Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (21 page)

T
he twins’ mining
skills had come in handy, as they’d easily drilled a tunnel into the rear of the tombs under the cover of Tristan’s attack.

“Where did they put the bodies?” I asked, running a finger over the dusty statue lying prone on an altar of carved marble and glass. My finger left a streak of gleaming gold in its wake, and I bent low over the figure’s face, marveling at the level of detail, from the realistic swell of the troll’s lips to the slight creases at the corners of his sightless diamond eyes.

“That
is
the body,” Victoria replied, smiling slightly as I recoiled, shoving my offending hand into my pocket. “They dip them in liquid gold after they die.”

“Still?” For some reason, the notion horrified me: being encased in metal for all of eternity.

“Maybe that’s why Thibault ate so much in his later years,” Vincent said, coming back from his assessment of the piece of stone sealing the room. “He wanted to ensure his final resting place was worth the most.”

Victoria laughed, but I remained silent. Thibault had been a villain, but he deserved respect. “Do not speak ill of the dead,” I said, but my words were drowned out by a series of percussive blasts.

Vincent took advantage of the noise to shift the stone blocking the entrance, and then he cautiously eased out before stepping back in and nodding.

Sandwiched between Vincent and Victoria, I stepped out into the corridor, taking in what I could of our surroundings. I’d expected it to be dark and close, but much like the chamber we’d just left, the ceilings were high and painted with brilliant depictions of both trolls and fairies alike. The floors were dusty, but they were as smooth as polished tile, and railings inlaid with golden vines ran up both sides of the hallways.

Though Tristan had plumbed the depths of his seemingly endless store of knowledge, all he’d been able to tell us was that the tombs were a vast multilevel maze of chambers and corridors that were illuminated with natural light through the use of tiny shafts and mirrors placed just so. More mirrors sat above the golden railings, and though we were encased in as much rock as we ever were in Trollus, the halls practically glowed with sunlight.

Dusty and faded, the tombs remained beautiful. And entirely wasted, I thought, on the dead.

“This way,” Vincent muttered, eyeing the compass in his hand. The Duke would be engaged with fighting Tristan at the entrance, so that’s where we needed to go. Magic coating our feet to muffle the sound, we ran as swiftly as we dared, passing great stone slabs blocking the tombs of the royalty of old, names and carved likeness marking who was interred within.

“Come out, come out,” a voice thundered through the corridors, followed with a horrifying scratching.

Panic flooded my veins, and turning, I went to run. And collided with Victoria. “It’s Tristan,” she said, wincing. “Aggressive use of acoustics, but I’m sure that’s purposeful. Though in irritating the Duke, he’s likely to render the three of us deaf.”

We crept forward more slowly, listening to the one-sided conversation, Tristan doing his best to bait Angoulême. To keep him interested.

But of the Duke’s responses, we could hear nothing.

Until we did. “Unless you’ve grown wings, by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”

Vincent held up a hand, and I extracted the vial of blood I needed to perform the spell and handed it to him. Leaning forward, I peered around my friend’s bulk. We were at the top of a sprawling curved staircase, which, from what I could see, was one of three winding down to a vaulted foyer lit with dozens of troll-lights. Angoulême stood in front of a great set of doors, one of which was cracked. He stood alone in a pool of blood and gore. Which didn’t feel at all right. Where were his followers?

“Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed,” Tristan said.

“No,” Angoulême replied. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, tapping the tip of his cane against the floor, and I swore I heard the same sound come from somewhere else. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”

I was still looking around for the other source of the tapping when Vincent stepped out onto the staircase to get the angle right for a throw. He made it down three steps, then the stone exploded beneath him.

Victoria jerked me backwards, magic shielding us against the rain of razor sharp shards of rock, but it did nothing to stop her terrified scream from piercing my ears. “Vincent! Vincent!”

We both scrambled toward the shattered ledge, and leaned over, peering down into the dust. Vincent lay in a pile of rubble beneath us.

And Angoulême was gone.

“
V
incent
! No, please, no.” Tears cut tracks through the dust coating Victoria’s face as she moved to leap off the ledge.

I grabbed her arm, heaving with all my might. “Be careful! There might be more traps, and we won’t be able to help him if we set them off and kill ourselves.”

For a heartbeat, I thought she meant to shrug me off and jump, but instead she scrubbed a gloved hand across her face and nodded. Lashing magic around a pillar, she flung out her hand and a glowing ladder uncoiled into the air, tumbling down to hang above her brother. She descended with impressive speed, and though I knew it cost her to do so, hesitated just above the rubble, her magic carefully testing for any hidden pitfalls before she stepped onto the ground.

