The Broken Ones Page 11

  “I’ll stay,” she said. “I want to stay. With you.”

  She wanted to stay. With me.

  Every lamp in the room flared bright with the flux of my magic, then winked out as I jerked it back under control.

  “If that’s all right with you,” she stammered in the darkness.

  No. Yes. “Of course.”

  She mercifully climbed to her feet, the faintest ball of light appearing above her head. “Do you have something dry that I can wear?”

  “Dry?” Why did I sound like such an idiot? “I mean, of course.” Diving into my closet, I dug out a shirt and a pair of trousers that were too small for me. “Here.”

  She took the garments. Then she turned around. “Will you help me with the buttons?”

  Buttons? I gaped at the back of her sodden dress, then began fumbling with the tiny pearls, my fingers shaking. Her back was cool as I descended down her spine, the release of each button revealing another inch of her smooth skin, until I reached her equally damp shift, which clung to every curve. I took hold of the last button, and as it released, the gown slipped over her hips to pool on the ground around her feet.

  I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t wrap my head around the notion that the girl I’d loved for as long as I could remember was standing all but naked in front of me. Then she reached back and caught hold of my hand, pulling it forward so that my arm wrapped around her waist, her fingers laced with mine.

  A cool draft came through the open window, and she shivered, her magic too depleted to keep her warm.

  So I did it for her.

  Steam rose from her shift and, afraid I might burn her, I coated her skin with magic as the air filled with mist. It was like touching her, but not, the distance it created both unwelcome and comforting, because I wanted more but was afraid to take that step. I didn’t know if she wanted me to.

  Then she sighed softly, and there was something in the tone of it that answered my unspoken question.

  “Are you sure?” I said into her hair, knowing that this would make our situation more complicated. That it might very well make it worse.

  “Very sure.”

  Was I? Since I’d been old enough to care about such things, I wanted this. With her. Always her, and none other. But now that the moment was upon me, I found myself shying away, because I wasn’t sure I was ready, or even capable, of shedding all the shadows from within which I hid. She was talented and kind and lovely and clever, and I was…

  “I didn’t know,” I said, and my voice was hoarse. “I wasn’t sure about how you felt. Whether you were with me because you–” I broke off. “I thought maybe it was only because you had to be.”

  She turned in my arms, then stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me. Not a chaste brush of the lips like the last time, but soft and deep, her tongue touching mine, making me groan. She broke away, and whispered, “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Always wanted to be with you. But I never thought I’d get the chance. And then when I did, he twisted it and–” Her breath hitched, choking her off.

  “I know.” Their motivations might have been better, but Tristan and Anaïs had done the same to me. Both of them knew I cared about Pénélope, but neither of them had hesitated to use those feelings. Or seemed to care how much it would cost me. “I want to be with you, Pénélope. I need you to know that. And if being with me is what you want, then I’m willing to fight to make it happen.”

  One tear trickled down her cheek, but she nodded. “They’ve taken so much from us, but this, this, is ours. Our choice. Our right.”

  “They’ll try to use it against us,” I said, kissing away the tear.

  “I know.” She stood on her toes to press her lips against mine again, tangling her fingers in my hair and pulling me against her. “But we don’t have to let them.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Pénélope

  Not long after dawn, I walked back through the quiet streets to my home, finding it remarkable that everything around me could be unchanged when I felt like an entirely different person. Images and sensations danced through my thoughts, whispered words and touches that I’d dreamed of – and longed for – but never hoped to experience outside the confines of my imagination.

  But I had.

  Now, all I wanted to do was to trail after that lone stream of sunlight tracking across Trollus with a canvas and my paints, and in the warmth of its glow, attempt to capture the perfection of that moment, lest it never happen again.

  For that was a real risk.

  I clung tightly to my confidence as I approached the entrance to my home, but fear ate away at it like rats in a grain barrel, sharp little teeth biting away at the plans Marc and I had made in the quiet hours of the night. Lying twisted in the sheets and the comfort of his arms, it had been easy to believe that I could trick my father. That I could best him at this game of politics and deception at which he excelled. But as I passed into the foyer, the faint smell of gardenias from the atrium filling my nose, I no longer believed that to be the case. And my fingers closed around the tiny steel knife hidden in my skirts, praying my hand would have the courage to strike if the duplicitousness that was my heritage should choose to fail me.

  My father was in the dining room, as was his custom, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and discarded tray of breakfast sitting to his left. At the sound of my approach, his gaze left the pages he’d been reading, one eyebrow rising as he looked me up and down.

  “Well,” he said, setting aside his cup. “I’d ask where you’d been all night, but the state of your appearance is answer enough.”

  I sat across the table from him, smoothing my skirts out of habit, though the rumpled and water-stained silk was beyond repair.

  “Was the night wasted on kisses and sweet nothings, or is the deed done?”

