Stolen Songbird
Page 34
“No,” I said. “I won’t promise anything, because that would mean giving up. You won’t die, you won’t die.”
For a moment, Tristan’s fear turned to anger. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!”
“Then don’t let it end this way.” Never before had I felt such a pure sense of helplessness. Why couldn’t I have the power to help him, to make Tristan well again?
“Cécile!” He writhed in pain, his grip grinding the bones in my hand together. I closed my eyes and images of the sluag assaulted me. I would be powerless to stop it. It would sting me and then turn on Tristan. My mind recoiled at the thought of me lying there, paralyzed by venom, but still conscious enough to watch the monster strip the flesh from his face.
“No,” I whispered. “I won’t let it happen.” Pushing up his sleeve, I examined the cuts I had made. Not only had they not healed over with the preternatural speed at which trolls usually healed, they were bleeding profusely. I pressed my hand against them, trying to slow the flow, but crimson liquid seeped through my fingers and coated my hands.
Troll blood… blood magic.
Hands shaking, I tried to remember Anushka’s incantations, muttering the half-remembered phrases. But nothing happened.
“Please work!” Desperately, I called upon every ounce of will I had and used it to pull the foreign power filling the blood seeping from his veins. “Live, live, live,” I chanted. A wind rose, whistling through the tunnels. Every sound grew sharper and everything near me clearer to the eye. “Stop bleeding,” I shouted, and beneath my hands, I watched in amazement as Tristan’s wounds ceased to bleed and sealed over, leaving pale white scars in their place. My breath caught. “Tristan?”
His eyes remained closed. The seething pulse of his pain and delirium remained. The healed wounds were meaningless – I had done nothing to stop the progress of the venom. Desperately, I pulled power from all around me: from the rocks beneath my knees; the stagnant air in my lungs; and the water dripping down onto my face. I felt full, flush, but it was all for naught, because the power refused to acknowledge Tristan. He did not belong to this world.
A racking sob tore through me – for a moment, it had seemed I had all the power in the world at my fingertips. But I could not help him, so it meant nothing. I was powerless.
Gently, I rested the ball of light on his chest, hopeful that the magic would warm him as it did me. I saw it then. Like blight on a grapevine, the silver leaves tattooed across my fingers were tarnishing at their edges.
Tristan was dying.
CHAPTER 27
CéCILE
My tears dripped onto Tristan’s face, and I wiped them away, exposing streaks of pale skin through the grime. I’d never touched him, not really, and now I realized that I might never have another chance. With one finger, I gently traced the solid line of his jaw, the slight dimple in his chin. His hair was soaked and plastered against his forehead and I pushed it back, the strands like fine silk. He looked younger, his dark brows relaxed from their usual furrow of concentration and his black lashes resting softly against his cheeks. And on my fingers, the silver vines grew progressively darker with every passing moment.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. But what good were my regrets? He was dying because of me. He had ventured into the labyrinth to save me, pulled me out of the way of the sluag’s stinger and taken the blow himself. The anguish of regret was so strong, I very nearly groaned with the pain of it. Why had I let Angoulême goad me? Why hadn’t I seen that Tristan was just putting on an act the way he always did? Why didn’t I remember that I would have felt any indiscretion through our connection? He hadn’t asked for this union any more than I had and still he’d placed my life above everything he’d worked for. I’d ruined everything and still he’d come for me when I’d needed him the most. I’d told myself to make the most of my life in Trollus, but instead I’d made the least of it. The worst of it! Because of me, the only other person fighting for my freedom was dying.
BAROOOM!
I shuddered at the noise, but the sound of the sluag approaching filled me with resolve. Tristan’s life might be fading away, but he would have no chance at all if he ended up in the sluag’s belly. I was all that stood between him and the worst of deaths, and I needed to think of a plan fast.
Carrying him was out of the question – he was nearly twice my size and even if I could lift him, there was no way I could outpace the monster. Gently easing Tristan’s head down onto the stone, I pulled the knife out of his boot and examined it. If only he’d had his sword, or better yet, one of the long sluag spears. If I’d any skill at it, I might hit the sluag’s little brain with a lucky shot. With a bow and arrow, I certainly could have managed it, but such speculation did me about as much good as spitting into a headwind.
I got to my feet and set about exploring my surroundings, Tristan’s light clinging to my fingers. I couldn’t kill the sluag or drive it off, but maybe I could hide from it long enough for Marc to find us.
