Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three Page 12

  The doors to the throne room slammed shut, and my father backhanded the Guerre boards, sending pieces tumbling across the floor. “You said he was improving,” he demanded of my aunt, whose hand rested on my shoulder.

  “He is,” she replied. “It’s not a matter of his intelligence or aptitude, Thibault, it’s a matter of interest. His heart is not in the game.”

  I felt his eyes burning into me, but I refused to look up. “And how,” he asked, “do you expect to rule without these skills?”

  “It’s just a stupid game,” I muttered. “It’s not real.”

  My aunt’s grip tightened, not that I needed her signal to know that I was pushing my luck.

  “‘Just a stupid game,’” my father repeated, then, “It’s not a game, you fool; it’s a tool. A way to train the mind and develop focus, and to be King of Trollus, you must master it. You must be the best at it.”

  I fought the urge to take my mother’s hand. With her here, his temper would remain in check. “If you’re the best–” I lifted my face “–then why aren’t you teaching me?”

  His jaw worked from side to side, and for the first and only time, he looked away before I did. It was a stupid question, I told myself. He doesn’t have time for you.

  “Because,” he finally replied, “how will you ever beat me if I know all of your moves?”

  My heart sank, and though it was childish, I reached for my mother’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “He needs motivation to play the game, Thibault,” my aunt said over my head. “And you must be the one to provide it.”

  I listened to him sigh, wishing I wasn’t such a disappointment to him. Wishing he had time for me as he once had. But he only turned and walked out of the room, never once looking back.

  Blinking, I pulled myself from the memory and focused on the troll-lights filtering through Trianon. Why was I doing this? Defending these humans, fighting this thankless battle, and for what? What did I have to gain?

  Nothing.

  It was all a waste of my time – time that should be spent solving my conundrum with Winter, because until I did, I was trapped.

  The procession stopped, two figures breaking away from the pack and walking onto the bridge. The girl’s grey hood swept back to reveal long dark hair, and the man walked with the aid of a wooden crutch. “Let them in,” I called out, and trotted down the steps to await Zoé and Tips.

  The portcullis creaked upwards, the half-bloods ducking underneath and approaching me. “Stones and sky, but it’s good to see you.” A grin spread across Tips’s face. “You did it, you and Cécile.” He lifted his face to the sky. “Never believed–”

  “How did you get past my wards?” I asked, interrupting him.

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “My wards. The dome,” I added for clarity. “How did you get past them?”

  “Mostly miners with me,” he said. “We went under.”

  “Ah,” I said. Then I turned my back on the lot of them and went into the castle.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cécile

  “He’s not going to be happy about this.” Marc kicked the base of a tree in a rare display of frustration, muttering what I suspected was profanity as a heap of snow landed on his head. “All three of us were to remain with you, and we were to return as soon as the deed was done.”

  “The deed’s not done,” I said, rubbing my hands together and casting a longing glance at the glowing fire.

  “You’re splitting hairs.”

  I smiled. “How very trollish of me.” My levity felt out of place, given that our plan to kill Roland was ruined, but I felt better than I had since I’d plunged that knife into Anushka’s chest. I had a plan. A place. A purpose. Even if it did mean remaining parted from Tristan.

  “Of a surety, she’s seen through your disguise,” he said, trying a different tactic. “Dozens of people have called you by name, and if she can separate you from the twins, she’ll use you to get to Tristan. Those wretched seeds you two concocted won’t last forever, and a millennium of experience has no doubt developed her skills of extracting information she wants.”

  “Can’t extract what’s not there,” I said. “I’ve thought this through, so you can quit trying to convince me to run back to Trianon and hide.”

  “And if I say no?”

  I considered the question before responding. “As you said, Marc, I’m a princess of Trollus. Your future queen. And this isn’t a request – it’s a command.”

  Part of me expected him to retaliate, to push back. But I should’ve known better.

  He bowed with somewhat more flair than was typical of him. “As you command, Your Highness, so shall it be.”

  I shuffled about in the snow. “I’d keep you here, if I could. Better to have all three of you taking down Angoulême’s forces, but I can’t leave Tristan alone in Trianon with only Sabine to watch his back. Especially given she’s more likely than most to stick a knife in it.”

  “Queens don’t explain themselves.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’d send one of the twins, but it seems wrong to separate them after everything they’ve been through. And Tristan is more likely to listen to you than them, anyway. Someone needs to keep him behind those walls, and there’s no one better suited to the task than you.”

  “Cécile…”

  “You need to make him understand that one of us needs to be out here visible and fighting. If we both stay hidden within the safety of Trianon’s walls, we’ll lose the support of the rest of the Isle. And out here, there are things that I can–” I broke off, hugging my arms around my ribs. “You’re sure you can make it back to Trianon in the dark?”

  “Better in the dark than that cursed sun.” I couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but I didn’t need to to know that he was smiling. “I’ll manage. Stay safe, Cécile.”

