Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (28 page)

T
he rows
of bodies seemed to go on forever.

A drop of sweat dripped into my eye, and I wiped a grimy hand across my forehead, not caring that I’d probably left a streak of blood, dirt, and worse behind. The soldier before me was breathing steadily, his chest now a network of scars rather than open wounds, but what was saving one compared to the hundreds who’d died because of my choices, my actions?

I sat back on my haunches, watching yet another cartload of sleeping islanders trundle past, headed to the prison, which had been deemed the only safe place to keep them. Except for the children – Marie had insisted they all be brought to the castle, where she’d enlisted several of the newly arrived trolls to watch over them in case any woke.

But it was a stopgap. Asleep, they could neither eat nor drink, and we hadn’t the resources to tend to each individual as we had with Aiden. The young lord remained under my spell – and Zoé’s watchful eye – his mother insisting he remain so until we’d won the day. And if we lost, well… It wouldn’t matter at that point if the King’s compulsion had destroyed his mind or not.

“Is Tristan still unconscious?” Marc knelt next to me, handing me a steaming tin cup.

I nodded, trying not to let my fear show. Too easily, I conjured up Vincent’s face, devoid of all that made him him, and wondered if the same had happened to Tristan. Whether he lay somewhere, alone, with a head injury so traumatic that even his seemingly endless power hadn’t been able to overcome it. After all, his power hadn’t been able to help Vincent.

“Victoria and Chris are looking,” Marc said. “They’ll find him.”

“I should go.” My eyes burned, but I was so drained, it felt like there were no tears left to spill. “I could find him.”

“If that’s what you want.”

His tone was careful, and I knew it was his way of saying that to do so would be a mistake. “Just say what you’re thinking, Marc,” I muttered, knowing I shouldn’t be sharp with him. That Trianon wasn’t in total chaos was all thanks to him and Tips. The injured were being cared for, the dead put to rest, and the walls rebuilt, and though the city had been through hell and back, there was no sense of hopelessness.

The sound of trolls and humans hard at work fell away, and Marc pulled forward his hood to conceal his lips from sharp eyes. “No one knows that Roland defeated Tristan yet,” he said. “And for now, we need to keep it that way. Trollus has chosen to rally behind him, but if they knew the truth…”

“That might change,” I finished for him.

He nodded. “Angoulême likely saw how Trollus helped the people of Courville who were on those skiffs, and he’ll know what that means, so he will be eager to inform them of Tristan’s demise – that their chosen one is, to his knowledge, a dead man.”

“So what do you think he’ll do?”

Marc’s eyes went distant as he thought. “The news of Tristan’s death would throw Trollus and Trianon into chaos. The humans would have lost their protector, and the trolls would be faced with the decision of whether to accept Roland or rally behind a new candidate as king or queen. The latter will cause infighting that will lead to even more upheaval until someone lands on top. He’ll want to attack now rather than risk fighting a new, unified front.”

“If we find Tristan, won’t they fight for him?”

Marc blew out a breath between his teeth, the expression in his unblinking eyes answering my question, and sickness burned the back of my throat. Whether Trollus remained loyal would depend on what state Tristan was in, and as it was, there was no chance he’d be recovered by the time Roland and Angoulême arrived to attack.

“Of a surety, some of the Duke’s followers survived the battle, and they’ll be running to meet him with the news that not only are you alive, you’re well enough to perform magic, which will make him suspect Tristan survived the battle with his brother.”

“Will that keep him from attacking?”

He shook his head. “I think it will only cause him to move faster – to strike before Tristan has the chance to recover.”

“Surely we can hold against him,” I said. “We’ve hundreds of trolls here, plus all the half-bloods and human soldiers.”

“But at what cost?” Marc asked. “Angoulême will walk up to the gates and inform everyone in straight terms that Roland has defeated his brother. He will give them a chance to capitulate or face Roland’s wrath. What do you think they’ll choose?”

“Then what?” I snapped, my temper fraying. “What do you suggest we do? As I see it, our only hope is to find Tristan and see if I can help him recover. If he were here, if the trolls could see him, then maybe…” It would still be another battle. Hundreds, maybe thousands of lives lost, with no certainty of victory. Was surrender the better option? Was it inevitable?

