Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (19 page)

T
he walls crackled
as the moisture coating them crystallized into frost, the chill biting with every inhalation, my skin burning wherever it was exposed. But even without Winter’s familiar calling card, I would’ve known it was her. The magic she’d taken prickled with familiarity, and I felt almost – almost – as though it would do my bidding if I bent my will to it.

“Be silent, no matter what you hear,” I whispered, then I got to my feet, even as I heard a familiar clink of metal coming from Cécile’s cell.

The heavy door tore from its hinges, flipping end over end until it smashed against the end of the hallway with a reverberating crash. “I see you’ve been practicing,” I said, inclining my head to the Queen of Winter and praying Marc had bargained well.

She scowled, face fixed in the visage she’d worn when last I’d seen her. Magic slammed me against the rear of my cell, and I forced a groan into a laugh. “Careful now, I’m feeling fragile, and it would do neither of us any good if you were to accidentally kill me.”

“What makes you believe it would be an accident?” she hissed, grabbing me by the shirt and jerking me forward until we were separated by mere inches.

“Because you wouldn’t have risked coming here if there were anyone else capable of releasing you from this burden,” I said, prying her fingers loose one by one. Physically, I was stronger than her, and that was a very good thing.

Her lip curled. “Take it back. You may consider it a gift.”

I straightened my shirt. “No.”

Magic flexed in the air, and I held up one hand to stall her. “Not as a gift, but I will take it back in exchange for something from you.”

“You have no ground to stand on,” she said, lifting her chin. “You either take it or I kill you.”

“You give me what I want,” I said, “Or you remain bound to this world as surely as any troll.” It had been one of the gambles I’d made stepping outside of the safety of the castle walls. One, that couched in her offer of support was the desire to see all my kind dead before my uncle could put us to use. Two, that if I eliminated grounds for an alliance – which she intended to use as a guise for killing off as many trolls as possible – she’d take my magic to do the job herself. Three, that in taking my magic into herself, which was as corrupted by iron as was my flesh, she’d be bound to this world. Corporeal, and vulnerable.

She hesitated, and I added, “Time flows different in Arcadia than it does here. How long have you been gone from your throne? Do your people still owe you their allegiance, or have you been replaced? Have you lost the war?”

Silence. “What is it that you want?”

“Your oath that you and yours will never venture into this world again.”

She snorted. “Your boldness undermines your cleverness, troll. Let’s see how well you bargain while the witch bleeds.”

Winter wrenched open Cécile’s cell door; but out of the darkness swung heavy steel shackles, one of them catching the Queen hard across the cheek, slicing it open. Blood poured down the fairy’s cheek as Cécile stepped out of her cell, her face tight with focus as she bound the Queen’s magic. My magic.

“Witch!” The fairy shrieked, but before she could attack Cécile, I tackled her to the ground, wrapping the manacle chain around her.

“Where are your wolves?” I whispered into her ear. “Where are your dragons and leviathans? Have they abandoned you now when you need them most?”

It was that more than the burning metal around her neck that brought fear to her eyes. The idea that she had been gone too long, and that her desire to be queen of all had rendered her queen of nothing. “You cannot go back while in the possession of my magic,” I said. “You are trapped.”

Her throat convulsed. “If you take your power back, I’ll swear it.”

I eased off her throat. “Say it.”

“I swear to keep the Winter fey from this world.”

I smiled. “Done.”

This bargain, much like the first I’d made with her, reverberated through me like a thunderclap. But with it came the sweet ache of power, and almost immediate relief as my multitude of injuries began to heal. Releasing her from the steel wrapped around her neck, I sat back on my haunches.

Her outline blurred, the shape of a woman falling into semi-transparent mist. Then her glamour shifted, and what rose to its feet was a thing of fangs and claws, elongated pupils alien and unreadable. It snarled once, then the world tore and it sprang through the opening, which disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Cécile stood shivering, one arm braced against the wall, the other pressed against her stomach. I removed the magic that had been gagging her. “Are you all right?”

“No.” She blinked once, eyes glazed. Then her knees buckled. I caught her, pulling her close even as I knew we couldn’t linger. Holding her chased away any lingering need I had for the seeds; made me forget why feeling nothing had ever appealed to me. With her, whether she was in my arms or on the far side of the world, I wasn’t alone. Never had that meant more than now.

“That was quick thinking with the spell,” I said, needing to break the silence before I broke down. “How did you get free?”

Opening her balled-up fist, she held out a hairpin decorated with a jeweled flower. I recognized it, pain stabbing through me anew. “She fixed my hair just before…” She swallowed hard. “Take it.”

It felt like punishment, but I plucked my mother’s hairpin from Cécile’s palm and placed it in my pocket. One final gift that seemed laden with foresight; because without it, Winter might have come out ahead in our transaction.

