Stolen Songbird

CHAPTER 13

CéCILE

I hadn’t heard Tristan come in during the night, but when I awoke the following morning, there was something sitting on the pillows next to me. At one end was a clear glass ball that was attached to a pommel-like handle wrapped with soft white leather. The handle had a thin leather wrist-strap hanging from the end of it. Next to it was a short note written in the flowing script I recognized as Tristan’s.

You looked ridiculous walking around the city carrying an empty wineglass. I don’t care to be associated with a drunk. Particularly one who damages glassware. Touch the diamond with your finger to turn it on.

TdM

Examining the item more closely, I saw that there was a formidable diamond embedded in the handle. Tapping it with my finger, I smiled in delight as the bulb at the end lit up. Tapping the diamond again extinguished it. “Clever, clever,” I whispered, climbing out of bed and dragging the covers with me.

The door flung open. “Good morning, Cécile!” The Queen smiled at me, but as usual, it was the Duchesse who had spoken.

Even though my ankles were tangled in the pile of linens, I managed a passable curtsey, wondering if they intended to intrude on me every morning. “Your Majesty. Your Grace.”

“Where is Tristan?” The tiny troll demanded. “Matilde, turn around so that I can see.”

“He isn’t here,” I said. “But he was here,” I added when she frowned. “Briefly.” It wasn’t entirely a lie – he must have come in at some point to leave the light.

“Briefly.” The Duchesse’s eyebrow rose.

“He gave me this,” I said, hoping to forestall any other questions.

The Duchesse examined the light stick and then read the note. “Ha ha!” she cackled.

“What is it! Let me see! Is it a love note?” the Queen demanded, reaching over her shoulder.

“I suppose some people might call it a love note.” The Duchess winked at me.

Tristan’s mother read the note and sighed. “Oh dear. It isn’t very good, is it?”

“It’s his first time, Matilde,” the Duchesse replied. “I’m sure he’ll improve with practice.”

I stifled a laugh at the thought of His Royal Highness putting any effort into love notes. Especially ones addressed to me.

The Duchesse clapped her hands together. “Now let us get down to business. Yesterday was a disaster, to say the least. I don’t want anything similar to occur at the party this evening.” She gestured for me to come closer. “How much longer do you suppose it will take your face to heal?”

I glanced at the mirror across the room, my black eye prominent even in the dim light. “Another week,” I ventured. My gran had the knack for herbs and healing, and she’d taught a lot of it to my sister, but I’d never paid much attention. I hadn’t needed to.

“Mercy!” The Duchesse shouted the word, making me jump. “So long? It amazes me you survive a trip to the privy, you humans are so fragile. Élise!” she hollered, rather unnecessarily, given the girl was already in the room.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Is your aunt in the city?”

I saw the nearly imperceptible tightening around Élise’s eyes at the mention of Esmeralda. “She is, Your Grace.”

“Go see if she has anything that might speed up the girl’s healing. I’m tired of her looking like one of those dreadful drawings my eight year-old nephew is always sending to me.”

“He uses a lot of color, I take it,” I said, examining the virulent bruises on my arms.

“He uses a lot of gore,” the Duchesse corrected. “Now tell me, do you know how to dance?”

It turned out that I did not know how to dance, at least not by troll standards, and my aching toes did not let me forget it as I stood in the ballroom of Marc’s manor, watching trolls glide across the floor.

Esmeralda had been all too truthful in her description of them. Seen like this, en masse, with only me and a handful of half-blood servants to color the mix with human blood, it was like watching a circus freak show while being locked in a madhouse. At least half of them were marked with physical deformities or were clearly not sound of mind, but power crawled through the room, making it hot. I watched them with wide eyes, half afraid and half entranced by the bizarre display.

A prickle ran down my spine.

“They are all here,” said a deep voice. “Even now, none of them dare test the limits of my power.”

I stiffened before dropping into a curtsey. “Your Majesty.” The King stood beside me, arms crossed, though how he had gotten his bulk there without me noticing was a mystery.

“They are all here to prove their support for our continued reign, but my son, my heir, is notably absent.”