  The mockery in his voice was simultaneously humiliating and infuriating, but the question was expected and I needed to give the truth where I could. “It is done.” And because he’d accept nothing less than plain speech, I added, “My relationship with Marc has been consummated.”

  His nose wrinkled as though he smelled something distasteful. “Your sacrifice for the good of our family is duly noted.”

  I wanted to slap the expression off his face, but I forced my gaze to remain downcast and nodded.

  “Who else is aware of this development?”

  “Only you.”

  “Not his parents? Is there any chance they suspect?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good.” His gloved hand moved to his teacup, the sound of him swallowing loud and repugnant in my ears. “The Comte has several prospects in mind for his son, and he won’t want those jeopardized by an entanglement with the likes of you. It will be hard enough to convince those girls that a close liaison with the crown is worth night after night with that.”

  I clenched my fingers around the hilt of the knife, only Lessa’s appearance preventing me from plunging it into his smirking face. She picked up his discarded tray, but he caught her wrist. “Have Anaïs escort Roland to his tutors, as I’m otherwise occupied. They should leave now – it would not do for him to be late.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Lessa replied, skirts swishing as she strolled from the room, tray floating carelessly behind her in gross disregard for her place as a servant. Fear roiled through me, because Roland’s lessons began whenever he bothered to arrive. His promptness mattered far less than getting Anaïs out of the house. So she wouldn’t hear my screams.

  We sat in silence, him sipping his tea and me kneading my skirts until we heard the rapid patter of Roland’s boots on the stairs. Sweat trickled down my spine and my stomach tumbled beneath my ribs, every instinct telling me to call out for my sister.

  Play the game.

  Coming home at all had been a dangerous choice, although to call it such was a misnomer, because there was nowhere I could go where he couldn’t find me. Though I’d not planned to do so, last night I’d discovered the
proof my father had wanted – there was now enough information floating in my head to bring down Marc, Tristan, and the sympathizer cause itself.

  But I had no intention of letting that happen.

  Human I was not, so lying was impossible, and my father would tolerate no vague words that hid the truth. The only chance I had was to lead him down a path of my choosing and hope it would distract him enough not to ask questions that I couldn’t answer.

  Picking up his ever-present cane, my father leaned back in his chair and rested the slender column across his knees. “And what, pray tell, did you gain from this tremendous sacrifice of yours?”

  I hesitated, then said, “I doubt what I gained from it you’d consider of any value.”

  He snorted, the sound full of derision, but before he could say anything, I blurted out, “Will you help me, Father? I’m afraid I’m going to lose him.”

  That surprised him. One of his eyebrows rose. “Help you how?”

  You can do this, Pénélope.

  “Tristan sees no future in a relationship between me and Marc,” I said, allowing the hurt I’d felt when Marc had told me this was the case to shine through and give validity to my ploy.

  “Why would he? You’re afflicted – hardly a suitable match for his right hand, no matter what he looks like.”

  “I know,” I whispered, hating to the very depth of my core that I had to use my vulnerabilities as a weapon. “But it’s what we both want.”

  “And you believe His Highness is standing in your way?”

  “I think he’ll try to put an end to our relationship when he discovers how serious it’s become.” Which was true – Tristan might well have approved of Marc pretending to court me to keep me safe, but he hadn’t approved of our affair becoming reality.

  “Likely,” my father responded. “And he isn’t the only one.”

  “I know,” I said. “But you could make it happen.”

  He rubbed his chin, then asked, “Is he in love with you?”

  “He is.” And that it was so was a beautiful thing to me, and I hated turning it to this purpose, but there was no choice. “He’s told me so. But what difference does that make? If Tristan tells him to end it…” I allowed a sob to steal away the rest of the sentence.

  He steepled his fingers, eyeing me. “It’s in your best interest to convince the boy to keep this development in your relationship a secret. If it ends, so does your usefulness in this endeavor.”

  I clenched my skirts, the fabric straining under my grip. Now had arrived the moment that I’d most been dreading. But the crux of our plan was making him believe that I had something to gain from Tristan’s downfall. And something to gain from my father’s success. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I don’t want it to be a secret, Father. I know bonding him isn’t possible, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be his wife.”

  I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d take my bait.

  “That’s precisely what it means under Thibault’s rule. And under Tristan’s,” he said.

  Lifting my face, I met his gaze. “I know. But if I help you rid Trollus of them, Marc will be pulled down in the process. I can’t win.”

  “You’ll be alive,” he pointed out.

  “That’s not enough,” I said; then, before he could lash out, I added, “But, if you give me your word that if you succeed in bringing down Tristan and putting Roland on the throne, that you’ll let me leave this house to be with Marc – that you won’t stand in the way of us being together – I’ll…” I gave him the grimmest nod I could manage.

  He stared at me unblinking, like a snake poised to strike. Then he laughed, the tone harsh and mocking, and I took an involuntary step back, certain he’d seen through my manipulation.

  “Oh, dear, sweet little Pénélope, you have my word.” I felt the flux of magic with his promise, but the tears of mirth running down his face made me feel as though I’d won no victory.

