Stolen Songbird

CHAPTER 37

CéCILE

The next several hours passed in a haze of semi-consciousness. I was aware of Anaïs’s presence, of Tristan’s aunt ordering that I be cleaned up so that I might die with dignity, of my maids holding my body rigid with magic while they laced me into an elaborate evening gown, and of the weight of the jewels they fastened to my ears, wrists, and throat.

Of the King arriving, a liveried Lessa trailing at his heels.

“Leave us,” he barked. Zoé and Élise dashed from the room, but Anaïs remained. “I won’t let you hurt her,” she said, her shoulders set.

“If that was what I intended,” he said, “do you think you could stop me?”

“Then I’m going to go get Tristan,” she said, and bolted from the room.

The King waited until the door slammed shut behind her and said, “Please do, Anaïs. Please do.” Then he jerked his chin at Lessa. “Follow her.” A faint smile rose to her lips as she hurried off.

I watched, frozen, as the King came across the room towards me.

“Do not look so afraid, Cécile. Right now you are more useful to me alive than dead.” He smiled. “I have a witch-woman waiting to heal you once Tristan makes his move.”

What was he talking about? My sluggish mind tried to puzzle out the meaning of his words. If he had someone here who could heal me, what was he waiting for? Alarm bells went off in my head.

“He never made mistakes before you arrived,” the King mused, the bed groaning as he settled his bulk on the edge. “Now he behaves rashly, making decisions based on emotion rather than logic. Which has served my purposes, but is not a good quality in a future king. He will learn much from suffering the consequences.”

“You’ve been manipulating him,” I said, my words sticky and thick on my tongue. “If you knew he plotted against you, why didn’t you stop him? Why did you let it go so far?”

“I’ve been training him,” the King clarified. “This plot will fail, but he will soon begin afresh. Perhaps he will fail again. And again. But one day, he will wrench the crown from my cold dead hands and, by then, he will be the man he needs to be to rule Trollus. Not a sentimental, idealistic boy.”

The loud clamor of the bells signaling the beginning of curfew sounded, echoing through the room.

He sighed. “You see Cécile, as a child, Tristan was entranced by humanity.” He twisted a golden ring around one thick finger. “He was constantly sneaking out of the palace to go see the human traders in the market; was always pestering them with questions and playing with their animals. As he grew older, his minders constantly found him at the end of the River Road, staring at the world beyond. He had no interest in politics or in the concerns of our people, and it grew increasing clear to me that his sympathies lay contrary to my own. But no matter how hard I tried to bring him to heel, he would not bend. He was too secure in his position as my sole heir.”

“So you had another child to replace him?” I whispered.

The King shook his head. “Only to threaten his position. But do you know what he said when his brother was born?”

I shook my head.

“That he was glad to have a brother because now he wouldn’t have to be king.” The memory brought fury to his face. “As if being a king were a choice! So as punishment, I made him watch as I tore one of his favorite humans, a charming little old man, to pieces. I told him that if I ever caught him associating with the traders again, I would kill whoever it was. And he wept, but by the very next day, he had begun his pursuit of the crown.”

The door opened and a troll I did not recognize hurried inside. “Your Majesty, the half-bloods are rioting in the streets,” he gasped.

“Indeed.” The King’s face was neutral – he’d expected this. “Order them contained, but keep casualties to a minimum. Do you understand?”

The troll’s eyes widened. “But they’ve gone wild, sir. I do not see how we can contain them without violence.”

The King rose to his feet. “I do not desire my people killed,” he snapped. “Let that be known. And see that they are contained peaceably. They are not acting under their own volition.”

The troll nodded rapidly and bolted from the room.

“Already he grows harder,” the King mused. “He has promised the death of his own brother. He has deceived his followers in the worst of ways to further his own ends. He is sending men to their deaths to protect a life he considers more important than theirs. And he is right. You, my little witch, are the key to our freedom.”

“No,” I whispered, my heart filling with horror. “You lie.”

“I cannot lie.” The King cocked his head as though listening. “He will not be long now.”

Sure enough, my ears caught the sound of boots pounding down the hall, and I could feel Tristan coming towards us. I opened my mouth to scream a warning, but magic muffled my attempt. “You see, Cécile, I will break him as many times as I need to in order to make him the heir I need him to be.” Picking up a pillow, he loomed over me.

The door flew open.

“Get away from her,” Tristan shouted, and magic slammed his father away from the bed. The King howled with laughter and Tristan staggered back beneath the onslaught of invisible fists.

