Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (30 page)

I
t took
time for me to forgive Tristan, and even longer to understand the choice he’d made, though I never really accepted it. Marc’s loss was a hurt that was felt by many, and whenever I saw Sabine sitting alone, face marked with grief, my anger flared anew, because there had been a chance. A chance for life, for love, for a future, and now…

I did not know the extent of the relationship between the two of them. How far their sentiment for each other went or whether it had been acknowledged. Sabine never said, and I knew better to ask. Whatever had happened was hers to share. Or not. But I knew he’d left a mark on her soul that would not soon fade, if it ever did.

There are some who’d say she hadn’t known him long enough to be so affected. I knew better. There are a rare few in this world with the power to touch the hearts of all those they meet, but Marc was one of them. He’d been my first friend in Trollus, and not a day went by that I wasn’t stricken with an anguish so intense it stole my breath. For Marc. And for everyone else who’d fallen.

The endless tasks demanding my attention helped take my mind off all our friends who had been lost in the battle I’d started. There were countless injured humans who needed a witch’s skill, and Marie dedicated herself to tracking down witches across the Isle who could help, personally guaranteeing their safety. The time of witch burnings was over.

And so was the time of the trolls. Day after day, I worked my magic on the full-bloods, sending them off into Arcadia through a tear that always appeared at the opportune moment, the trolls stepping through wide-eyed and never looking back. I enlisted some of the other witches to help, because once the flow started, it seemed no one intended to give me a moment’s respite, even to sleep.

Tristan worked tirelessly to rebuild that which had been destroyed, opening the Trollus coffers to import the food, grain, and supplies that the Isle needed to replace what had been burned. He frequently rode about on a wagon with Chris, distributing the goods to those who needed them, returning filthy, but in high spirits, to the suite of rooms we’d once again taken command of in the Hôtel de Crillon. Those nights we made up for all the time we’d been apart, lying tangled in each other’s arms until dawn, and our respective duties, dragged us out into the sunlight.

Still, there were times I’d start awake in a cold sweat, convinced that Angoulême had returned, and that we were once again at war. Tristan, too, suffered dreams. Lying awake next to him, I could feel the grief and guilt that plagued his mind, though he refused to speak of them in the morning. Neither of us, I thought, were quite willing to believe we were to be given the chance to live the life we’d dreamed. That we could be together and that no one would have to pay the price of our happiness. But as the days turned into weeks, I dared to hope. And I think Tristan did, too.

We both should’ve known better.

“
A
re
you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked. “It does hurt, you know.”

“You mean all those screams coming from your laboratory weren’t of ecstasy?” Victoria asked, leaning back in her chair and putting her boots on my workstation, which, no matter how many times it was scrubbed, remained stained dark with troll blood. “That’s ominous.”

I glanced over at Vincent, who sat in the opposite chair, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. He still hadn’t spoken, but his eyes were no longer expressionless, and when Victoria, Tristan, or I spoke to him, he listened intently. It was impossible to say whether my spell would cure him, as his affliction was not the result of the iron poisoning his blood. But it was hard not to be hopeful.

Tristan and I had offered Victoria the chance to be first of those I worked my magic on to send back, but she’d refused, and had instead taken on the responsibility of gathering up the few full-bloods who were reluctant to take their place on my workbench, either for fear of the pain or because their madness did not allow them to understand the opportunity it presented. All had been cured of their iron affliction, although many who had physical deformities maintained their outward appearance by choice, walking through the tear into Arcadia in the same form in which they’d lived their lives.

The three trolls standing in my presence were all who remained in this world.

“You aren’t getting soft, are you?” Tristan asked, punching Victoria in the shoulder and then dodging Vincent’s fist. “I never took you for a coward.”

Their banter drifted to my ears as I prepared the potion, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me. I’d lost so many of those I loved already, and though the twins were hardly dying – I would be making them immortal – it felt much the same. The Summer King wasn’t taking any chances with losing his people to this world a second time, which meant none of the trolls I cured would be able to come back. I’d never see the twins again. A tear ran down my cheek, and I brushed it aside before anyone noticed.