Careful not to wander too far from Tristan, I searched through the fallen rocks. I quickly found what I was looking for: a tight sliver of space opening into a small chamber beyond. It was a dead end. The sluag wouldn’t be able to sneak around behind me, but it also meant I would be trapped until the trolls found us. If they found us.
Running back to Tristan, I bent down to check his breathing. I was still flooded with the feel of him, but it made me feel better to check. His chest rose and fell and I could feel a faint pulse at his throat.
“Please don’t go,” I whispered to the light as I let go of it. Hooking my arms under his, I slowly dragged him in the direction of our hidey-hole. The light trailed after us.
BAROOOM!
It was closer now. Close enough that I could hear the swish-swish of its body sliding over the rocks. I had to hurry, but Tristan was both heavy and unwieldy.
Swish-swish.
Sweat dribbled down my back to join the filth soaking my dress. My heart hammered from terror and exertion, but with a final heave, I reached the mouth of the hole.
“Come on, Cécile!” I urged myself on.
Swish-swish.
My narrow shoulders fit easily enough, but Tristan’s stuck and every muscle in my body screamed with the effort of turning him sideways and pulling him through.
BAROOOM!
It was nearly upon us. I pulled hard and we tumbled into the little chamber. I hurriedly dragged him to the far end and covered him with my cloak. Falling to my knees, I tucked the wet fabric around him and gently kissed his forehead. His breathing was ragged and though my own life was very much in jeopardy, my fear was for him. “Please don’t die,” I whispered. “Don’t leave me now, Tristan. Please, if you can hear me at all, fight this. Don’t let this be the end.” I pressed my mouth to his, feeling the softness of his lips beneath mine. “I love you,” I whispered. “I know I shouldn’t. I know I’m not supposed to, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
BAROOOM! The sluag slammed up against the mouth of the hole and I screamed, my voice echoing against the rock. Spinning around, I watched in terror as the creature’s long stinger lashed into the chamber. It fell only an arm’s length short, but I kept myself between the stinger and Tristan, for all the good I’d do.
The stinger whipped out again and again, always falling just short. The sluag shrieked in fury and I screamed back at it, angry and afraid.
“Go away,” I shouted. “Get you gone, you filthy bugger!”
Picking up a loose rock, I hurled it out through the crack and was rewarded with a wet thud. I threw another rock and another and when there were none left at hand, I screamed every insult and curse word I had ever heard at the creature. It tossed its bulk against the rocks and shot out its stinger, but it could not reach us.
My supply of rocks and insults exhausted, I bent down to check on Tristan and noticed the fine layer of dust and bits of rock coating him and me both. I looked up nervously and watched a cloud of dust rain down every time the sluag slammed against the rock. They were mindless creatures. Bent on the sole purpose of catching its prey, it might pull the rocks down upon us all.
Then over the racket the sluag was making, I heard a voice: “Tristan! Cécile!” It was Marc.
“Here!” I screamed. “We’re in here!”
“We’ve found them! Over here!” It was the sound of many voices and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were saved.
The sluag retreated from the entrance at the sound of the approaching trolls, but there was no chance for it to escape. The sound of its dying screams were deafening as dozens of long steel spears pierced its body. On hands and knees, I watched it collapse into a writhing heap before growing still. Marc’s face appeared in the entrance to our hiding spot. “Cécile?”
“Marc,” I croaked, my voice hoarse from yelling. “Tristan’s hurt.”
His eyes flickered past me to Tristan’s still form and his face paled. Pushing his way in, Marc knelt next to the Prince. “What happened?”
“The sluag stung him. We were running from it and then he…” A sob choked off the rest of my words.
Marc leaned his head against the wall and I could see the sorrow written across his fractured face. “Then he’s dead.”
“He isn’t!”
Angry eyes turned on me. “He will be soon enough. No one survives sluag venom.”
I cupped Tristan’s cheek and felt a whisper of breath against my hand. “You don’t know that.”
Marc grasped my arm and shoved me back. “He’s dying because of you!”
There was murder in his eyes and I shrank away from the closest thing I’d had to a friend in Trollus.
“This is your fault, Cécile,” he hissed. “He would have done anything for you, and this is how you repay him!” Power shoved me backwards like two hands pushing against my chest. “Get away from him.”
“You have no right to keep me from him,” I said. Immediately I knew I’d gone too far. Power pushed me out of the hole and I tripped, landing half on the body of the sluag. Marc came after me and I scrambled to my feet. He raised a hand to hit me, and I ducked my head under my arm and waited for the blow. It never came. I looked up and saw Marc standing frozen, his face twisted in fury. “I promised never to harm you,” he choked out. His eyes flicked to Vincent. “But you didn’t.”