“You’re a fool, boy,” he cackled. “Ordering a rebellion now, when you are at your weakest. If only you’d waited, you might have had a chance.”

The air grew so thick with magic that I could scarcely breathe. And it was getting hotter, the temperature rising until the room blistered with the heat of an oven. I lay paralyzed on the bed, helpless. All I could do was watch.

To my eyes, it was a battle of invisible weapons made known only by their effects. Blades of magic slashed through the air with a whistling sound, clattering against magical shields like steel on steel. Tristan and his father both landed blows, jagged wounds opened on pale skin, healing over seconds later, leaving only bloody smears to show they’d been injured at all.

But blind to the magic as I was, it was still clear to me that Tristan was losing. The fear and exhaustion I felt in my mind were reinforced by the dark shadows on his face, the tearing gasp of his breath. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and I hissed in terror as the King landed a blow on his arm, sending him staggering. Too many sleepless nights, the sluag attack, and the effort of shoring up the tree had taken their toll.

“Enough of this,” the King muttered, and the air around me seemed to compress as magic surged across the room, crashing against Tristan’s opposing force like a thunderclap. I struggled to breathe – the air was burning hot, searing my lungs with every gasp I dragged in. My body twitched and jerked, my fingers clutching at the blankets in a feeble attempt to drag myself off the bed to find a weapon. Something, anything, that could help. Tristan fell to his knees, his face twisting, while his father wasn’t even winded.

I watched in terror as the King, never removing his gaze from Tristan, pulled a knife from his belt and threw it at me.

“No!” Tristan screamed. The knife clattered against a wall of magic, dropping harmlessly to the bed. But the damage was done. I sobbed in terror and pain as the King’s magic pinned Tristan against the wall. He gasped soundlessly, his fingers clawing futilely at the magic choking his throat.

“Pathetic,” the King sneered. “Just like your little army dying out in the streets against their wills.”

Tristan slumped against his father’s magic. Pain filled his eyes as they locked with mine, his mouth moving soundlessly to form the words, “I’m sorry.”

Sucking in a mouthful of the burning air, I screamed. The sound was shrill and terrified, like a dying animal.

Then Anaïs was there. Dressed in boy’s clothes, she smashed through the glass-paned doors like a warrior maiden of legend. She rolled to her feet, the force of her magic sending the King staggering into the corner. Tristan fell away from the wall, his chest heaving as he sucked in precious air. The air in the room compressed again as their joint power dueled with the King.

It did not take long. As Angoulême had said, Anaïs was military trained. And unlike Tristan, she was utterly ruthless.

“Got him,” Anaïs shouted with triumph, and my ears popped as the battle ended. The King slumped to his knees, holding up one hand in apparent defeat.

“Now it is your turn to do what I say,” Tristan said, striding across the room. “You’ll let us bring help for Cécile. You won’t interfere or threaten her life anymore. And I want your word on it.”

“And if I refuse?”

Tristan’s face hardened. “Then you die.”

Thibault cowered before his son. “You won’t kill your own father,” he pleaded. “That would make you a monster – not the sort of man your dear wife wants you to be.”

Tristan’s face turned in my direction. I saw the King reach for something on the floor and shouted a garbled warning. The lights flashed out, including mine, and all I could hear was the crash of something heavy hitting the floor, a wet thud, and a soft cry of pain. One orb of light flickered back into existence: the King’s. Tristan lay on the floor, conscious, but bound with cords that glowed when he fought against them. Anaïs lay against the far wall, a sluag spear embedded in her chest.

“It seems you are to face the same fate as your sister,” the King said, walking over to caress the side of Anaïs’ face. “Pity. You were a lovely thing to look at.”

She spat, a glob of spit which flew through the air only to be brushed away by a bit of magic.

He frowned. “Foolish girl.” Grabbing the haft of the steel spear, he jammed it the rest of the way through her chest. Anaïs tried to scream, but it came out as a gurgle, blood staining her lips. Her fingers latched on the spear, but she did not pull it out. The King laughed and turned from her to me.

I was terrified. Dying was an easy thing to accomplish, effortless in its agony. It was living that was hard, requiring endless toil and labor, and for all one’s efforts, it could be stolen in an instant. My entire time in Trollus had been one long struggle at death’s doorstep. But instead of breaking my will to live, it had made me stronger. I wasn’t just fighting for my life, I was fighting for Tristan’s.