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to run. Something about Tristan’s father filled me with dread. It was like having a shark circle you in the water, knowing it intended to strike, but not when.

“I cannot even begin to describe what it is like to spend one’s life trapped. To be the most powerful being in this world, but reduced to ruling a dark, dank cavern. To be forced to rely on the greed of lesser creatures for sustenance. For life.” He sighed, shifting his massive bulk. “It violates the order of the universe.”

Stones and sky! If I hadn’t been so darned terrified, I would have rolled my eyes at his arrogance. Order of the universe?

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you.” There was no inflection in his voice, and his eyes remained passively on the dancers.

I was afraid of him. Horribly afraid, but somehow I managed to keep my voice level. “I know that if you hurt me, it hurts him in some fashion.” I straightened my shoulders. “And he’s the heir to your precious Montigny line.”

A faint smile grew on the King’s face. “True. But he is not my only heir. A fact you might remind him of when you next see him.”

A sour taste appeared in the back of my throat as I watched Tristan’s father stroll away, nodding his head at those he passed as though he had not just threatened his own son’s life. And mine. Ignoring curious glances, I hurried through the ballroom, desperate to be away from the stifling heat.

The hallways were cool and I walked for some time looking for a way outside. The sounds of shouting and laughter reached my ears, and I followed them onto a balcony overlooking a courtyard filled with racks of weapons. Dominating the space were two enormous trolls – I judged them to be at least eight feet apiece – leaping back and forth across the yard on one foot and shouting insults at each other.

“Those are the twins, otherwise known as the Baron and Baroness, and individually known as Vincent and Victoria.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from squeaking in surprise and spun around. “You trolls make a fine habit of sneaking up on people,” I accused Marc, who was leaning against the building, cloak pulled up to obscure his face. “And what are you doing out here anyway? Isn’t this your party?”

“I don’t like parties.”

“Oh,” I said, my brow creasing as I tried to make out his face in the darkness. “Then why did you throw one?”

“I owed someone a favor.” Marc shrugged one shoulder and came over to stand next to me. “It was not the worst thing he could have asked for.”

I quietly wondered who he was. I had thought the party had come as a request from the Duchesse, but apparently that was not the case. And it wasn’t the King – he wouldn’t have needed to use a favor to get Marc to throw a party. Which left Tristan. But why? The point of the party was to see whether all the troll aristocrats would give their support to the King’s decision to install me as a princess, which seemed decidedly contrary to what Tristan seemed to want. So why ask his cousin to throw a party that would speed along the process? I bit my lip, realizing with a surety that Tristan was not the passive victim of circumstance that he was playing himself off to be. What remained unknown was the nature of his end goal. As we stood watching the two giant trolls leap around the courtyard, I considered putting the question to Marc but eventually decided against it. “What are they doing?” I asked instead, gesturing to the courtyard.

“Victoria and Vincent are continually having contests to determine which one of them is head of their household,” Marc replied. “Sprinting, rock throwing, javelin tossing, breath holding, handstands… You’ll get the picture soon enough. They’ll probably want you to judge.”

“But Victoria’s a girl,” I protested. Although not like any girl I knew. She was dressed in a coat and trousers like her brother, and only the long braid hanging down her back and her slightly more refined features gave her away as female. “Even if she was born minutes before him, wouldn’t he still inherit his father’s title?”

Marc started laughing. “Best you not ever mention such an idea to Vic,” he said, his shoulders shaking. “She has no time for the limitations of what she terms ‘ridiculous human ideologies’. And besides, their barony was actually passed down to them from their mother. For trolls, the child with the most formidable magic inherits – regardless of whether the troll is male or female, or who was born first.”

“Oh,” I breathed, liking the idea very much.

“The twins, however, are equal in all things, including magic,” Marc continued. “I expect they will be content to share their title for the rest of their lives.”

“Sort of share,” I giggled as the two giants collided with each other, hopping wildly to keep from toppling over.

Both trolls looked up at us.

“Hello there, Marc!” Vincent bellowed. His eyes fixed on me and he set his foot down.

“Disqualification!” Victoria shouted, but her brother wasn’t listening.

