Stolen Songbird

CHAPTER 5

CéCILE

Prince Tristan was tall and lean, and a fierce intellect gleamed in his silver troll eyes. He couldn’t have been much older than I was – that is, if trolls aged the same way humans do. Dressed impeccably, he wore a black frock coat with a single-breasted vest and fine linen shirt beneath. Black breeches were tucked into black riding boots that I doubted had ever seen the sides of a horse.

He also had the most exquisite face of any boy I’d ever seen. Inky black hair, sculpted cheekbones and jaw, and a full but unsmiling mouth. He looked like Prince Charming from the fairytales, except for one thing: Prince Charming was human, and the boy standing in front of me was decidedly not. His pale skin was too flawless, his motions too smooth and controlled. My skin prickled with a sense of wrongness.

He crossed his arms. “You know, it is exceedingly rude to stare.”

I flinched and began an intent examination of the carpet at my feet. Apparently I could scratch the charming bit as well.

“Be pleasant, Tristan,” the Duchesse said.

He sniffed. “She’s the rude one, Aunty. First she stares and now she refuses to look at me. I’m quite convinced I have greens or something worse stuck between my teeth.”

I glanced up, hoping to catch a glimpse of said teeth. He caught me and grinned. “Were you expecting them to be pointed?”

My face burned and I fixed my eyes back on the carpet, determined never to look up again. I immediately caught myself glancing through my eyelashes at him once more.

“Pointed teeth would give one an appearance of ferocity,” he said, tapping a straight white tooth. “Although that might require one to follow through with biting someone from time to time, and the thought is enough to make one feel ill. I don’t even like my meat cooked rare.”

“You bit Vincent once,” Marc said from behind me. “So you can’t be entirely opposed to the idea.”

Tristan shot a vitriolic glare in his direction. “Curse you for bringing up such vile memories, Marc, and in the presence of a girl. In my defense, lady, I was only three and Vincent was sitting on my head. I rather thought I was about to meet my end suffocated between his bum cheeks. Anyone would have done the same. Wouldn’t you agree, mademoiselle… what did you say her name was again?”

Even if I hadn’t a gag of magic in my mouth, I wouldn’t have dared spoken.

Tristan peered at me as though I were a curious insect. “She isn’t mute, is she? That would be dreadful.” He leaned back against the chair, his strange eyes fixed on me. “On second thought, perhaps it wouldn’t be dreadful at all. I hardly need another woman in my life telling me what to do, and it would mean I could do all the talking and she the listening.”

“Perhaps our mistake was in not finding you a deaf one,” Marc said. “And her name is Cécile de Troyes, which you very well know, so quit pretending otherwise.”

“Thank you, cousin. It was on the tip of my tongue. Now Mademoiselle de Troyes, tell us your thoughts. Astound us with your wit.”

“Mmmmm hmmmm,” I mumbled around the gag.

“Could you repeat that?” he said, coming closer. “Afraid I didn’t quite catch the punch line.” A slender finger caught me under the chin, lifting my face. He frowned. “Release her, Aunty.”

“She tried to run.”

A noise of exasperation passed his lips. “To where? There is nowhere for her to go, nowhere to hide. Binding her is unnecessary.”

His flippancy made my heart sink – the very idea of my escape was so improbable to him that it was little more than a jest.

I felt power brush over my skin, and I dropped to numb feet. If not for Marc taking hold of my arm, I’d have sprawled across the carpets in front of them all.

“Now that your speech impediment has been rectified, perhaps you might say something. It would be best if it were humorous. I enjoy a good jest.”

“You are dreadfully rude,” I said to him.

He sighed. “That wasn’t the slightest bit funny.”

“Nor are you in any way a gentleman.”

“Cruel truths, mademoiselle, but tell me, did you expect otherwise?” His eyes gleamed, not with humor, but something else.

“I confess my expectations were low,” I snapped.

“I’m a firm believer in low expectations, myself,” he said cheerfully. “Makes for less disappointment in life. For instance, I expected you to arrive fully clothed, but here you are in little more than a scrap of fabric that might once have been a shift.” His eyes raked over my body, and I jerked the edges of Marc’s cloak around me.

“Watch your tongue, Tristan,” the Duchesse snapped.

“Ridiculous expression, that,” Tristan said. “I can’t very well observe my own tongue unless I am to sit in front of a mirror, and I can’t tolerate such vanity. Now tell me, Cécile – you don’t mind if I call you by your given name, do you? Considering we are about to become as close as a dog to his fleas, the familiarity seems appropriate, don’t you think?”

I glared at him.

“Splendid! As I was saying then, Cécile, what became of your clothing? Or is this the latest fashion on the Isle, and I am merely behind the times?”

I scowled at him. “I was deprived of my dress.”

“Really?” One eyebrow rose. “That sounds most salacious – perhaps you’ll regale us with the details later?”

“Perhaps not.” I crossed my arms tightly, trying to hide my mortification.

“More’s the pity,” Tristan sighed rather melodramatically. “It would have been the first interesting thing you’ve said.”

