Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (29 page)

“Breathe,” I told myself. “Just breathe.”

Then magic had me by the hair and I was hurtling through the trees, branches lashing at my body as I passed. I tried to scream, but my jaw was locked shut, invisible rope twisting around my wrists and ankles. I landed heavily in a pile of snow, then small hands were on me, ripping through my pockets and tearing at my clothes before shoving me aside to inspect my bag.

Roland appeared in my line of sight, and smiled. “Can’t be too careful – I know all about your spells.”

My jaw was released from his grip, and I whimpered, curling in on myself.

“Did that hurt?” His breath was hot on my ear.

“Yes.”

He laughed softly, then sat cross-legged next to me. “Good. Now get up and get started. If he comes, I won’t be able to stop him from killing you. He made me promise to leave you to him, if we found you alive.”

I pushed up onto my hands and knees, extracting the flask containing my premixed potion. His eyes tracked my every move. “If this doesn’t work, I won’t be happy,” he warned.

“It will work.” I swallowed hard. “If you would remove your coat and shirt and lay on the ground, Your Majesty. ”

He obliged, the snow immediately melting to form a pool around his overheated skin.

“It will be painful,” I warned.

“I don’t feel pain,” he said, then his eyes flicked to me. “I feel nothing.”

“Then let’s begin.” I poured the potion, and drew upon all the power the world had to offer.

I
drifted just
outside the threshold of consciousness, aware. But not.

It was cold. I was cold. Numb.

Bodies jostled against me, dead limbs clutching and grabbing. Faces full of accusation. They dragged me deeper and deeper until I couldn’t breathe. The weight of a thousand corpses, a thousand victims, pressing down on my chest.

Get off,
I screamed at them.
I tried. Did everything I could.

The dead do not listen. The dead cannot hear.

I reached for the flame that was my magic, clawed at it with desperate fingers. But instead of burning bright, it guttered. Faltered. Blackness tugged me away from consciousness, further and further until it was only a distant gleam. But something wouldn’t let me go.

A sound, sharp and repetitious. Familiar.

“Tristan!” A voice I knew well. “Don’t you dare be dead, you stupid pretty-faced troll!”

Then the weight was pushed off my chest, the bodies shoved away, and hands, warm with the heat of life, were pulling me out of the cold.

I opened my eyes.

R
oland opened
his eyes and sat up, staring at one misty hand as though he couldn’t believe it was his own.

“Roland,” I said. “Are you all right?”

His form solidified, and I eased back, ready to run if I had to. Just because he couldn’t harm me with magic any longer didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of ripping out my throat. “Roland?” I repeated.

He lifted his head, and I sensed in the moment that his eyes met mine that his madness was gone. That in removing the iron from his body, I’d stripped away the poison twisting his mind. “I’m sorry it hurt,” I said, gently touching his hand.

He flinched, and I wondered how long it had been since someone had comforted him, if they ever had. If he had even wanted it. Then warm fingers clutched at mine, his chin trembled, and I knew the pain of the spell was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. How much terror had he caused in his young life? How many had died at his hands? His parents and his aunt, and, in his mind, his brother. Worse, how much emotional neglect had he suffered at Angoulême’s hands? His iron madness had been what drove him to commit all those atrocities, but now it was gone. And he was going to have to find a way to live with what he’d done.

A sob racked through his shoulders, and in a movement almost too fast to see, he curled up in a little ball, my fingers clutched painfully tight in one of his hands. In the same moment, I felt Tristan regain consciousness and relief thundered through my heart.

“Roland, Tristan’s alive,” I said. “He’s all right.”

He went still, then peered up at me with hope. Then his gaze flicked over my shoulder, and in a blur of speed, he slammed into me, knocking me flat on my back. I struggled against him, convinced that I’d been wrong about his madness being gone, when a wave of heat washed over our heads.

“You little human bitch,” Angoulême snarled. “What have you done?”

“Cured him,” I shouted, allowing Roland to pull me to my feet. He stepped between me and the Duke, and I wondered if he knew his powers had changed. “Good luck using him now, you abusive coward.”

“Cured him?” The Duke’s hands were balled into fists as he stalked toward us. “Cured him? You’ve ruined him – now he is nothing. He is worth nothing!”

Roland flinched, but stood his ground.

“Feeling brave, are we, you miserable little wretch?” Angoulême lifted a hand, face twisted with fury. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The air filled with fire, but instead of incinerating us, it blasted around a shield of magic. Marc stepped into the clearing. “It’s over, Angoulême,” he said. “Surrender.”