The big troll shook his head sadly. “If he lives, he won’t forgive us for hurting her,” he said. “And frankly, I couldn’t forgive myself.” Then he looked at me. “If he dies, her head won’t stay on her shoulders for long.”
“Take her back to Trollus,” Marc snapped. He and several of the other trolls slid into the small chamber and moments later, they emerged with Tristan’s limp form. Marc looked over at Vincent. “Mind she doesn’t stab you in the back on the way.”
I flinched, but said nothing.
I had dropped Tristan’s ball of light when Marc pushed me, but it floated in my direction now. Grabbing hold of the magic, I held it up to my other hand and examined my tattoo. It was a dull grey now, but not black like those on Marc’s hand. And I could feel Tristan, faintly, almost like when he was sleeping. He was still alive. I saw Vincent looking at my marks as well. “He won’t die,” I said.
Vincent nodded slowly. “For your sake, for all our sakes, I hope that is so.” Then, with his iron fist locked around my arm, we made our way back to Trollus.
He left me alone with Zoé and Élise in the chambers where they had once prepared me for bonding. Neither spoke to me, but I could feel their anger and sorrow thick in the air. It suited my mood well.
It took three tubs full of bathwater to get the sluag stench off me, and I think they did it not for my comfort, but for their own. As they scrubbed my skin raw, I watched the grey marks on my hand grow darker, less metallic, and the feeling of Tristan in my mind grew fainter by the minute. Tears drizzled out of my eyes, but the girls wiped them away as though they were mere condensation from the bath.
I made no comment when they twisted my hair back into a severe knot or when they brought in a black silk mourning gown and laced the corset so tight I could barely breathe. They were acting like he was dead already, when I knew he wasn’t. When they’d finished with me, I stood in front of the mirror. The woman looking back at me appeared haggard, a decade older than I was. Her blue eyes were dull and swollen red from tears and the corners of her mouth turned down. I turned away from my reflection and resumed my vigil, eyes fixed on my hand.
“You were supposed to be our salvation,” Élise said. “We did everything we could to help you, and this is how you repay us? By trying to escape?”
I remained silent, refusing to look at her. There was nothing I could say.
“I can’t decide if you’re happy or sad that he’s dead,” Zoé said, and something inside me snapped.
“He’s not dead!” I screamed, my hands balled into fists. “He’s not dead,” I repeated. Turning away from her, I fell to my knees and sobbed silently.
I was still on the floor when the guards came, and their rough hands lifted me and dragged my uncooperative form through the palace and into the open air. I looked up only when I felt the mist from the river hit my face and saw thousands of trolls standing all around, their eyes fixed on me. It was eerily similar to my wedding day, except this time I stood alone. And in place of an altar, there stood a guillotine.
Tristan’s father walked away from the cluster of noblemen, managing to carry himself in a stately manner despite his bulk. His eyes were puffy and red, but when he stopped in front of me, I saw that his cheeks were dry.
For a moment, Tristan’s fear turned to anger. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!”
“Then don’t let it end this way.” Never before had I felt such a pure sense of helplessness. Why couldn’t I have the power to help him, to make Tristan well again?
“Cécile!” He writhed in pain, his grip grinding the bones in my hand together. I closed my eyes and images of the sluag assaulted me. I would be powerless to stop it. It would sting me and then turn on Tristan. My mind recoiled at the thought of me lying there, paralyzed by venom, but still conscious enough to watch the monster strip the flesh from his face.
“No,” I whispered. “I won’t let it happen.” Pushing up his sleeve, I examined the cuts I had made. Not only had they not healed over with the preternatural speed at which trolls usually healed, they were bleeding profusely. I pressed my hand against them, trying to slow the flow, but crimson liquid seeped through my fingers and coated my hands.
Troll blood… blood magic.
Hands shaking, I tried to remember Anushka’s incantations, muttering the half-remembered phrases. But nothing happened.
“Please work!” Desperately, I called upon every ounce of will I had and used it to pull the foreign power filling the blood seeping from his veins. “Live, live, live,” I chanted. A wind rose, whistling through the tunnels. Every sound grew sharper and everything near me clearer to the eye. “Stop bleeding,” I shouted, and beneath my hands, I watched in amazement as Tristan’s wounds ceased to bleed and sealed over, leaving pale white scars in their place. My breath caught. “Tristan?”