“Are you very nearly finished, Tristan?” the King asked wearily. “We are somewhat pressed for time.”

“Nearly,” Tristan agreed. “I have only one question.”

“Which is?”

“Who damaged her? Granted, I don’t spend much time in the company of humans, but in my experience, they don’t generally drip blood without cause. I was under the impression I’d be getting a whole and healthy human.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Marc jerk his chin in Luc’s direction. Tristan’s gaze turned to my kidnapper, whose arm remained frozen up in the air where the Duchesse had left it, perpetually poised to strike. The Prince’s jaw tightened, and the temperature in the room rose, driving the chill from my fingers.

“Tristan.” The King stood behind me, but I heard the warning note in his voice. “He upheld his end of the bargain. We shall uphold ours.”

The troll prince rubbed a hand across his face, his countenance turning to indifference. “Of course. We agreed to her weight in gold, did we not?”

I gasped, as horrified as I was astonished by the amount.

“Aye, Your Highness,” Luc replied.

“You see, Mademoiselle de Troyes, another instance where low expectations have served me well. Given the contract your dear friend Luc made with us, I half expected him to deliver me a girl of prodigious girth to tip the scales in his favor. Imagine what a pleasant surprise it was for me to discover you were just a little bit of a thing.”

“Tristan.” The King’s voice oozed admonition.

Tristan’s mouth twisted up at the corner. “Well then, best of luck in your travels through the labyrinth with all your gold, Monsieur Luc. I hope you have a strong back.” He gave Luc a companionable slap on the shoulder that sent him staggering, but also released his frozen arm.

Luc shot him a black glare and rubbed his shoulder. “Aye, my lord. Best wishes on your forthcoming nuptials.”

To this, Tristan said nothing, only strode out of the room. I cringed, though; for as much as I did not want to marry a troll, I was just as certain the troll didn’t want to marry me.

The bargain truly was for my weight in gold. Our procession continued through the hallways and into enormous rooms piled high with treasure of every sort. Gold and silver in heavy chests, amethysts and opals spilling across tables or adorning priceless jewelry. Stacks of precious plates and beautiful glassworks sat on tables or the floor. In the center stood a giant copper scale, and a warm coil of power gently lifted and deposited me on one side. Luc leapt to sort through the treasure, piling up select pieces on the other side of the scale, a grin plastered on his face. Gold coins, gold plates, gold jewelry, and even a golden duck statuette, but when he tossed up a jeweled necklace, the King snapped his fingers.

“Gold only, boy!”

Marc plucked the offending jewels off the scale (I don’t think the King moved if he could help it) and tossed the necklace back into the piles of treasure.

Then they dithered. A coin here, a coin there, all in an attempt to secure a perfect alignment. My incessant shivering set the scale to trembling and did not speed along the process. They had deprived me of my cloak and boots, leaving me in only a shift and my mother’s necklace. The King certainly would have stripped me naked if not for the intervention of the Queen and her sister. As it was, I was frozen and hungry and I desperately had to pee. No doubt the King would have sent me to the privy to rid myself of the extra weight, but I wasn’t about to share my discomfort.

And I was done with crying – tears accomplished nothing but exhausting me further and I needed my wits about me if I were going to escape this place. Perhaps not today, tomorrow, or even the next day, but I would stand beneath the sun again. I swore it to myself.

My scowl deepened as I brooded on the various ways I would see Luc punished for his actions. I did not realize the weighing process had concluded until I was abruptly lifted off the scale and set next to Marc. He wrapped the cloak around my shoulders and pulled the hood up, obscuring my face.

“Your mien is of one who is plotting murder,” he said in a quiet voice, handing over my battered boots.

“More than one,” I replied, struggling with numb fingers to tie the laces.

To my shock, he knelt at my feet and tied them for me, black hair falling forward to hide his face from me. “Your feelings are understandable, Cécile,” he said, “but for your sake, it would be best if you kept them to yourself. Tristan is my cousin and closest friend. I assure you that he will allow no harm to come to you. Although you did not choose this life, perhaps, over time, you might come to find it satisfactory.” He stood up.

I met his gaze. “Is that what you aim for in life, my lord? Satisfactory?” He was being kind, I knew, but I had never had a good grasp over my temper. “For I have always aimed for something more. Happiness, for instance.”

“I aim to live, my lady,” he replied, turning to the shadows. “You should do the same.”

The King’s voice silenced us. “You needn’t take payment all at once, boy. No doubt it would be easier to make several trips.”

Luc snorted. “You think I trust you to give me the rest if I leave my gold here? Stones and sky, you must take me for a fool.” He continued shoving the treasure into his pack.

I was convinced his rudeness would garner the King’s ire, but His Majesty seemed only amused. “As you wish.” He gestured in our direction. “Get her cleaned up and dressed, Marc. The moon reaches its zenith in only a few hours.”

“What happens then?” I asked, feeling my hands turn colder still.

Marc took hold of my arm and led me from the room. “You’ll be bonded.”