  “If you help my plans succeed, I promise that I not only won’t stand in the way of your union, I’ll throw you a party fit for a queen.”

  My skin crawled, but there was no turning back now. “Good. Perhaps we will both get what we want.” Not waiting for him to respond, I rose to my feet and hurried from the room, his laughter trailing in my wake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marc

  I have to get her out of that house. The same thought had circulated my head a hundred times since I’d sent Pénélope on her way with a dangerous plan that might work for a few days, even a few weeks, but not for the three years Tristan envisioned it would take for him to seize the throne.

  Not even close.

  Which meant I needed to come up with something else, some way to get her out from under the Duke’s thumb. Yet though everything had changed for me, and for her, nothing had changed in that regard. There was no easy solution, and I felt the press of the mountain and the curse keenly as I paced the grounds of my home waiting for news that the Duke had caught Pénélope in her trickery, because there was no escape. There was nowhere we could hide. There was no one who could – or would – help us.

  My eyes involuntarily went to the beam of sunlight tracking across Trollus through the lone opening in the rock above, the opening that revealed the moon for a brief time each night. I wanted to be bonded to Pénélope – that hadn’t changed, and now I had even more incentive. The Duke couldn’t touch her if she was bonded to the nephew of the King. She’d be safe. But the Élixir de la Lune required for the magic to occur was the property of the crown, and even if I stole it, there was no chance of us making it through the ceremony without being interrupted. And even if we did, there was the matter of the consequences of having done it without my uncle’s permission.

  “My lord?”

  I whirled to find a servant wearing Angoulême livery had approached, my stomach flip-flopping as he held out a card embossed in red.

  Marc,

  I’d be most happy to accept your invitation for dinner tomorrow night.

  With affection,

  Pénélope

  Beneath her signature was a tiny sketch of a dragonfly, beautiful in its detail, although she’d probably drawn it in a matter of moments. And it was especially precious to me, as it signified that all had gone according to plan. That by making the Duke believe she had something to gain from Tristan’s downfall that she had alleviated any suspicion he might have that she was holding information back.

  For now.

  Nodding at the servant to signal he could depart, I sat heavily on a bench, allowing my light to fade to darkness. As the rush of fear that had been sustaining me faded, I felt my lack of sleep settle on me along with the urge to shirk the countless duties awaiting me in favor of a nap. But it was not to be.

  “Marc!”

  I started at the sound of Tristan’s voice from beyond the wall, abruptly certain that letting down my guard had been premature, then I heard Vincent say, “We know you’re hiding in the dark over there. Come out, come out.”

  “Title to whoever finds him first?” Victoria asked.

  “Done. Tristan, you count us off?”

  Sighing, I rose and went to the gate in the wall, resting my chin on the silver bars and regarding my friends. All three wore light armor, swords strapped to their waists and glittering sluag spears held loosely in their hands. The sight of my cousin sent a stab of guilt through my gut. I’d gone expressly against his orders by revealing our plot to Pénélope, and I didn’t know how to tell him that I’d done so. He needed to know what she’d learned while spying on her father – the depths of the Duke’s suspicions – but my mind raced with ways to relay the information that wouldn’t cause him to suspect her as the source.

  Thankfully, out in the open like this with the twins looking on wasn’t an opportune time for confessions, allowing me to defer the conversation until later. Or never, a little voice whispered inside my head.

  “We need the key,” Tristan said, resting the butt of his spear on the g
round. “And your company.”

  Sluag hunting – or more precisely, pretending to hunt sluag – was the last thing I wanted to do. “I have a number of things requiring my attention. The markets–”

  “Nothing more important than this,” Tristan interrupted. “The twins passed their examinations, and this is how they wish to celebrate.”

  “Did you pass?” I asked, not because there was any doubt, but because I wanted to annoy him.

  He only laughed. “I could teach those guild masters a thing or two. They lack vision.”

  “And you lack humility.”

  “A side effect of the title. I’ve been told there’s every chance it will worsen once I’m sitting on the golden chair with the golden hat slowly compressing my neck.”

  I snorted, then swung open the gate, because there would be no dissuading him. “I’ll get the key.”

  * * *

  We approached the labyrinth gates in silence, full-bloods and half-bloods alike stepping aside before bowing or curtseying as our foursome passed, some murmuring well-wishes for the hunt. Power mattered little against the sluag, their strange magic nullifying ours, making the massive slug-like creatures as much a danger to a Montigny as they were to the nearly human sewer workers. Which was, of course, why we hunted them.

  Anaïs sat on the steps leading up to the gate, sluag spear resting on her leather-clad legs, the crimson scales of her armor glimmering.

  “I thought you were minding my brother today?” Tristan asked, casting a backward glance at the city.

  “I’m not his nurse,” she replied. “Besides, my father arrived to take over his minding. And you really have no business hunting sluag without me to watch your back.”