“Your aunt left me with some things to tell you,” Cécile said, squeezing my hand.

“They will have to wait. We need to get out of Trollus before someone discovers I’ve recovered my magic.” That no one had come down yet was concerning. Marc was supposed to have bargained for the safety of trolls and humans alike before releasing her from the circle, but what if she’d gotten free some other way? What if everyone in Trollus was dead?

I helped Cécile to her feet, then lifted her into the air. She’d been pushed to the point of death and beyond in this past day, and we weren’t done yet. I needed her, and that meant conserving her strength. “I can’t risk an encounter with Roland within Trollus,” I said, cloaking us in illusion and dimming my light. “The city would be destroyed along with everyone in it. We’ll need to lure him out to fight, but I don’t know how.”

“We lure him out by capturing the one who holds his strings.”

I risked a glance down at my wife. She was so very pale, skin marked with livid bruises and scratches. What had happened to her in the days that she’d been gone? In the days where I hadn’t cared whether she lived or died? One thing was certain: I needed to get her help immediately. “That would be a good plan, but I don’t know where Angoulême is.”

A faint smile cross her lips. “But I do. He’s with your ancestors,” she said, then she passed out in my arms.

I
woke
to the smell of wood smoke and roasting meat, my body sore, but the worst of my aches and pains gone.

“She’s awake. I’ll give you two a moment alone,” I heard my gran say, and as I blinked away the stickiness in my eyes, Tristan leaned over me. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” I looked around the interior of the cabin. “I don’t remember getting here.”

“That’s because you slept the entire way,” he replied, then twisted from side to side, cracking his back. “You’re heavier than you look.”

I made a face, allowing him to help me upright. “I meant, how did you find the camp?”

“I have my methods,” he said, then he kissed me. “Though you might wish I hadn’t. Everyone is quite angry about that stunt that you pulled.” His lips found mine again, harder this time, his teeth catching my bottom lip. “What were you thinking?”

“What were
you
thinking with that stunt
you
pulled?”

He made a noise that was both agreement and exasperation, then sat next to me on the cot, his arm strong and steady behind my back. I took in his messy hair, torn clothes, and face marked with a streak of soot. His mouth was drawn into a thin line, and I wondered when I’d last seen him smile. Or if he ever would again. How much of the truth did he know about his family? And if he knew nothing, would me telling him do any good?

“Are
you
all right?” I asked.

He inhaled softly, and I knew he was thinking of deflecting my question, but instead he shook his head, a quick jerk from side to side.
Not all right.

“Your aunt,” I said. “She told me things about your father–”

“I can’t,” he interrupted. “Not now. I just… I don’t want to think about it. Him. Them.”

My heart ached along with his, knowing full well what it felt like to lose a parent. My mother might have died years ago, but I hadn’t known that until Anushka revealed the truth. The pain had been fresh and horrible, and how much worse would it have been if I’d lost my father, too. Or my gran?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, then twisted around so that my knees were on either side of him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him close, feeling his breath warm against my collarbone. I carefully pulled through the tangles in his hair with my fingers while I waited to see if he wanted to talk, knowing better than to press him. He knew that I felt his hurt, and maybe that was enough.

His hand slipped under the bottom of my shirt, palm hot against the small of my back, his other hand tangling in my hair. Clinging to me as though I were the strong one.

And maybe I was.

“I wanted him dead,” he said, his voice muffled. “I planned for it.”

He had. It seemed like a hundred years ago that we’d stood in the stables in Trollus and I’d blackmailed him into telling me the truth in exchange for the return of the plans for the stone tree. Looking back, he seemed so much younger, so convinced of his emotional fortitude because it had never been tested. Not really. And now, whatever naiveté he might have once possessed was gone, burned away by pain and fear, loss and guilt. No longer a boy and a prince, but a man and, whether he liked it or not, a king.

Which I supposed, whether I liked it or not, made me a queen.

“You didn’t plan for this,” I said. “Angoulême did. And we need to make him pay for what he’s done.” I leaned back so that we were eye to eye. “With Roland controlling Trollus, the Duke will believe we’re on the run. That he’s hunting us. But he’s wrong.”

I felt Tristan’s anger chase away his grief, and he lifted me up and set me back on the cot. “I’ll get the others.”

I retrieved the steaming cup my gran had left for me, and, moments later, Tristan returned with the twins, along with my father and Jérôme.

“You going to live?” my father asked, and when I nodded, he added, “Good. I wouldn’t want you to die before I had the chance to wallop you like the idiot child you are.”

“You should let me do it, Louis,” Victoria said, crossing her arms. “It will hurt more.”