  Inclining his head, he turned to go, but I caught his arm. “Tell Tristan that…” I love him. I bit down on the words. Queens didn’t send sentimental messages, and with what I’d been feeling from Tristan since dawn, I didn’t think he’d care anyway. “Tell him to think of a way to find Angoulême. Now that our plans are awry, it’s our best chance of stopping Roland.”

  He nodded once, then disappeared into the dark.

  * * *

  “Gran?”

  She looked up from the supplies she was organizing into neat piles on the cabin shelves. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “I can’t find Joss.” I’d spent the last half hour searching the camp for my sister, but no one had seen her since dusk.

  My gran jerked her head up. “Is her horse gone?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then like as much she’s avoiding you.” She set a jar on a shelf, but her hand remained on the lid as though she’d forgotten what she intended to do next. “I’ll find her and explain the full truth of what happened to Genevieve. She’ll come around.”

  If that had been the only thing Joss was upset about, I might have agreed. But it wasn’t. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know that all of this is horrible, and that it’s my fault.”

  “From what Christophe told us, it sounds as though it was inevitable.” She withdrew her hand from the jar. “If you’ve come for absolution, you’re wasting your breath, child. You made your decision, and now is not the time to beg for forgiveness, it’s time to make things right.”

  “I’m trying.” I sighed and sat down on a cot, my body so very weary. “I need a favor.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s a spell I need cast.” Pulling a scrap of paper from my pocket, I fiddled with the corners.

  My gran sniffed. “From what I’ve heard, you’re more than capable of doing your own casting. And more than willing to delve into magics that you shouldn’t.”

  “This isn’t anything like that,” I said. “And I need your help because the spell is for me.”

  She eyed me up and down. “What is it you need done?”

&nbs
p; I’d been thinking about this since I made the decision not to go back to Trianon. Staying was a risk, because of a surety, the Winter Queen would figure out I was here, if she hadn’t already. My name had been used, and she would know these were my family members. My people. I couldn’t trust that Vincent and Victoria would always be there to watch over me.

  “I need you to help me forget something,” I said, my heart heavy as I focused on Tristan. Cold. Emotionless. “I need to forget a name.”

  * * *

  I was staggering on exhausted feet back to the cabin to get some sleep when my sister stepped into my path. “Cécile? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Nodding, I motioned for Vincent to give us a moment, then closed the distance between us. “You look frozen,” I said, taking her hands, which felt like icicles, between mine and squeezing them. Her blonde hair was so coated with frost it appeared white, and her cheeks and nose were cherry red. “Come inside with me to warm up at the fire.”

  “In a bit.” Her teeth chattered. “I wanted to say sorry for how I acted. I should’ve heard you out before reacting the way I did.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, wrapping my arms around her in an attempt to ward away the chill. “I don’t blame you for being upset. No matter how you look at it, our mother is dead.” My eyes burned. “And I’m so sorry for how you found out.”

  Her arms tightened around me. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I don’t see how we can win without help.” Her voice took on a desperate edge. “Why won’t Tristan leave Trianon to fight his brother?”

  Stones and sky, but I was too tired for this conversation. I could barely think straight, and I was wary of saying the wrong thing and setting her off again. “He can’t, Joss. At least, not yet.”

  “Can’t you make him?”

  How did she know about that? I rubbed one temple. Chris must have told her.

  “Not anymore,” I said. “I had Gran do a spell on me earlier – his name is gone from my mind forever.” I hope you heard that, I silently told the Winter Queen. Good luck getting it out of me now.

  “I see.” Joss took a step back, her eyes fixed on her feet. “I’m going to leave in the morning to join the rest of the Hollow folk. I… I don’t have the stomach for this.”

  Her words surprised me, because the last thing my sister was, was a coward. But in truth, keeping her away from the fighting would be an immense relief, so I didn’t argue. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.” Her smile was strained. “I’ll say goodbye before I leave in the morning.”

  * * *

  A gentle hand shook me awake. “What time is it?” I asked, trying to get my bearings in the windowless cabin. I’d been ordered off to bed after I’d started dropping off mid-sentence, and I’d slept curled up next to my gran on the floor. She’d been asleep when I arrived, so I hadn’t a chance to thank her for speaking to Joss on my behalf. My back ached, but I felt alert. Ready.

  “An hour or so before dawn.” Victoria faintly illuminated the room, then pressed a bowl of porridge into my hands. “Eat this. It’s dreadfully bland, but it appears no one thought to pack sugar. Or raisins. A life without raisins is barely a life at all.”

  Laughing softly so as not to disturb those still sleeping in the cabin, I followed her outside, spooning the hot oats into my mouth as we walked. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ll show you.” Bending low, she went inside the other cabin.

  Chris broke off his conversation with Vincent and nodded at me, but my eyes were all for the magical miniature town suspended above the cold firepit at the center of the room. “What is this?”

  “A map, of sorts.” My father handed me a tin cup of weak tea. “Jérôme and I have been working with the, uh, Baron Vincent to construct a replica of Revigny and its surroundings.”

  “It’s only Lord Vincent at the moment,” Vincent replied. “But I hope to rectify that shortly.”

  My father frowned, then shrugged. “It’s been a world of help with planning, given that not everyone has ventured so far out of the Hollow. Chris?”