I scuttled down after her, my heart sinking at the look on her face as I found my balance on the shattered staircase. Vincent’s eyes were blank and unseeing, the pale stone beneath his head drenched with blood. Part of me refused to believe it was him: the twins were invincible, untouchable. Not… this. Vincent had known what he was doing – had been shielded and wary. And yet…

Gasping, panicked breath filled my ears, and it took me a moment to realize it was my own.
Keep yourself together,
I silently screamed, clenching my hands so tightly my fingers ached.

“Cécile?” The plea in Victoria’s voice cut me to the core, and I knew if he died that she would not last long. Their bond was natural, not magical, but it ran just as deep. Deeper.

Swallowing hard, I said, “I’ll try,” even as I knew the delay in our pursuit of the Duke would carry a price. That to save one life, I was putting many more at risk. But that was the choice I’d always make.

Tucking the vial into my pocket, I pulled off my gloves and pressed one palm to the pool of blood and the other to my friend’s cheek. Closing my eyes, I delved into the alien magic, feeling it curl and rise into my fingers. But it was faltering, fading. And even as I pulled, I knew it was hopeless. Knew he was too far gone.

“Damn it!” Grabbing Victoria’s arm, I pulled out my knife and sliced it across her sleeve, cutting through fabric and flesh. Hot blood ran across my fingers, the magic within it eerily similar to that which I had just touched.

No, not similar. The same.

Victoria sagged against me, and my fragile control slipped and a sob tore from my throat. “I’ll get Tristan,” I said, knowing he was just beyond the door. “He’ll be able to help.”

“No.” Victoria pulled me back down. “Angoulême has the whole place rigged. If you open the doors, this room will collapse. You need to go – you can’t let him get away.”

“Cécile?” Tristan’s voice filled the room, and I stumbled to my feet. “Can he hear me?” I asked Victoria. She gave a weak nod, and I moved over to the door, careful not to touch it lest I set off the magic.

“Tristan, the twins are hurt and Angoulême’s escaped,” I said, scanning the two remaining staircases leading up, and the one large one that lead down. The Duke we’d seen standing in the foyer had been an illusion, a projection of some sort. But I’d heard the echo of his cane tapping. He’d been close. Which way had he gone?

“How bad?”

I glanced back at the twins, Vincent unmoving and his sister slumped next to him. “They’re dying.”

His jolt of anguish sent a fresh crop of tears down my face. “Move back, Cécile. I’m going to break the door.”

“No!” I shouted the word, and it echoed through the cavernous room. “Victoria said it’s rigged to collapse.

“Stay where you are,” he shouted. “I’ll come in the back.”

Retreating back to my friends, I pulled the vial of blood out of my pocket and tilted it from side to side, watching the liquid move. Then I dropped to my knees next to them.

“Go after Angoulême, Cécile.” Victoria lifted her face. “If there was ever time for one of your mad risky schemes, this is it. If he gets out of the tombs somehow, Tristan won’t be able to find him. He’s too clever. Far more clever than we ever gave him credit for.” Her eyes went to the vial in my hand. “You have what you need to stop him, but you need to be quick about it.”

“Yes, I do,” I said, then I closed my fist on the glass. It shattered, and Tristan’s magic came to my call. Slapping my hand against Vincent’s cheek, I shoved the magic into him, praying it would know what to do. Praying that it would be enough.

It was like watching a flower bloom. As I stared, it seemed as though nothing was happening, but when I blinked, his injuries had healed a little more, the gruesome wound to his skull sealing over until only the mess of blood in his black hair indicated he’d been hurt at all. His breathing steadied, and I withdrew my hand, wiping it on my trousers. “Follow when you can.”

Victoria squeezed Vincent’s hand, then stood. “I’m coming with you.”

“He’ll expect that,” I said. “Which is why you’re staying with Vincent. I have a plan.” Moving to the center of the foyer, I dropped a rock, listening to how the sound bounced off the walls. Moving to the left, I dropped another rock. Then another. I knew acoustics. And I knew which way Angoulême had gone.

T
he lower levels
were filled with the crypts of lesser Montignys: princes and princesses, lords and ladies of various ranks, but I paid them no mind as I ran, following the tracks in the dust as I was sure the Duke expected me to do. This was a trap.

And it was set for me.

But Angoulême wouldn’t kill me, because he needed me as a hostage to get past Tristan and the twins. Which was fine, because for my plan to work, I needed to get close.

Gripping my knife tight, I used my other hand to muffle my false sobs as I minced forward, carefully peering around each corner before I proceeded forward. It was much darker on this level, long expanses of blackness stretching between each of the clever little skylights. My heart thundered in my chest as I made my way further and further into the mountain. What if I’d been wrong about the direction he’d gone? What if he’d looped back to dispatch the twins while they were weak?