His eyes remained closed. The seething pulse of his pain and delirium remained. The healed wounds were meaningless – I had done nothing to stop the progress of the venom. Desperately, I pulled power from all around me: from the rocks beneath my knees; the stagnant air in my lungs; and the water dripping down onto my face. I felt full, flush, but it was all for naught, because the power refused to acknowledge Tristan. He did not belong to this world.
A racking sob tore through me – for a moment, it had seemed I had all the power in the world at my fingertips. But I could not help him, so it meant nothing. I was powerless.
Gently, I rested the ball of light on his chest, hopeful that the magic would warm him as it did me. I saw it then. Like blight on a grapevine, the silver leaves tattooed across my fingers were tarnishing at their edges.
Tristan was dying.
CHAPTER 27
CéCILE
My tears dripped onto Tristan’s face, and I wiped them away, exposing streaks of pale skin through the grime. I’d never touched him, not really, and now I realized that I might never have another chance. With one finger, I gently traced the solid line of his jaw, the slight dimple in his chin. His hair was soaked and plastered against his forehead and I pushed it back, the strands like fine silk. He looked younger, his dark brows relaxed from their usual furrow of concentration and his black lashes resting softly against his cheeks. And on my fingers, the silver vines grew progressively darker with every passing moment.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. But what good were my regrets? He was dying because of me. He had ventured into the labyrinth to save me, pulled me out of the way of the sluag’s stinger and taken the blow himself. The anguish of regret was so strong, I very nearly groaned with the pain of it. Why had I let Angoulême goad me? Why hadn’t I seen that Tristan was just putting on an act the way he always did? Why didn’t I remember that I would have felt any indiscretion through our connection? He hadn’t asked for this union any more than I had and still he’d placed my life above everything he’d worked for. I’d ruined everything and still he’d come for me when I’d needed him the most. I’d told myself to make the most of my life in Trollus, but instead I’d made the least of it. The worst of it! Because of me, the only other person fighting for my freedom was dying.
BAROOOM!
I shuddered at the noise, but the sound of the sluag approaching filled me with resolve. Tristan’s life might be fading away, but he would have no chance at all if he ended up in the sluag’s belly. I was all that stood between him and the worst of deaths, and I needed to think of a plan fast.
Carrying him was out of the question – he was nearly twice my size and even if I could lift him, there was no way I could outpace the monster. Gently easing Tristan’s head down onto the stone, I pulled the knife out of his boot and examined it. If only he’d had his sword, or better yet, one of the long sluag spears. If I’d any skill at it, I might hit the sluag’s little brain with a lucky shot. With a bow and arrow, I certainly could have managed it, but such speculation did me about as much good as spitting into a headwind.
I got to my feet and set about exploring my surroundings, Tristan’s light clinging to my fingers. I couldn’t kill the sluag or drive it off, but maybe I could hide from it long enough for Marc to find us.
Careful not to wander too far from Tristan, I searched through the fallen rocks. I quickly found what I was looking for: a tight sliver of space opening into a small chamber beyond. It was a dead end. The sluag wouldn’t be able to sneak around behind me, but it also meant I would be trapped until the trolls found us. If they found us.
Running back to Tristan, I bent down to check his breathing. I was still flooded with the feel of him, but it made me feel better to check. His chest rose and fell and I could feel a faint pulse at his throat.
“Please don’t go,” I whispered to the light as I let go of it. Hooking my arms under his, I slowly dragged him in the direction of our hidey-hole. The light trailed after us.
BAROOOM!
It was closer now. Close enough that I could hear the swish-swish of its body sliding over the rocks. I had to hurry, but Tristan was both heavy and unwieldy.
Swish-swish.
Sweat dribbled down my back to join the filth soaking my dress. My heart hammered from terror and exertion, but with a final heave, I reached the mouth of the hole.
“Come on, Cécile!” I urged myself on.
Swish-swish.
My narrow shoulders fit easily enough, but Tristan’s stuck and every muscle in my body screamed with the effort of turning him sideways and pulling him through.
BAROOOM!
It was nearly upon us. I pulled hard and we tumbled into the little chamber. I hurriedly dragged him to the far end and covered him with my cloak. Falling to my knees, I tucked the wet fabric around him and gently kissed his forehead. His breathing was ragged and though my own life was very much in jeopardy, my fear was for him. “Please don’t die,” I whispered. “Don’t leave me now, Tristan. Please, if you can hear me at all, fight this. Don’t let this be the end.” I pressed my mouth to his, feeling the softness of his lips beneath mine. “I love you,” I whispered. “I know I shouldn’t. I know I’m not supposed to, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
BAROOOM! The sluag slammed up against the mouth of the hole and I screamed, my voice echoing against the rock. Spinning around, I watched in terror as the creature’s long stinger lashed into the chamber. It fell only an arm’s length short, but I kept myself between the stinger and Tristan, for all the good I’d do.