He barreled over to us and fell on his knees in front of me. “My lady! You are even more beautiful up close!”

I thanked him and let him kiss my hand, until his sister elbowed him out of the way. “Vincent, you are entirely unoriginal. I am Victoria de Gand, Baroness de Louvois, my lady.” Vincent scowled at her, but he was ignored. “Allow me to say,” she continued, “you are as lovely as a flower in bloom. Especially now that your face is less scabby.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling at them. “Are you by any chance the Vincent that sat on His Highness’s face when he was a child?”

He shook with laugher. “Yes, indeed, my lady. Though I couldn’t manage the same feat now. Tristan would toss me across the city.”

“True,” Victoria agreed. “No one out-magics Tristan, except for his Majesty. And Anaïs.” They said the last bit together with an eye roll. “She’s a looker, our Anaïs,” Vincent said. “But she’s got the personality of one of those prickly fellers. You know, the ones with the quills.”

“Porcupines?” I guessed.

Vincent pointed at me. “That’s the one. Personality of a porcupine.” He sighed happily. “I do love alliteration.”

“I trust you two can manage to keep the lady entertained for the time being?” Marc asked. “I suppose I should make an appearance at my own party.”

“Would be our pleasure,” Victoria said. “Could we interest you in a contest, my lady?”

After eliminating such options as rock tossing and jumping to see who could touch the highest point on the wall, we settled on archery. Victoria and Vincent easily hit the bull’s-eye on the target. Mine landed right between theirs.

“Perhaps if we back up a few paces,” I suggested. We did so, but still, all three of us easily hit the bull’s-eye.

“There’s no sport in this,” Victoria complained.

“I agree,” I muttered. “We need a moving target.”

The twins looked at me with interest.

“Not me,” I clarified.

“That would be a bit more of a challenge,” Vincent muttered. Then his eyes brightened. “I’ll be right back.” He dashed through an open door and returned moments later carrying a moose head, horns and all. “This creature is a moose, isn’t it?”

I examined the dusty old thing. “Perhaps a few centuries ago.”

“’Twill do,” Vincent muttered. The moose head flew out of his hands and began to dance around the yard. I laughed, noticing that several other trolls had come out to watch our game.

“You there, boy!” he shouted at a page. “Make this thing dance about while we shoot arrows at it. Be sure to make it erratic.”

It didn’t take long for the contest to be modified so that we all were standing on one leg with our right eyes closed shooting arrows at a flying moose head. I was laughing so hard tears ran down my cheeks and my ribs ached beneath the tight stays of my corset. Then out of nowhere, a steel spear as thick as my arm shot through the air and pinned our moose against the wall. The three of us spun around. Tristan was brushing his hands off, looking exceedingly pleased with himself. Anaïs stood next to him in a brilliant red gown. Smiling, she rested a hand possessively on Tristan’s arm.

I felt my temperature rise, anger and perhaps… jealousy? Surely not. What did I care about how he spent his time?

“No one likes a show-off, Tristan,” Victoria shouted.

The two of them strolled towards us and I became acutely aware that I was sweaty, dusty, and my hair had come loose from jumping about. “How do you know it wasn’t Anaïs?” Tristan asked, looking fondly at the beautiful girl on his arm.

“She’d burst out of her dress if she even tried,” Victoria sniffed.

“That a challenge?” Anaïs’s voice was sultry and low.

Victoria pointed a finger at her. “Always.”

We all watched as she hoisted one of the spears off the rack. “If you wouldn’t mind, Tristan.”

He shrugged and the moose pulled away from the spear, which clattered onto the stone floor. With a surprisingly unladylike grunt, Anaïs launched her spear, pinioning it to the wall. “What do I win, Victoria? Do I get to be Baroness for the day?”

The twins rolled their eyes as if to say I told you so. I raised a hand to get their attention and recited: “The perfectly pretty porcupine perfumed the palace with the putrescence of a porky pig.” They both fell to the ground in hysterics.

Anaïs crossed her arms. “What is she going on about?”

“Inside jest,” Victoria laughed, wiping tears from her face. “Had to be there.”