Nor was I completely powerless.

“Poor Cécile,” he said. “Poor fragile human, how you suffer so. I want to let you live, but I feel you will forever be a liability for him.”

I saw Tristan shout something, but heard nothing – the King had blocked away the sound of our voices. But not Anaïs, she was closer.

“You’ve no intention of letting me die,” I choked out. “Why else bring a witch into Trollus to save me?”

“True,” the King said, stepping in between Tristan and me so that we were blocked from each other’s sight. “But Tristan doesn’t know that – and even here, he controls the actions of his half-breeds on the streets. He has their names. I want this played through to the end. I want to see how far he will go.”

The half-bloods were dying in the streets for me – I had to do something.

“I opened Anushka’s grimoire,” I whispered. For all the politics and intrigue between Tristan and his father, I knew that the King’s desire to break the curse trumped them all.

He hesitated.

“I know her secrets – the magic she used against the trolls. If you stop this now, I’ll tell you everything.”

The King laughed. “Oh? If you have the witch’s spells, why don’t you use them now?”

The smell of blood was thick on the air, heady and metallic. Anaïs moved, the end of the sluag spear dragging against the carpets. I didn’t dare look in her direction, though. I could only trust that she would know what to do.

“You’re lying,” he said, leaning over me. “You know nothing.”

My breath came in short, shallow gasps. With every minute that passed, more people would die. And I had only once chance to end this.

“I know enough to stop you,” I whispered.

A cup flew across the room and blood splattered against the King’s face, hot droplets raining down onto my cheeks. The northern words felt foreign on my lips, but I instinctively knew what they meant.

Bind the light.

I felt strength surge into me, rising from the earth beneath us. Wind rushed through the room, cold and fresh, pushing away the burned stench of the battle. But as it had when I healed Tristan in the labyrinth, it was from the blood that I drew power, directing the strange magic in a way no troll could use it.

“Not possible,” the King hissed.

“Sometimes,” I whispered, “the truth hurts.”

The King collapsed backwards, Tristan’s magic binding him to the floor and muffling his curses.

“Cécile!” Tristan was at my side in an instant. “Are you all right?”

I shook my head. “Help Anaïs.”

I watched as he knelt beside her, blood running in bright red streams down the steel sluag spear. “Anaïs?”

She opened her eyes. “Kill him, Tristan. Now, while you have the chance.”

I watched him turn to look at his father. From my position on the bed, I couldn’t see the King, but I could well imagine the fury in his eyes. Cut off from his magic by my spell and physically restrained by Anaïs’s and Tristan’s magic, he was helpless. Yet I doubted he was afraid – for all his faults, cowardice was not one of them.

Tristan drew his sword, examining the sharp steel edge as though he’d never seen it before. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Not like this.”

“He’ll eventually break free, Tristan. You have to do it now,” Anaïs argued, her voice strained. I closed my eyes, her words faint noise in the background of my mind. She was right, but I knew that Tristan wouldn’t be able to kill his father. Not in cold blood while he lay helpless on the floor, no matter how much the King might deserve it.

“Then let me do it!” Anaïs’s words interrupted my thoughts and I opened my eyes.

“No,” Tristan said, his voice resolute. “You will not.”

Anaïs slumped lower against the wall. “I need you to pull the spear out, then. It’s troubling my magic.” Her hand stretched out in front of her, fingers reaching for something invisible.

“You’ll bleed to death,” Tristan argued.

“I’m as good as dead, and if you think otherwise, you’re a blasted idiot.” She smiled, beautiful as ever, despite the gore. “I’ll keep him bound for as long as I can, buy you some time. Now go.”

Tristan remained frozen, face full of indecision.

“I can’t leave you like this,” he said.

“You owe me a good number of favors, Tristan, and I’m calling them in now. Get Cécile out of here, and leave the slate between us wiped clean.”

Tristan nodded slowly. “You’ve never failed me, not once.”

“And I don’t intend to now,” she whispered. “Go, and live.”

I watched in silence as Tristan took hold of the spear haft. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything. For not being able to give you what you wanted, for not…” His voice broke. “For not giving you what you gave me.”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You deserved better.”

“I love you,” she said, her tears turning the blood on her lips from red to pink.

Tristan’s hands trembled around the spear. “Anaïstromeria,” he said, the name spoken as though it were an invocation. Her pupils dilated, fixing on him with a preternatural intensity.