  “Right.” My friend cleared his throat, and I watched how the eyes of everyone in the room went to him. He was, I realized, their leader.

  “We received word from our scouts that Roland and Lessa took control of Triaucourt in the night,” he said. “If he holds to his pattern – and I think he will – they’ll remain under cover, taking oaths from those his militiamen round up, and then move on again tonight.”

  “Then why aren’t we looking at Triaucourt?” I asked.

  “Because the same gambit isn’t going to work twice, and we don’t have the clout,” he gave an apologetic look to the twins, “to take them on directly.”

  He picked up a map and laid it out in front of me, and I noted the marks indicating the villages Roland had either destroyed or taken over. “This process of taking oaths eats up time,” Chris said. “Time that people could use to flee their homes and seek refuge in the mountains. The militiamen are rounding up those in the smaller hamlets, but Angoulême has groups of two or three trolls capturing and holding the more middling size villages until Roland has time to reach them. Revigny is one of them.”

  I traced a finger over the little dots on the map. “Why bother?” I muttered. “These places can’t have more than a hundred people living in them. I hate to say it, but they’re hardly worth the effort. Why doesn’t he just attack Courville? In one fell swoop he’d have the human army he needs.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Chris replied. “If he attacked Courville, Tristan would likely intervene before Roland could take control of the city, and he’d be risking a direct confrontation with his elder brother, which he wouldn’t win.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that, but I kept my doubts to myself.

  “But by doing it this way, building his army in small attacks, the risk of Tristan leaving Trianon unprotected – especially with their father’s plans remaining unknown – are much less.”

  “And once he has this army, then what?” My mind filled with the image of families driven to take up pitchforks and shovels, rusty swords, and pistols that hadn’t been fired in years, and then to attack their countrymen. Not because they wanted to, but because they had no choice.

  “When he’s ready, we think he’ll have them march en masse on Courville,” Vincent replied. “Tristan would have to leave Trianon unprotected to save the other city from his brother’s army.”

  “While Roland and Lessa backtrack to Trianon and take it while it’s undefended,” I said, not waiting for him to finish. “They have to know he won’t fall for such a strategy.”

  “True.” Chris set the map aside. “So Tristan sees through their game and remains in Trianon. Roland’s army takes Courville. Not only is the death toll likely to be catastrophic, he’ll now have control over nearly half the Isle’s population, none of whom will hold Tristan in particularly high regard given he’s remained holed up behind castle walls the entire time.”

  And none of them would care that he hadn’t had a choice. I exhaled softly. “Then Roland can march his army against Trianon, or even Trollus, at his pleasure. It won’t matter to him or Angoulême how many humans die, because keeping them alive has never been their plan. It was ours.” The porridge soured in my stomach. “How do we stop him?”

  “By taking away his army, bit by bit, village by village,” Chris replied. “By forcing Roland to meet Tristan on a level playing field and making the battle between them alone. Watch.” He gestured at the faintly glowing miniature.

  Two figures appeared in the model, tiny replicas of Vincent and Victoria. They were both standing on their hands, wobbling back and forth. Victoria’s figure toppled over, and I heard her grumble softly over my shoulder. Vincent smiled, and a dozen tiny figures bearing our faces appeared. “This,” he said, “is how it will go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cécile

  “Stones and sky, but they’re cocky,” Victori
a muttered, kneeling next to me in the snow.

  Revigny sat between two mountains, a cluster of houses and one general store, with a population that was far outnumbered by the goats they raised on the grassy southern slopes. And by my reckoning, every one of them was locked behind the invisible wall encasing the village. Goats included.

  Their troll captors relaxed in a pavilion that looked like it had been plucked from the glass gardens, only this version was an illusion with the sole purpose of blocking out the brilliant sun from overhead. Two of them sat on rough wooden chairs plucked from someone’s kitchen, while a third twirled about half-naked in the snow, hands raised up to the sun.

  “Do you recognize them?” I asked. That had been one of the bigger unknowns. Victoria and Vincent had an idea of which trolls the Duke had recruited to his cause, but there was no way to know who had been sent to each village. Or how much power they had.

  “The woman is Comtesse Báthory,” Victoria whispered. “Don’t be fooled by her performance – she’s the only member of the peerage the King’s ever banned from owning half-bloods.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want to know. But it’s probably the reason she’s sided with Angoulême – he’s unlikely to stand in the way of her pastime. She’s not particularly lucid, but she’s powerful. Very powerful. The other two are minor lords – cousins to more important members of the aristocracy who are likely hoping a change in rule will put them in power.”

  We watched them for another few minutes, then Victoria huffed out a frustrated breath, pointing a finger at Báthory. “It’s no good. They’ve been warned about you – look at the size of her footprints versus the size of her feet. She’s shielded herself against everything, not just steel.”

  We’d expected that, given Revigny’s proximity to Roland’s current position, but I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of nerves. Taking out the most powerful of the trio with my spells had been the original, and far less risky, plan. Now we had to try to get rid of Báthory another way. “I suppose that leaves us with plan B.”