She sniffed. “Perhaps you’d like to give it a go, my lady.” Picking up a spear, she tossed it my direction. I caught it, but the weight of the metal spear sent me stumbling backwards. I wasn’t strong enough to throw it more than a couple of feet much less hit a target. “It’s what we use to hunt sluag for sport,” she said. “Afraid your little arrows wouldn’t do you any good.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that – she was right.

“I’m surprised you use weapons against them at all,” I snapped. “Why not just use magic like you do for everything else?”

Anaïs rolled her eyes. “Magic doesn’t work against sluag – they nullify it. I’ve killed five of them,” she boasted.

I clapped my hands loudly, doing my best to be patronizing. “And here I thought your sole purpose was to walk around looking pretty.”

“Jealous?” she sneered.

“Not hardly,” I lied.

“You’re lying – I can tell.”

I smirked. “Jealous?”

Her face darkened. “Unfortunate the sluag didn’t gobble you up.”

I looked at Tristan to see how his growing irritation would manifest, but he said nothing, seemingly absorbed in polishing one of the buttons on his coat. “Why don’t you go back to the party, Cécile?” he said, flicking at an invisible bit of lint on his coat. “I’m sure they have all manner of entertainments concocted to keep you busy.”

“Speaking of the party,” I snapped. “Your father has taken notice of your absence and isn’t best pleased. He asked that I remind you that you are not his only heir.”

Tristan’s finger froze in the process of flicking another bit of lint, and I felt the stab of his unease. “Did he ask you to relay any other message to me?”

“He did not.” He hadn’t needed to.

“Well then,” Tristan smiled a patronizing little smile. “Unless you care to speculate why he might have felt the need to remind me of my younger brother’s existence – a fact I could hardly forget – then perhaps you might consider finding your way back to the party.”

My skin burned hot with anger. “Excuse me,” I muttered and hurried back into the house.

The last thing I wanted was to rejoin the party, so instead I wandered through the empty corridors until I found a staircase that led to what appeared to be a basement. Holding my light up so that it shone ahead of me, I made my way down. The corridor was lined with doors, which I opened one by one. They were all filled with wine bottles and casks, but nothing else of interest. Above me, I could hear the footfalls of dancers, the faint thrum of music, and the occasional burst of laughter. They clearly were not missing their guest of honor.

Rounding a corner, I reached for the handle of yet another door. It was locked. Curious, I pulled out a hairpin and set to work on the complex mechanism. When it finally clicked open, I cautiously shone my light through the entrance before stepping inside and turning the handle lock behind me.

The room was dominated by a large table surrounded by a dozen chairs. Its surface was littered with books, paperweights, and a large abacus. I perused the titles as I circled round the table: The Cathedrals of Castile, Trianon’s Bridges, and The Great Palaces of the Sea of Sand. A black coat was tossed over the back of one of the chairs, and the white embroidered TdM on the cuff glimmered in my troll-light. “What have you been doing lurking in Marc’s basement?” I wondered aloud, settling myself in the chair. Several empty glasses and a plate of half eaten cucumber sandwiches sat on the table in front of me, but no clues as to why Tristan was reading books in the cold comfort of a wine cellar.

The handle of the door jiggled. I gasped and clambered out of the chair, diving behind a tea service trolley and extinguishing my light just as the door opened.

Tristan hurried into the room, with Marc, Victoria, Vincent, and Anaïs hot on his heels. I swore silently, certain he would notice my presence the second he walked in.

But he seemed oblivious. I could see him talking to the other trolls, but magic prevented any sound from reaching me. Which meant they had something to hide. Through stacks of teacups, I watched him wave his arms around, a wide grin stretching across his face as he spoke to his friends. I could feel his excitement as he rounded the table to where I had been sitting only seconds before. Leaning down, he pulled a lever on the bottom of the table, and a secret compartment popped open. He reached inside, extracted several large rolls of paper, and proceeded to spread them out on the table. I tried to stay calm so as not to draw his attention as he explained whatever it was he was showing them. Soon they all looked equally excited, except for Anaïs, who frowned and wagged a finger at Tristan. Tristan only shrugged.