“No more tears,” he commanded, and her eyes immediately dried. The words he spoke after that were in a language I’d never heard before – one not of this world. But I could tell from his tone they were a valediction – a final farewell between friends. When he finished speaking, Tristan leaned forward and kissed her. When he pulled back, the spear came with him.

The keening wail of pain made me cringe.

“Go,” she gasped. “There isn’t much time.”

Tristan came over to my side. “He knew everything,” I choked out. “I tried to warn you, but…” A racking cough tore through my chest. “He has a witch somewhere in the city.”

Tristan’s eyes flicked over to his father. “He’ll never tell me where. It’s better we leave Trollus now, while we have the chance.”

A small, satisfied little smile rose on the King’s face.

Tristan carefully wrapped my torso in magic to keep my ribs from moving, then scooped me up off the bed, my dying, drugged body limp in his arms. “Thank you,” I whispered to Anaïs as he walked to the broken window.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “Thank you anyway.”

Over Tristan’s shoulder, I saw the King on the ground, held in place by magic. As I suspected, there was no fear in his eyes, but what sent a thrill of terror through my body was the calm thoughtfulness on his face. It made me afraid that despite how things appeared on the surface, the situation had still gone according to his plans.

Tristan stepped out onto the balcony and through the sound barrier. Shouts and screams filled the air.

“I ordered the sympathizers to start the rebellion.”

“I know,” I croaked. “You need to make them stop.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, hurrying over to the wall. “Victoria? Vincent?”

“Here!”

I rose up into the air and felt another set of magic hands catch hold of me, lowering me down until I was in Vincent’s big arms. “Don’t you worry, Cécile,” he said, grinning. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Tristan dropped down next to us and took me back in his arms. “Marc’s waiting?”

They nodded.

“Let’s go then.”

“The fighting’s thickest down at River Road,” Victoria whispered as we ran down dark alleys, making our way stealthily through the city. “They think that’s the way you’ll try to take her, so we engaged them there to keep up the ruse.”

I heard magic break against magic, sword against sword. The screams of the dying hung in my ears, blood flashing in my eyes. Dying because of me. Dying because Tristan had ordered them to. But it all seemed to be part of a dream. My delirium.

I saw Marc by the gate to the labyrinth, the key glittering in his hand.

“Come with us, come with us,” I mumbled, trying to grab hold of him, but he seemed so far.

“Hush now, Cécile,” Marc said. “You know my place is here.”

“But I don’t want to leave you behind,” I sobbed. I didn’t want to leave anyone. The lights of Trollus gleamed in swirling blurs as I tried and failed to focus my eyes. Then the city was gone and we were running through the labyrinth, Marc’s last words chasing behind us: “Goodbye, Princess.”

The twins were with us, Victoria ahead, Vincent behind. I half-listened to them talking as they navigated the dark tunnels and narrow crawlspaces, Tristan’s magic clutching me tight against him with every step he took. Then I dreamed of above. Above, above, with Tristan.

“It will be warm,” I whispered. “I’ll teach you to ride a horse and we will travel anywhere we like, you and I. No more monsters, nothing to separate us. We will be together forever.”

His lips brushed my forehead. “Hush, love. You know you must be quiet here.”

I fell asleep, and when I awoke, we were alone. “Where are Victoria and Vincent?” I asked. I tried to look around, but it hurt to move.

“They’re buying us time,” Tristan said.

“Surely they’ll come with us,” I said. “They’d like to go hunting and to travel about telling their jests to everyone.”

“Perhaps they’ll come later,” Tristan said.

I dreamed again, only this time it was of a place of such brilliance that my eyes stung if I gazed at any one thing for too long. The green of the grass beneath my feet, the red of the roses on the bush, the blue of the sky above. The colors were familiar, but somehow more vibrant than anything I’d seen before. The air was sweet on my lips, the faint breeze smelling of summer and spice. All around me danced folk with a beauty and grace beyond reason, their curious eyes glowing like jewels. Hair and skin of every color of the rainbow, their lithe bodies were dressed in mists that swirled with them as they danced circles around me.

“Who is she, who is she?” they sang with voices so sweet they brought tears to my eyes.

“A mortal dreamer,” one whispered, her fingers catching in my hair and yanking hard. They laughed and descended on me, sharp nails raking across my skin and driving me to my knees. I screamed, but when I tried to run, I found myself dancing instead.

“Dance with us, mortal,” they laughed. “Dance for eternity.”

“Stop.”