I stepped past a slab of rock blocking the entrance to a crypt, and magic lashed around my waist, jerking me toward the hard surface. I shrieked, certain I was about to be dashed to pieces, but then I passed through the illusion and was slammed against the floor between two altars, burning ropes pinning my wrists and ankles to the floor. The blow knocked the air from my lungs, but as I was gasping for breath, the first thing I noticed was the smell of unwashed body. Then Angoulême was in my face, his eyes wild and hair disheveled.

“Stupid, blubbering fool!” he hissed, his breath vile.

I turned my head, sobbing, “You killed my friends. You killed them.” The crypt was littered with clutter, rotting scraps of food in a corner and the stench of waste. He’d been living in here. Hiding in here.

Alone.

“They deserved it.” He plucked the knife from my clenched fist, tossing it out into the corridor. “Foolish half-blood-loving idiots. Just like you. You’ll deserve it when I finally slit your throat. Now where is it? Where is it?”

His hands roughly searched my body, tearing at my clothes and bruising my skin, leaving not a square inch unscathed. I cringed and wept. “Where is what?”

“The blood!” Drops of spittle sprayed across my face. “I know you have it, you filthy witch.”

“It broke,” I sniveled. “It spilled. Look at my hands.”

He launched himself back and away, watching me like I was some sort of venomous snake. Then he snatched up a wine skin and poured the contents over my palms, washing away all traces of Tristan’s magic. Only then did he relax, sitting on his haunches, silver eyes fixed on me. “Where is he?”

“Outside.” Snot bubbled around my nose, and his lip turned up with disgust. As though he were one to talk. From the smell, he hadn’t washed since the day he left Trollus. Seeing him this way was unnerving, all the polished veneer gone, a strange fearful madness in its place. “He’ll kill you,” I whispered. “He’ll kill you for this.”

He twitched, ever so slightly. “Oh, I doubt that, Cécile. There are consequences to my death, and now that I have his precious little peach, he’ll do nothing at all. You, you, you!” He was on his knees over me. “You are such a wondrous creature, because you make him weak. You make him stupid. You’ll be the death of him.”

I shook my head and looked away. “No.”

“Yes. Now, up-up. Time to go.” He dragged me to my feet, his cane still firmly gripped in one hand. He didn’t need it – he had no infirmity – and it wasn’t a weapon. But he always had it as he walked sedately, carefully, through Trollus. I marked his high collar, his hands gloved with thick leather. Nothing but his face exposed.

“Where is everyone?” I struggled futilely against his magic.

“There’s no one here but you and me.” His smile was all teeth. “Unlike Tristan, I do not put my trust in weaklings.”

He’d cracked, I realized. A lifetime of deception, of suspicion, of not being able to trust a single soul, had finally gotten to him alone in this place of the dead. “Except Lessa,” I said. “She told us where to find you.”

He twitched again. “Lies.” And in one smooth motion, he flipped me over his shoulder. “We are leaving, now.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheeks, hard, and then on my tongue. My mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

“You’re lucky you didn’t trigger one of my traps like your clown,” he said. “I’ve spent a lifetime coming up with the best ways to maim.”

I said nothing, keeping my mouth closed, slowly filling with blood.

“They are everywhere, as your friend Martin knows.”

The glee in his tone filled me with fury. Angoulême hurt people – hurt my friends – not just to accomplish what he wanted, but because he enjoyed it. He was sick and twisted, and he needed to be stopped.

Fury running hot through my veins, and I twisted my body, biting down hard on his neck, my blood flowing into the wound as I tore out a chunk of flesh. He howled and flung me, my body rolling and bouncing across the floor. I cried out in pain, but before he could attack, I shouted, “You kill me, you bleed to death, Angoulême.”

He froze, hand clapped to the wound on his neck, blood flowing between his fingers. My aim had been good. Lethal.

“Just like Pénélope,” I said, ignoring the screaming pain of my body as I pushed onto my knees. “You’re afflicted. Even the tiniest of wounds is a labor to heal, and that is no tiny injury. Especially given it is full of my nasty, iron-filled human blood.” I grinned, feeling the crimson droplets running down my chin. “You. Need. Me.”

He hissed and reached for me, and I recoiled, falling backwards. I heard him shout just before my elbow impacted and something burst hot beneath it. Magic coated my skin as the air filled with fire. It was only for a second, then it was gone, and I could not see.

And I could not breathe.

There was no air. My chest heaved as my lungs dragged in mouthful after mouthful of nothingness. Hands snatched me up, and I was moving, but I didn’t care.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t…