“I–”

“Shut-up, Cécile,” Victoria said. “I’m not interested in hearing your excuses. You took advantage of our trust and ran off without so much as leaving a note to say where you’d gone. We thought Winter had caught you. Or the Duke. Then we tracked your horse to the labyrinth just in time to watch it collapse. Do you know what it was like for us watching the sky for Marc’s signal that Tristan was dead or near to it because you’d gotten yourself killed?”

I licked my lips and glanced at Tristan, but the look in his eyes told me I was on my own in this. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Both Victoria’s eyebrows rose. “You think sorry is going to make up for leaving us to watch your grandmother weep for fear of what had become of you? Not even close, Cécile. You’re going to have to earn our forgiveness.”

“I understand,” I said, knowing better than to ask how I might accomplish that. Just as I knew better than to try to justify my actions. What I’d learned had been worth the risk, but that didn’t mean I was exempt from the consequences of my actions.

Chris came running in then, bending over as he struggled to catch his breath. “Came back as soon as I heard Cécile was here.” His eyes landed on Tristan, and his face broke into a grin. “Well, if it isn’t the prettiest prince to ever walk the Isle. So glad you could finally join us.”

“Necessity,” Tristan replied. “As you can see, my attire has been woefully neglected since my half-trained manservant abandoned me to a greater cause.”

Chris’s face turned bright red, then he laughed and slung an arm around Tristan’s shoulder. “How fortunate that you make even rags look good, Your Highness.”

“It’s Your Majesty, now. Although I suppose Roland might contest my claim.” Tristan’s tone was light, but Chris seemed to sense that congratulations were not in order.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, taking a swig of a wine skin before passing it to Tristan. “I’ve trouble enough finding hats to fit your ego as it is.”

Then they all turned expectantly to me. “What’s the plan?” I asked. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you tell us where we’re going,” Tristan responded.

Unease prickled over my skin. “Didn’t Martin tell you…” I trailed off.

“Martin isn’t here,” Tristan said, then turned to Vincent and Victoria, who both shook their heads.

“He was with me when we learned what had happened to you,” I said, setting aside my cup. “He was supposed to come here and tell you where Angoulême’s hiding – your family’s tombs,” I added, glancing at Tristan. “I gave him directions to find the twins and told him the signals to use.”

“I don’t know this Martin fellow,” Chris said. “But given he’s never been outside of Trollus, there is every possibility he’s wandering around lost in the woods.”

“Or that he’s run afoul of someone he shouldn’t have, and they know our location,” Vincent said, scratching his arm. “We may need to move our camp.”

They all argued about where Martin might be and what he might be doing, but I barely heard them, my ears full of a strange ringing.

Tristan touched my arm. “Cécile?”

My mouth was dry. “He was in love with Élise.”

Tristan hissed softly between his teeth, and everyone went silent.

“I promised him revenge,” I said. “That you would see Angoulême dead for what he did to her.”

“And in discovering I’d lost my magic, he likely believes he’s the only one left to deliver that revenge.” Tristan rattled off a string of profanity. “We need to go. Now. Cécile, you are sure this is where the Duke is hiding?”

I explained how Martin and I had come to the conclusion based on Lessa’s words.

Victoria rubbed her chin, eyes on the map Chris had spread flat. “Makes sense. The tombs are deep in the mountains and are easily defended.”

“And difficult to reach, as I recall.” Tristan pressed a gloved finger against the map. “One needs magic – or significant climbing skills – to reach them. It isn’t a place you just stumble upon. Chris, can you guide us there?”

My friend nodded. “I’ll ready the supplies. Who’s going?”

“Us three and you,” Tristan replied, then he chewed on his bottom lip.

I was about to voice exactly what I thought about being left behind, when he added, “And Cécile.”

My gran made a noise of protest that was seconded by my father. “She’s dead on her feet already. You trying to kill her, boy?”

“We’ll all be dead if we don’t succeed in this,” Tristan said, his voice betraying none of the guilt my father’s accusation had instigated. “It would be one thing if merely killing the Duke was an option, but we need to capture him. To use him to lure Roland out of Trollus to a place where I can engage him without fear of casualties. And our success may depend on Cécile’s power.”

“Then I’m coming, too,” my gran said. “I’m not powerless myself.”

Tristan nodded absently. There was already a plan forming in his mind. I could see it; could feel it. And there was some comfort in knowing that. I should’ve known that Martin had no intention of sitting idly – that he would’ve gone after the Duke himself. But I’d been so caught up in my concern for Tristan that I’d been blind to anything but my own plight. I prayed we’d catch Martin before we reached the tombs, or that he’d change his mind and come back. And though it pained me to do so, I prayed that if he managed to reach the Duke, that he’d fail in his quest. Because if Angoulême was killed, Roland would be free to do what he wanted.

And all the world would burn.