“We have one advantage,” Marc said. “For a few hours more, Angoulême believes you both are dead. His guard will be lowered.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “So? It isn’t as though Tristan is capable of doing anything about it.”

“I’m not talking about Tristan,” Marc said. “I’m talking about you.”

W
e crouched
in a copse of trees, twilight upon us. Melusina had delivered Marc, Sabine, and me to the location an hour ago, but we’d waited for the twins to join us before making our move. It had killed me to ask Martin pull them away from their search for Tristan, but Marc couldn’t handle Angoulême and Lessa on his own.

He’s still alive,
I reminded myself.
Chris is looking for him – he’ll find him.

“We’re running out of time,” Marc muttered, sitting back on his haunches to reveal the portal Martin had made. We were waiting for Roland to be alone, but thus far, he’d been unaccommodating. And it wouldn’t be long before the survivors of our victory at Trianon would arrive with word that I was still alive.

“We could intercept them,” Victoria said, absently braiding her long black hair as she watched Roland. “Can’t talk if they’re dead.”

“Risky,” Marc replied. “We don’t know who survived – you’d have no idea of who you were going up against.” His jaw tightened. “But I don’t see as we have a choice. Go, and we’ll send Martin for you when we move.”

If we moved.
I sighed, pulling my hood further forward to keep my ears warm.

“He looks so sad,” Sabine said, leaning against me as we watched the twins disappear into the darkness, Vincent following at his sister’s heels.

I glanced at her. “Roland?”

She nodded, and I fought the urge to regale her with stories of the many ways Tristan’s brother had harmed people, including me. Truthfully, she was right. Roland sat across a crackling fire from Angoulême and Lessa, his chin resting on his knees as he stared into the flames. Neither of his companions made any attempt to engage in conversation, and the human soldiers and servants in their camp gave them wide berth.

“He’s been made to do things he didn’t wish to do,” I said. “That’s why he’s upset. Not because he feels badly for the hurt he’s caused.”

“A broken child,” Sabine said. “But still just a child.”

That thought in our minds, we all sat in silence watching the trio.

“Stones and sky, Roland,” Marc muttered. “Go take a piss or something.”

“This isn’t working,” I said. “We need to find another way to lure him away from his minders.”

“What if we sent him a message,” Sabine said. “A note.”

“How?” Marc asked. “It isn’t as though any of us can traipse in there and deliver it.”

“Why not?” Sabine asked, and I immediately shook my head, seeing the direction this was going. “It’s too dangerous, Sabine. He’s too dangerous.” I looked to Marc for agreement, but instead his gaze was thoughtful.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I smell cooking, and a growing boy’s got to eat.”

“
I
should be
the one doing this,” I muttered as we approached the group of servants working around the cook fire.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she replied. “From what I’ve heard, the Duke is wise to all our tricks and he’s not so much a fool to have completely lowered his guard. If any of them were to sense the magic of your disguise, you’d be done. Tristan would be done. And I don’t really care to fight the rest of this war without you.”

I couldn’t argue with her logic.

Two of the cooks looked up at our approach, and we both smiled. “She’s going to serve His Majesty his dinner tonight,” I said, a breeze drifting through the camp as I forced power into my words. “You’ve both known her for years. Me, you never saw.”

Moving at a sedate pace that wouldn’t attract attention, I retreated into the woods to where Marc and Martin waited, their eyes on the portal.

“Here she comes,” Martin whispered, and we all watched in silence. If it went badly, there was nothing we’d be able to do to help her.

Sabine and two other women approached the three trolls, trays of steaming food carefully balanced in their hands. She dropped into a curtsey, and the other two followed suit, dishes rattling against each other.

“Idiots don’t know the first thing about serving royalty,” Lessa muttered.

“Perhaps you might instruct them, my lady,” Roland said. “Given your own expertise in the matter.” There was a sly edge to his voice that reminded me of his brother, but I shook away the thought.

“He knows she isn’t Anaïs,” Marc murmured, and I nodded. Knew, and wasn’t entirely pleased about the deception.

“Check them,” Angoulême said, his tone sour. Indeed, for one who, in his mind, had won a victory a lifetime in the making, he seemed of a poor temper.