The Duke spat in the dirt at Marc’s feet. “We’ve been through this before, you broken fool. You can’t defeat me.”

“Perhaps it’s time we put that to the test.”

Angoulême laughed. “Kill her, boy.”

Roland stiffened. Slowly, he turned to face me, and I saw tears were running down his face. “I’m sorry, Cécile,” he said. “I must obey.” Then he lunged.

Stars burst in my eyes even as I heard explosions punctuating the air as Angoulême and Marc fought. Magic ripped Roland off me, tossing him into some bushes, but he was back in a flash, body turning to mist as he ran through Marc’s defenses, solidifying just before he struck. I rolled, his fists striking the earth where my head had been seconds before.

But he was on me in an instant, fingers clawing and bruising my legs as he clamored up my body, reaching for my throat. Then Martin appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Roland’s waist, and pulling him off me. Prying open the boy’s lips, he emptied a handful of gleaming blue liquid into Roland’s mouth and let go of him. Roland stood gaping at him for a heartbeat, then a tear opened in the world and Martin stepped through, dragging the troll prince with him.

But I wasn’t out of danger yet.

Angoulême and Marc battled on, magic flaring bright with concussive blasts that made my ears ring. Swaths of trees were leveled while others were reduced to a smoking ruin. And beyond, I could see the twins had brought the battle to the camp to keep Angoulême’s people from helping their master. Ignoring the aching pain of my body, I rolled behind a boulder, keeping my head down as I watched.

For all of the Duke’s bluster, it seemed an even match, both dripping sweat as they dodged and attacked. But like Pénélope, Angoulême had spent his life avoiding any chance of injury, and that sedentarism had come with a cost. His breath came in great winded gasps, and he began to trip and stumble as he dodged Marc’s blows.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Come on.”

Then he fell, landing on his side in the mess of blood the spell on Roland had left behind. He struggled backwards, barely deflecting Marc’s next attack.

“There’s a long list of people who wanted this honor,” Marc said, pulling out a sword. “I hope they forgive me for taking it myself.”

“No!” The scream sounded like breaking glass, and Marc barely turned in time to block Lessa’s blow. She wore her own face, and it was coated with blood, her hair a tangled mess, and her clothes torn. She attacked with a mad ferocity, not giving Marc a moment’s respite.

Which was why he didn’t see Angoulême move, or the knife that appeared in his hand.

But I did. And I also saw that his face was smeared with Roland’s blood, blood that was steeped with all the iron I’d pulled from the boy’s body. I reached for the power, for the magic, and said, “Bind the light.”

Angoulême froze, then his silver eyes tracked through the smoke and darkness to land on the rock where I was hidden. Giving one passing glance to ensure Marc was engaged with Lessa, he climbed to his feet and started toward me, knife in hand. “I think you’ve played your last card, little bird.”

I scuttled backwards, the smoldering ground burning the palms of my hand.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he said with a smile. “Who do you think it was who taught Roland all his tricks?”

I whimpered, feeling my pants dampen and hating myself for it. I was supposed to be brave, was supposed to see this through, no matter what the cost. But I’d been afraid of him from the moment we’d met, and that, that hadn’t changed.

Then a roar filled the air, and fire brighter than the sun filled the sky. A massive form with wings passed over me, and I curled into a ball, closing my eyes against the heat. I felt rather than heard the thud of something landing next to me, and then Tristan was there, smothering the flames eating at my clothing. His face was carved with shadows, his clothes torn and crusted with salt. But he was alive, and he was here.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. “Angoulême? Where is he?”

Tristan’s eyes searched our surroundings, then he shook his head. “I don’t see him.”

“His magic is bound,” I said. “Find him, and kill him.”

“But Roland–”

“Is cured,” I said. “Now go before Angoulême finds somewhere to wash off the blood.”

His eyes lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in a very long time, and he kissed me. “Be safe,” he said, then was gone.

With the exception of the crackling of the burning woods, the night had gone eerily quiet. Holding my shirt over my mouth in an attempt to block the worst of the smoke, I began to search for my friends. I found Sabine first, and Chris, who had Souris tucked into his coat. But of Marc and the twins, there was no sign.

“How did you find him?” I asked, allowing Sabine to pack snow against my blistered palms.

“I didn’t,” Chris said. “His little rat dog friend did. He was half dead under one of those skiffs and surrounded by bodies, but the damn thing has nose like a bloodhound.” He took hold of my shoulder. “But he’s burnt out, Cécile. I don’t think he could create so much as a ball of light if his life depended on it.”