A loud knock came at the door. Tristan quickly shoved the papers back in the secret compartment and slammed it shut. “Yes?” he said, his voice loud after the enforced silence.

A grey-clad servant hurried through the door. He was visibly shaken, wiping his sweating palms against his trousers. “My lord! Your brother, His Royal Highness, he…” he stammered.

“What about Roland?” Tristan snapped, good mood vanished.

“He’s in the city.”

Anaïs gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Doing what?” Tristan demanded.

“Hunting, my lord,” the servant croaked.

Tristan bolted to the door. “Marc, find Cécile,” he shouted over his shoulder. “It will be on your life if anything happens to her.”

Seconds later, I was alone in the dark once more. My chest felt tight and it was several long moments before I could relax enough to take a proper breath of air. I could feel the distance between Tristan and me growing as he moved towards the city. I hurried over to the table, and feeling along the lower edge, I popped the catch holding the secret compartment. Pulling out the rolled parchments, I quickly scanned the diagrams of columns and arches, and read through lists of materials and costs. None of it meant anything to me, but they had to be important if Tristan was hiding them.

The handle of the door shook.

“Drat!” I hissed. Slamming the compartment shut, I hid under the table.

The door opened and shut, and the faint glow of troll-light illuminated the room. I stared at the shoes coming across the floor. Far too small for either of the twins, and both Tristan and Marc wore boots. And they certainly didn’t belong to Anaïs. Who then?

Books thudded open and shut above me as the troll circled the table. I bit my lip as I watched a pale hand slip under the lip of the table, clearly looking for the catch to the compartment. Please don’t look down, I prayed, my neck swiveling to watch his progress.

The troll reached the chair with all the used dishes in front of it and paused.

Click.

The compartment popped open and I heard a sharp intake of the troll’s breath. “Damn you, Montigny!”

Angoulême’s voice. And I knew the source of his ire. There was nothing in the compartment because Tristan’s papers were clutched in my hot little hands.

Abruptly, he stormed towards the door, slamming it shut behind him.

I stayed frozen where I was for a long time, nervous he would come back. But eventually, I had to move. Marc was looking for me and I didn’t want him to find me here. I briefly debated putting the papers back where I found them, but decided against it, instead hiding them in my underclothes. The bustle of the dress would hide any suspicious lumps. I wanted another chance to look at the diagrams to try to puzzle out what they were, but more importantly, I felt to my core that it would be wrong to let Angoulême have them. There was a darkness to the troll – worse in its own way than that of the King, although I could not have said why.

My light on, I left the room, careful to lock it behind me. Then I made my way through the meandering hallway and up the stairs. Just when I thought I was beyond discovery, magic locked around my throat and slammed me against a wall.

“What is he planning?”

Angoulême stepped out of the shadows, his arms crossed. I dug my fingers into the magic wrapped around my neck, but it slipped around my hands like water. “Who?” I wheezed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

One black eyebrow arched up. “For a human, you are a poor liar, my dear.” The magic around my throat loosened fractionally. “But I’ll humor you. What is Tristan planning?”

A hoarse laugh pushed through my lips. “How should I know? He doesn’t confide in me – he doesn’t even like me. After all, I’m human.”

Angoulême watched me with unblinking eyes, a snake: coldblooded and cruel. “We can help each other,” he said softly. “If you tell me what he plans, after I dispose of him, I promise not to stand in your way when you try to leave Trollus.” His head cocked slightly to one side. “I would even help you do so.”

Everything stilled. Not for a minute did I believe that he was offering my freedom out of the goodness of his heart. He was only doing it because he thought I could help him. But did that matter? If I helped him, I would be free. I could hand over Tristan’s papers and let Angoulême do the rest of the work. I could trust that he would do so – trolls were bound to keep their word.

“What do you mean by dispose?” I asked.

A smile slithered onto his face. “I think you know.”

My fingers curled against the sudden chill that racked me to the core. He’d kill Tristan.

“Your Grace. Your Highness.” Marc’s voice sliced through the tension, and the magic fell away from my throat.