Roland glanced at Sabine, then turned back to the fire. “They are who they are. Human. No magic.”

“Are you sure?”

Roland slowly lifted his chin to meet the Duke’s gaze, and the hatred in his eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen. A wrath inhuman in its magnitude. “By all means, Your Grace, please check for yourself. Or perhaps have
the lady
check them, given she excels with disguises. Or at least thinks she does.” His eyes shifted to his half-sister, eyeing her up as though wondering how she’d look without her skin.

Lessa licked her lips nervously, and shifted a few inches away. But Angoulême seemed unperturbed. “Do not test me, boy,” he snapped, jerking the tray from one of the women’s hands and slamming it on the ground.

Noticeably trembling, Sabine approached Roland, and I took hold of Marc’s hand, squeezing it hard to keep my fear in check.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered, dropping into another curtsey, then carefully setting the tray in front of him, her body obscuring Angoulême and Lessa’s view. Then she slowly lifted her face to meet his eyes and I held my breath.
Please don’t hurt her.

Roland’s head tilted ever so slightly, expression considering. Then his eyes flicked to the scrap of paper Sabine carefully dropped onto his tray.

Please. Please.

“Thank you,” he said, his smile revealing too many teeth to be comforting. Then magic plucked up the scrap, he glanced at the words, and it disappeared in a smokeless puff of flame. “It smells delightful.”

Sabine curtseyed a third time, then retreated with the other women back to the distant cook fire. Roland watched her go, then began eating, showing no interest in divulging the existence or the contents of my note to his master. He finished his meal and rose to his feet. “Excuse me.”

“Where are you going?” Angoulême demanded.

Roland stopped in his tracks, and even from the distance where we watched, I felt the ground tremble. “You’ve made it quite clear, Your Grace, that I’m responsible for dirtying my hands for you, but I did not realize that you intended to reciprocate.”

Marc snorted out a laugh. “Madness aside, he’s got a Montigny tongue on him.”

Angoulême scowled. “Don’t be long.”

“That’s hard to predict,” Roland replied, strolling off into the woods.

“You pushed him too hard,” Lessa hissed once he was out of earshot. “He hates you. And you heard him – he knows who I am.”

“What of it?” The Duke broke the roll on his plate into tiny pieces, eating none of them. “He is under my control and no threat to you or me.”

“Is he?” Lessa shoved aside her untouched tray. “If he looks hard enough, he’ll find a way around your commands. Around his promises. There is always a way around.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Lessa recoiled, then leaned forward, catching at the Duke’s sleeve. “My family cast me aside,” she whispered. “Yours took me in. Gave me everything and taught me everything. Do not let Tristan and Cécile’s lies turn you against me – you know I’m loyal. And they’re dead.” She reached up to touch his cheek and he slapped her hand away violently.

“Not while you’re wearing her face.”

Lowering her arm, Lessa glanced around, then let Anaïs’s face melt away to reveal her own. “Anaïs was loyal to Tristan, not to you,” she said. “I killed her because she was a traitor.”

“You killed her to further your own ends,” Angoulême snarled. “Anaïs was my child, and you slaughtered her. Then you lied to me about it.” He leaned closer. “Lied like a cursed human.”

Lessa crouched in on herself, realizing, I thought, that she’d made a mistake in killing Anaïs. That Angoulême had cared more for his daughter than he’d let on, and that it was only his unwillingness to disrupt his plans that kept him from having his revenge. But that might not always be the case.

“I’ll give you another,” she said. “And once our child is strong enough to hold the throne, we can be rid of Roland.”

Angoulême’s anger fell away, and he stroked a finger down her cheek. “I can’t help but admire your ambition, darling. Your willingness to see your entire family dead in your pursuit of the crown.” He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear, her face growing still
.
Then he sat back. “You promised to love me. Remember that.”

“I love you,” Lessa whispered. “I always have.”

“His cruelty really does know no bounds,” Marc murmured, and I moved away from the portal, unwilling to watch any more of this abuse. Never would I have thought to have cause to feel sympathy for Lessa, but to be forced to love that monster? I sighed.

Then Martin spoke. “Roland’s gone some distance from the camp. He’s waiting.”

“You ready for this, Cécile?” Marc asked.