Tristan had gone walking with them earlier today, all the tears and goodbyes accomplished already. They were trying to maintain their levity now, but it was strained. With grief, yes, but also with an anxious sort of hope, because we did not know how the spell would affect Vincent.

“There’s only one way to find out, Cécile,” Victoria said, seeming to read my thoughts. Another tear fell, but I nodded. “I’m ready.”

My worktable was too small for the both of them, and given the connected nature of their power, I believed I needed to perform the spell on both of them at the same time. While Tristan dragged the table out of the way, the twins came over to me, each of them taking one of my hands. “You’ve been a good friend,” Victoria said. “And a mad accomplice. We’ll miss you dearly, you know that?”

“Likewise.” I wiped my nose with a handkerchief. “The world will seem a much duller place without you two, and infinitely less alliterative.”

Vincent smiled, and I knew it was time. They lay next to each other on the floor, Tristan standing in the shadows of a corner, his face revealing none of his anxiety. He gave me a slight nod, and I began.

Neither twin made so much as a peep as the blood began to rise from their skin, grimaces the only sign of the intense pain they were feeling. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and though it was cowardly, I closed my eyes. I felt it the moment they changed, my hands falling into nothingness. Victoria would still be there, but would Vincent? Was there enough left of his mind to maintain his existence without a mortal body holding it together?

No one spoke, and with my heart in my throat, I opened my eyes.

Victoria sat in front of me, her eyes wide as she watched the mist of Vincent’s form fade and drift. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me, brother.”

A hand gripped mine, and I cast a sideways glance at Tristan, who was kneeling with me in the twins’ blood. “Come on, Vincent,” he said. “You can do this.”

I held my breath, and then slowly, improbably, Vincent solidified. He turned his head to his sister. “Victoria?”

A sob tore from her lips, and she flung her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Tristan’s hand relaxed against mine, and it wasn’t until I felt the dull ache in my fingers that I realized how tightly he’d been holding it. Vincent was himself again, but the moment was bittersweet, because we were still losing them.

Reluctantly, I handed the twins the last of my store of Élixir, watching sadly as they drank it.

A tear opened behind them, the smell of summer filling my laboratory.

“We have to go,” Victoria said. “He’s calling us.” They rose. “Goodbye, my friends,” she said, then to me, “Thank you.”

I nodded, holding Tristan’s hand tight. And then the twins were gone.

We were both were silent for a long time, then Tristan said, “Get cleaned up, and then let’s go for a ride. There is something I need to do.”

T
ristan’s horsemanship
had improved in the time he’d spent with Chris, and he rode with almost reckless speed, trusting that I’d keep up. He kept to the Ocean Road, slowing to a trot just before we reached the bridge spanning the rock fall. Sliding off his horse, he waited until I was on the ground and silently tied up our mounts. Then he took my hand, and led me down to the entrance to Trollus.

I hadn’t been back since Tristan and I had fled, but he had. Often. The magic holding up the mountain was his once more, the Builder’s Guild all departed to Arcadia. The stone tree, which Thibault had very nearly completed for him, was hidden in the darkness of the cavern.

“Would you like to see?” he asked, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeve.

I shrugged, turning to examine a fountain that I’d always admired so that he wouldn’t see the smile on my face. “I suppose.”

He was silent for a moment, then he laughed. “It’s almost as though you know me.”

“Almost.” I sat on the edge of the fountain, tipping my head back to watch as the magical tree illuminated, its light revealing the stone structure Tristan had dedicated so many years of his life to create.

“It’s lovely,” I murmured, wondering if trolls were even capable of building something that was otherwise. Slender pillars and elegant arches filled the cavern, and it seemed impossible such a graceful structure was capable of holding so much weight.

“Care to see if it works?” Tristan asked.