“I’m surprised to find you here, given your ward is currently on a rampage through the city,” Marc said, examining a fingernail.

I could all but hear the sound of Angoulême’s teeth grinding together. “Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head. “Please do stay off the streets – I would hate to see anything happen to you.”

Marc waited until the Duke was around the corner before he said, “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head.

Marc’s shoulders slumped. “Small mercies. Cécile, he’s a very dangerous man. You must stay away from him.”

“I didn’t exactly seek him out,” I muttered, prying my shoulders away from the wall. “He found me.”

Marc’s troll-light hung behind him, as it always did. Although I could not see his face in the shadows, I imagined his eyes narrowed.

“What did he want from you?” His voice shook with anger.

I kept silent. Anything I told Marc he was sure to tell Tristan, and I didn’t want to limit my options just yet.

“Do not trust him, Cécile,” Marc warned. “He holds no love for your kind.”

My kind…

My temper flared. “Oh, but I should trust you – you, who always hides in the shadows and refuses to let anyone look upon your face.”

“Is that what you want?” he hissed. “To look the monster in the eye? Is it easier for you to understand the danger when it comes from the mouth of something ugly and strange?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Marc.”

“Then you’re a fool,” he snapped. “You should be terrified of every last one of us.”

I shook my head. “Not you. You promised you’d never hurt me.”

A short bark of laughter filled the hallway. “You do not know how easy it is to get around words.” He turned away, pressing a pale skinned hand against the wall as though to balance himself. I frowned at the black lacework tattooing his skin. “I didn’t know you were bonded.”

In a blink of an eye, his hand disappeared into a pocket. “I’m not. She’s dead.”

My whole body jerked in surprise, and I wiped my hands against my skirts, horrified that I’d brought it up.

He turned back to me, face still shadowed. “What did Angoulême want?”

“He thinks Tristan is up to something,” I said slowly, considering just how much I wanted to reveal. “He wants me to help him find out what.”

“Don’t help him, Cécile.” I could hear the plea in his voice. I had bargaining power here, and I was damn well going to use it.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” I said. “Better yet, give me one good reason why I should side with Tristan at all.”

“Because it is in his best interest to keep you alive.”

“Why?” I asked. “What difference does it make to him? I didn’t break the curse – you would think he’d be happy to see me dead.”

Marc shook his head. “He is bonded to you. If you die, he dies.”

Realization slowly sunk in. “And if he dies?”

“Your heart may just stop. And if it doesn’t, you’ll do everything in your power to stop it yourself.”

“I see,” I whispered. If Angoulême killed Tristan, I would die. I closed my eyes, barely noticing as Marc steadied my arm. In my naiveté, I had nearly handed away my life. That was why the King had instituted a law forbidding anyone from harming me – not because Tristan could feel my pain, but because if I died, so did his son.

“But you’re alive.” I met Marc’s gaze. “Even though she died.”

“Only because stronger powers wouldn’t let me die.” Marc’s voice was grim. The light drifted around him, and in a rare moment, his twisted face was illuminated. But it held no horror for me now. “Don’t help him, Cécile. Stay out of the politics and trust that Tristan will keep you alive.”

I thought of the parchments tucked safely against my backside and of the excitement on Tristan’s face as he showed them to his friends. Thought about how he had saved Chris’s life and the words he had said to me in the garden. What side are you on, Tristan?

Hours later, long after I had drifted off to sleep surrounded by the sumptuous silks of Tristan’s bed – my bed now, it would seem – I snapped awake, panic-stricken. Not my panic, no, it was his. Tristan had discovered his papers were missing, I sensed it. In the blackness of the room, my eyes fixed on the drapes where I had undone the stitching and hidden the documents between heavy layers of fabric. I had done the work in the darkness, afraid that someone might be watching me through one of the hidden peepholes into the room. Years of needlework under my grandmother’s watchful eyes had allowed me to restitch the hem by feel alone. No one would guess they were there.

Lying back against the pillows, I tried to calm my pounding heart. I had the leverage I needed to confront Tristan tomorrow – to demand the truth. I just needed the courage to do it.