My pulse was loud in my ears, my ice-cold hands drenched with sweat, but I nodded at Martin and the world tore open to reveal the monster with whom I needed to form an alliance.

Hissing in surprise, Roland leapt back and swiped at the tear, but his magic passed through it as though the opening wasn’t there.

“This is fey magic,” I said to him. “You cannot attack it.”

The violence fell away from him, and he tried again to pluck at the edges of the tear before giving up and acknowledging me. “Why aren’t you dead?”

“It’s not for lack of your master trying,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I am King,” Roland replied, his face twisting. “I have no…” His throat choked off the lie, and I could all but feel his fury. “What is it you want, human?”

“Revenge.” I hesitated, terrified of saying something that would trigger one of the traps the Duke had placed in the boy’s mind. “Angoulême has taken everything from me, just as he has taken everything from you.”

“He gave me the crown, just as he said he would.”

“Has he?” I asked, then before he could respond, “For your brother’s sake, will you hear me out?”

“Tristan cares not what I do.” Roland said, eyes going to his boots. “He’s dead.”

It was no answer, but I knew I had him – that he’d listen. “I know the Duke forced you to kill your parents and your aunt,” I said. “And to… attack your brother.” I bit the insides of my cheeks. “He has your name and he controls what you do.”

The barest hint of a nod.

“How can you truly be king if you are controlled by another?” I asked. “He is only using you for your power, Roland. To eliminate any who are strong enough to contest him.”

Silence.

“You know that is Lessa pretending to be Anaïs? That he betrothed you to his lover who is also your half-sister, and if that were not awful enough, he intends to cuckold you and pretend the child is yours. And when that child is strong enough to hold the throne, he intends to kill you and your sister so that there are no Montignys left. So that there are none alive more powerful than him.”

“What is it you would have me do?” Roland’s voice was acidic. “As you say,
he
is the one in control.”

I lifted my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze. It was like staring into the eyes of a viper. “So you would live the rest of your life under his thumb, as his puppet, until he decides to do you in?”

Roland’s jaw tightened.

“What if there was another way?” I asked, before his temper snapped. “What if we could make it so that he could no longer use you as his weapon?”

“How?”

I swiftly explained to him how my spell worked. “You would be immortal,” I said. “Your powers would be the same as your great ancestor, the King of Summer, and you’d be able to travel to worlds beyond counting.”

For all he was mad, Roland wasn’t stupid. I didn’t dare mention that if he went through with our scheme, that Angoulême wouldn’t last long in the land of the living: Marc was certain the Duke would have set triggers in the boy’s mind to attack anyone who threatened his master. I didn’t have to say anything – Roland knew as well as anyone that Angoulême had many enemies who would take advantage of his vulnerability.

“If I did this, I’d be king of nothing,” he eventually said.

My hands shook as I debated my response, then I crossed my fingers and said, “You’re already king of nothing. Angoulême rules. But you can take that away from him, if you want.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick,” he said. “How do I know you aren’t lying, and that this isn’t an elaborate scheme to try to kill me?”

I nodded at Martin, who stepped through the tear. “She’s telling the truth, Your Majesty,” the librarian said. “Cécile took the iron from me, and now I can travel back to Arcadia. She will do the same for you, if you wish it.”

“Why?” Roland demanded of me. “I’ve harmed you. Killed your kind. And I…” His throat convulsed. “I killed my brother, to whom you were bonded.”

“And I hate you for it,” I said. “But you are Tristan’s brother, and he loved you for all your faults. For him, I will do this.”

Roland stared at me for a long time, seeing but not, and then he nodded. “Come meet me here and do the spell now,
he
will notice if I am gone for much longer. Come alone, and Cécile…”

“Yes?” I was so afraid. So terribly afraid.

“Mind your words. If you say the wrong thing, it will not go well for you.”

F
ollowing Martin’s directions
, I walked on silent feet through the darkened woods, my body twitching at every rustle in the blackness. Marc was watching, but he couldn’t come close for fear of Roland sensing him, his primary goal to prevent Angoulême or Lessa coming upon us mid-spell. Martin had gone to update the twins, and they were to retreat if they could and engage with Angoulême’s camp when the rest of his followers arrived.