka – had sung to me when I was a little girl, focusing my will into the lyrics and their sentiment.
Be calm.

My voice filtered away from the tower and was caught with the threads of Marc’s magic, which carried it out across the city, over the wall, and into the fields and hills beyond.

Be still.

Power filtered up from the earth, through the stones of the castle, and into my feet. Wind soared in from the sea, carrying mist that tasted like salt on my lips. The magic felt pure, wiping away the tarnish of the blood magic I’d used, the troll magic I’d stolen, and making me feel clean. It was a gift.

The horde of islanders outside the walls lost its erratic, desperate violence. People stopped pushing, stopped fighting, their arms falling limply to their sides as they listened.

“It’s working,” Marc said. “Don’t stop.”

So I sang, repeating the lullaby like a soothing mantra, watching as my people sat down in the snow and the mud; and though it was too distant for me to see their faces, I knew they were transfixed. Mesmerized. There was motion amongst them now, Fred’s men, my gran, and whomever else they’d chosen to help, moving amongst the horde, pulling out the injured and doing what they could to help them.

But it was not sustainable. Exhaustion was tugging at my limbs, and my lungs burned, the melody beginning to rasp in my throat.
Hurry, Tristan,
I silently pleaded.

The bridge blinked out.

I screamed, despite myself. Screamed, because hundreds of innocents were about to drown, were about to die. Men and women who’d done nothing to deserve this fate. Children who’d never had a chance to live.

Then skiffs were rising out of the water and moving toward land. Fingers of magic beyond number plucking people out of the surf and bringing them to safety.

Melusina swooped over our heads. “It’s Trollus. The magic’s coming from Trollus,” Chris shouted. “There’s hundreds of trolls on the beach bringing them in.”

Martin
, I thought, knowing that was where the librarian must have gone for help. And that so many had been willing to give it meant I hadn’t been wrong to break the curse. They deserved their freedom, and right now, they were proving it.

“Can you see Tristan?” Marc shouted, and Chris shook his head. “They’re on the beach, but she won’t go close to them. I’ll try again.”

Then it happened.

I felt the air ripple, then everything rocked with a thunderous boom. My song faltered, and I struggled to keep focus, seeing the horde stir. The air pulsed again, but instead of a boom, it sounded like a thousand mirrors shattering.

Then I was falling.

Tristan was falling.

Marc’s hands were reaching for me, catching me, but it didn’t matter. “No,” I whispered, but his magic was still tangled in my voice and the word rippled across Trianon. “Please, no.”