And I’d just sent him after Angoulême.

“You two find Marc or the twins. I have to find him,” I said, starting off in the direction he’d gone. To myself, I said, “If the Duke breaks my spell, Tristan won’t have a chance.”

“And what a shame that would be,” Lessa said, stepping into my path.

I
t occurred
to me as I sprinted through the woods without enough magic to keep the burning ground from singing my boots that I was making a mistake. That I should retreat and regroup, give my power a chance to recover itself, and then come up with a clever strategy for catching Angoulême.

But I was done with clever strategies.

Done with relying on deception and duplicity, bluffs and illusion, to capture my enemies and win my battles. I wanted a fight, and if it was to be bare knuckles, so much the better.

But in order for there to be a chance of that happening, I had to catch Angoulême before he could wash off Roland’s blood and with it, Cécile’s spell. And knowing that would be his goal, I headed in the direction of the river I’d seen from Melusina’s back.

My lungs choked on the ash in the air, my body screaming under the strain of being pushed so hard after it had already endured so much. Sparks bit at my skin, burned holes in my already torn clothes, but I ignored the pain and pushed on, jumping over fallen trees and pools of grey sludge, finally reaching the edge of the forest fire.

Angoulême crouched in the center of the clearing, coat and shirt in a heap beside him, hands full of the snow he was using to scrub the blood off his skin. Swearing silently, I put on a burst of speed. He looked up, and I slammed into him, our combined weight sending us tumbling through the clearing and down a steep slope.

We crashed up against trees and rocks, bushes cutting and slicing as we rolled into the gully to land with a crack on the frozen stream. The ice fractured, and we dropped, freezing water flooding over my head. Staggering to my feet, I dragged him out and threw him against a tree, the trunk cracking with the impact.

At first I thought he was choking on the water he’d inhaled, then I realized he was laughing. Climbing out of the stream, I stalked toward him even as he rose to his feet, one hand pressed to his side. “Feeling a little burned out, are we, Your Highness?”

“I don’t need magic to kill you,” I said, and struck. He ducked and rolled, coming up swinging, and then we were fighting in earnest. Fists and feet flew, both of us landing blows. I was the better fighter – had trained with Marc, Anaïs, and the twins since I was a child – whereas he’d disdained of combat in order to hide his affliction. But I was burned out, my movements sluggish, and my healing slow. And he knew it – staying on the defense. Wearing me down. And with each spare second, he used handfuls of snow to wipe away Cécile’s spell.

I had to end this now, or he’d regain his magic and I’d be done.

Without warning, he turned and sprinted up the slope, the gully sharpening and turning into a ravine that carved back into the foothills. My breath came in labored gasps as I struggled to keep pace, refusing to let him get away to fight another day. We’d been at this game of Guerre for far too long, and it was time it came to an end.

Cutting through a copse of trees, I saw him once again on his knees in the snow, water beading on his skin where it had melted. Snatching up a rock, I dived into him, nearly sending us both over the edge. Then magic snatched hold of my body and flung me hard.

I smashed into the forest, taking a tree down with me. And his laughter followed.

“Once again, you have erred, boy,” he said, watching me rise with glittering eyes. “And so ends the reign of the fabled Montignys.”

I leaned one hand against a broken tree trunk. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Your Grace.” Then I held up the sharp piece of rock in my hand, one edge coated with crimson.

His eyes widened, and then he felt it. The warm flood of blood from the severed artery at his neck coating his chest and running down to pool at his feet. His magic manifested and struck, but the blow was weak and glancing. He tried again, but his power faltered, and he dropped to his knees.

I walked over to stand in front of him. “Checkmate.” I said, and the light fled from his eyes and he fell to the ground at my feet.

My enemy was dead. But instead of triumph, all I felt was numb, because his death did nothing to bring back all of those I’d lost. An empty victory.

“Well done, little brother, well done.”

I jerked up from Angoulême’s body to see Lessa standing on the opposite side of the gorge, holding Cécile in front of her by the hair.

“Let her go, Lessa,” I said, searching for a way to get across and coming up with nothing. My magic was flickering, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold my weight, and a fall from this height might well kill me.

“Oh, I fully intend to let her go now that you’ve disposed of my master for me.” She spit into the ravine, her face full of hatred. And yet she’d fooled Angoulême for years, made him think she loved him and was loyal. It made the lie that I had lived seem like nothing. Like child’s play.