A voice thundered through the meadow, and all the creatures around me fell to their knees. I turned and flung a hand up to block the brilliant golden light radiating from the man standing in front of me. Through my fingers, I saw a woman at his side, her skin pale, hair an inky black and eyes the color of verdelite.

“She is consort to the mortal prince,” the man said, and the meadow filled with whispers. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I can’t remember.”

The woman at his side laughed, her voice cruel. “Come to beg a favor, but forgot what it is?”

The creatures in the meadow echoed her laughter. The golden man did not. “Is it a favor when our purposes are aligned, wife?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” I cringed at the harshness of her voice. “A favor given is a favor owed.”

“But I don’t even know what I need,” I said.

The man smiled and I fell to my knees at his feet. “What you seek is the name of that which you most desire.” He tilted his head in a way that was oddly familiar to me. “If you choose to use it, then you will be in my debt.” He bent down, the warmth of his breath like a summer wind against my cheek, and he whispered a single word in my ear.

“Cécile, wake up!”

Tristan was leaning over me, his eyes wide and wild.

“We’re here.”

I blinked at him. “I was dreaming. Of a place of endless summer…” I trailed off, taking in our surroundings through bleary eyes. It was the entrance to the labyrinth that Luc had brought me through what seemed a lifetime ago. Water lapped against the rocks, but it was much lower than before, the heat of summer drying up the pond, making the cavern seem huge. Tristan sat at the edge with me cradled in his lap, my little light following his larger one around the rocky ceiling like a lost puppy.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked.

“Dawn,” he replied. “Look.”

Faint light was glowing in the water, growing in strength with each passing moment. The lip of the cave wall was only barely submerged. I could see that now. During times of drought, it might even be possible to enter the cave without getting one’s feet wet. I thought I could hear the sound of voices; the loud whinny of a horse.

“Is it time, then?”

“Yes.” But he didn’t move, only held me tighter, his face buried in my hair.

“Tristan?”

He turned his face to me, and it was streaked with tears. I wanted to wipe them away, tell him that everything would be all right, but my body was locked stiff with pain.

“Promise me you’ll get better,” he whispered. “Tell me you’ll grow strong again. That you’ll gallop on horseback through summer meadows. Dance in spring rains and let snowflakes melt on your tongue in winter. That you’ll travel wherever the wind takes you. That you’ll live.” He stroked my hair. “Promise me.”

Confusion crept over me. “You’ll be with me, though. You’ll do those things too?”

He kissed my lips, silencing my questions. “Promise me.”

“No,” I said, struggling against him. “No, you said you were coming with me. You said. You promised.” He had to be coming with me – he said he was, and Tristan couldn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie.

He got to his feet and stepped into the water. I tried to struggle, but he was too strong. “Tristan, no, no, no!” I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I tried to hold on to him, but my fingers wouldn’t work. The cold of the water bit into my skin and I sobbed, terrified. “You said you would never leave me!”

He stopped, the weight of his sorrow greater than any mountain. “And if I had the choice, I never would. I love you, Cécile. I will love you until the day I take my last breath and that is the truth.” He kissed me hard. “Forgive me.”

Tristan shoved me under the water. I came up on the other side, gasping for breath, sunlight stinging my eyes. The weight of my skirts pulled me towards the bottom and I didn’t fight it. I drifted down, my eyes searching for the opening, for the way back, but there was only rock. I pounded my fist against the illusion, but it would not yield. I let my body go limp, let it sink until my feet brushed the bottom. He could see me – would know what I was trying to do. He’d have to drop the illusion of rock and let me come back or watch me drown.

Then an arm closed under my arms, pulled me upward. My head broke the surface and I choked on water and blood.

“I’ve got her!” It was Christophe’s voice.

“No!” I coughed. “I have to go back, I have to go back.” But my words were silent. I couldn’t breathe.

“It’s all right, Cécile.” He was pulling me to shore, away from Tristan. I felt more hands grab hold of me, lifting me out of the water. I heard Jérôme’s voice. He was trying to soothe me, but the words meant nothing. I had to go back. Tristan was trapped. He was in danger. Once someone washed the blood off the King, his power would return and Tristan would be at his mercy. I had to go back.

“Tristan.” My lips formed his name and I reached out towards the rocks. I could feel him there, waiting.

“We need to get her home,” Chris said. “She hasn’t got much time.”

Hands lifted me into the air, the sound of a horse whickering beneath me faint in my ears. Then I was moving, faster and further away.