I blanched, but before I could speak, the light of the tree blinked out. The groan of shifting rock filled the cavern as the rocks settled, and I clutched at Tristan’s arm.

“It feels as though you doubt me,” he said, squeezing my hand and sending a hundred balls of light up toward the ceiling to replace the light of the tree. Little rainbows of color danced in the mist of the waterfall, and slowly, very slowly, I relaxed. “You’re mad.”

He grinned. “Runs in the family.”

I let him lead me toward the palace, the silence of the city seeming strange. “There’s no one here.”

Tristan shook his head. “None of the half-bloods cared to stay, and everyone else…” He lifted one shoulder, face reflecting the sorrow of his heart.

All his people were gone. For as much as the half-bloods shared some of the same blood, they were not the same. And not for the first time, I wondered if he’d be lonely. If all the humans he’d come to know and care for would be enough to replace what he’d lost.

We meandered through the palace, that beautiful structure full of the work of artists with skill the world might never know again, our boots thudding against tiles that inexplicably remained polished to a high shine. Our travels ended at his rooms – our rooms – as I’d known they would, and I sank into the sumptuous covers while I watched him carefully pack certain items into a bag. A few books. A rolled up painting. Miniatures of his mother and aunt. A ring. A broken blade.

As he walked by the closet doors, he shoved them open to reveal the dozens of elaborate gowns I’d worn during my time here. “Put on your favorite.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Why?”

“Why not?”

There was something about the tenseness in his shoulders that told me not to argue. And with his assistance, I donned an emerald velvet evening gown, my fingers brushing against the familiar fabric. With the ease of someone who’d spent a lifetime surrounded by wealth, he plucked matching jewels from the box, brushing aside my hair to fasten them around my neck.

“Take anything else you want,” he said, seeming not to notice when I shook my head.

We moved on, making our way to the throne room. He led me between the statues lining the walls, their eyes brightening with magic as we passed, then dropped my arm to go to enormous golden throne, where he sat. “I’m going to abdicate.”

“Pardon?” It was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “To whom?”

“Aiden.”

I frowned, disliking the choice. When we’d returned to Trianon, I’d woken him from his sleep, only to discover that he’d been mostly aware the entire time. That he’d remained sane was a miracle, the only sign of his tribulations the haunted expression he wore when he thought no one was looking. Zoé had watched over him for most of his ordeal, and he remained as attached to her as though all their time together had been waking. More than attached, and Zoé seemed inclined to be more forgiving than I was of the mistakes he’d made.

“This is an Isle of humans,” he said. “It makes no sense for me to rule. And besides, I was thinking we might travel for a time. See the continent. The world.”

As if I could begrudge him that.

“Besides,” he said. “If he turns out to be dreadful, I can always take it back.” Unhooking the crown that had been left on the back of the throne, most likely by his father, he tucked it in his bag. “There’s one more thing we have to fetch.”

And it was fitting that it was in the glass gardens. Though no doubt he knew the exact location of what he wanted, he led me on a meandering route through the maze of glowing foliage. We crossed the place where his mother and aunt had been slaughtered, but, mercifully, someone had cleaned up the mess, and I said nothing. Eventually we ended up next to the small fountain where, through the tear in the fabric of the world, dripped the Élixir de la Lune. The fountain was almost empty, depleted from all the trolls I’d sent back to Arcadia. “Planning on taking another wife?” I asked, as he carefully filled a small vial.

“I can barely keep track of the one I have.” He lifted the glass cylinder and sniffed at it before stoppering it. “I’ve a promise to fulfill.” He gave no further explanation, and I followed him out of the gardens and down to the river, where he turned in a slow circle as though drinking the city in.

“The time of the trolls is over,” he said, though it seemed the explanation was more for his benefit than mine. “To the half-bloods this place is nothing more than a broken cage – none will ever willingly live here again. And I do not wish to see it taken by those who care only for its riches, who would steal the gold, the art, the knowledge, and use it for their advantage.”

“What do you propose?” I asked, my chest aching with a pain I couldn’t explain.