“I finally made it to the top,” she said. “Everyone who stood in my way is dead, or is about to be dead, and I am ready to take my throne.”

“Take it,” I said, my heart skipping as she leaned Cécile over the edge. “You can have it, just let her go.”

She laughed. “Easy for you to give up, when you know you’re planning on sending all our people back.” She jerked hard on Cécile’s hair, eliciting a cry of pain. “I saw what she did to Roland, but it won’t work for me, will it? Cursed human blood, always holding me back. You’d make me queen of nothing, witch.”

“Lessa, please.” If I could just buy enough time for my magic to strengthen, maybe there’d be something I could do to stop her.

“I offered you the chance to rule with me, Tristan,” she said. “And when you turned me down, I told you I’d make you pay.”

There was a flash of motion behind Lessa, Marc, running toward her, face barely recognizable though the burns.

But he was too late.

“Goodbye, brother,” Lessa said, and she let go of Cécile.

She screamed, and I flung out all the magic I had at my disposal, a slender rope wrapping around her waist. Her weight hit, and it felt like my body was being jerked apart. But the magic was just strong enough to hold her tiny form. Out of my periphery, I saw Lessa and Marc falling, but there was nothing I could do.

My eyes burning with pain, I dragged Cécile up. “I’ve got you,” I said, pulling her close. “I won’t let you fall.” Our enemies were dead, but looking over her shaking shoulder at the two bodies at the base of the ravine, I knew we had not won.

W
e found
a goat track and picked our way down to the base of the ravine, climbing over the frozen creek and slippery rocks until we found our friends. Chris stood sentry over Lessa’s body. “She’s dead,” he said. “Very dead.”

I didn’t care. All that mattered was the still form next to her.

Sabine knelt on the ground next to Marc, her face streaked with tears and his hand clutched in hers. Blood was pooling around her knees, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

“Is he…?” I found I couldn’t say it.

She shook her head, and I saw that his chest was still moving. His hood had fallen back to reveal his face, and I wanted to pull it forward again. Not for the reasons he’d always worn it, but to hide the silent plea in his eyes. A dull ache filled me, and for a moment, it felt like I’d been the one to fall. Like I was the one who couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Alive! Thank the stars,” Cécile said. “I can do this. I can fix this. I just need…” She eyed me wildly, then caught sight of the twins limping up the creek bed toward us. “Victoria, hurry,” she shouted. “I need you.”

“No,” I said, taking hold of her upper arms and drawing her back.

“What do you mean, no?” she demanded, twisting to look up at me.

“No magic. No spells,” I said. “Leave him be.”

“But he’ll die!”

I didn’t answer, only held her steady and away from my cousin, my best friend. Victoria was on her knees next to him, shoulders shaking as she wept, but when she lifted her head, her eyes were full of understanding.

Cécile was thrashing in my arms. “You can’t do this, Tristan. You can’t let him die. Please let me help him.”

But she wouldn’t be helping him. For my own sake, not his, I’d forced him to live when Pénélope had died. I wouldn’t do it again. This was his decision, and he’d made it. Whether I agreed didn’t matter. It wasn’t my choice.

“Please,” Cécile whispered, but she ceased struggling. And she wasn’t speaking to me. “Marc, please don’t leave us. We need you.
I
need you.”

His gaze shifted to hers, and whatever she saw there made her shoulders slump. She nodded once, then stepped away from me. Then taking a deep breath, she sang. It was the lament she’d sung for Élise, and it echoed hauntingly through the ravine and up into the night sky. Sabine and Victoria moved back, and I dropped to my knees and took my friend’s hand.

His heart was faltering, his breathing ragged and uneven. It would not be long. But what could I say in the space of moment that would do justice to the troll who’d been like an older brother to me? What was I without him? What would I become without him? The world and fate and the stars had given him nothing. Had stolen away almost everything that had mattered to him. And yet despite all he had endured, he was twice the man I’d ever be. If the world were just and fair, I would be the one lying broken on the rocks.

But the world was not just. And it most certainly wasn’t fair.

Say something.
I clenched my teeth, desperately searching for the words that would convey how much he meant to me. How badly losing him would hurt. How much I didn’t want to let go. Then he caught my eye, and I knew I didn’t have to say anything all. And in the knowing, I was able to speak. “I hope you find her,” I said, my voice cracking as I clenched his hand tight.

The light in his eyes glowed bright for that last faltering heartbeat, then burned out.

Marc was gone.