The stinger whipped out again and again, always falling just short. The sluag shrieked in fury and I screamed back at it, angry and afraid.
“Go away,” I shouted. “Get you gone, you filthy bugger!”
Picking up a loose rock, I hurled it out through the crack and was rewarded with a wet thud. I threw another rock and another and when there were none left at hand, I screamed every insult and curse word I had ever heard at the creature. It tossed its bulk against the rocks and shot out its stinger, but it could not reach us.
My supply of rocks and insults exhausted, I bent down to check on Tristan and noticed the fine layer of dust and bits of rock coating him and me both. I looked up nervously and watched a cloud of dust rain down every time the sluag slammed against the rock. They were mindless creatures. Bent on the sole purpose of catching its prey, it might pull the rocks down upon us all.
Then over the racket the sluag was making, I heard a voice: “Tristan! Cécile!” It was Marc.
“Here!” I screamed. “We’re in here!”
“We’ve found them! Over here!” It was the sound of many voices and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were saved.
The sluag retreated from the entrance at the sound of the approaching trolls, but there was no chance for it to escape. The sound of its dying screams were deafening as dozens of long steel spears pierced its body. On hands and knees, I watched it collapse into a writhing heap before growing still. Marc’s face appeared in the entrance to our hiding spot. “Cécile?”
“Marc,” I croaked, my voice hoarse from yelling. “Tristan’s hurt.”
His eyes flickered past me to Tristan’s still form and his face paled. Pushing his way in, Marc knelt next to the Prince. “What happened?”
“The sluag stung him. We were running from it and then he…” A sob choked off the rest of my words.
Marc leaned his head against the wall and I could see the sorrow written across his fractured face. “Then he’s dead.”
“He isn’t!”
Angry eyes turned on me. “He will be soon enough. No one survives sluag venom.”
I cupped Tristan’s cheek and felt a whisper of breath against my hand. “You don’t know that.”
Marc grasped my arm and shoved me back. “He’s dying because of you!”
There was murder in his eyes and I shrank away from the closest thing I’d had to a friend in Trollus.
“This is your fault, Cécile,” he hissed. “He would have done anything for you, and this is how you repay him!” Power shoved me backwards like two hands pushing against my chest. “Get away from him.”
“You have no right to keep me from him,” I said. Immediately I knew I’d gone too far. Power pushed me out of the hole and I tripped, landing half on the body of the sluag. Marc came after me and I scrambled to my feet. He raised a hand to hit me, and I ducked my head under my arm and waited for the blow. It never came. I looked up and saw Marc standing frozen, his face twisted in fury. “I promised never to harm you,” he choked out. His eyes flicked to Vincent. “But you didn’t.”
The big troll shook his head sadly. “If he lives, he won’t forgive us for hurting her,” he said. “And frankly, I couldn’t forgive myself.” Then he looked at me. “If he dies, her head won’t stay on her shoulders for long.”
“Take her back to Trollus,” Marc snapped. He and several of the other trolls slid into the small chamber and moments later, they emerged with Tristan’s limp form. Marc looked over at Vincent. “Mind she doesn’t stab you in the back on the way.”
I flinched, but said nothing.
I had dropped Tristan’s ball of light when Marc pushed me, but it floated in my direction now. Grabbing hold of the magic, I held it up to my other hand and examined my tattoo. It was a dull grey now, but not black like those on Marc’s hand. And I could feel Tristan, faintly, almost like when he was sleeping. He was still alive. I saw Vincent looking at my marks as well. “He won’t die,” I said.
Vincent nodded slowly. “For your sake, for all our sakes, I hope that is so.” Then, with his iron fist locked around my arm, we made our way back to Trollus.
He left me alone with Zoé and Élise in the chambers where they had once prepared me for bonding. Neither spoke to me, but I could feel their anger and sorrow thick in the air. It suited my mood well.
It took three tubs full of bathwater to get the sluag stench off me, and I think they did it not for my comfort, but for their own. As they scrubbed my skin raw, I watched the grey marks on my hand grow darker, less metallic, and the feeling of Tristan in my mind grew fainter by the minute. Tears drizzled out of my eyes, but the girls wiped them away as though they were mere condensation from the bath.
I made no comment when they twisted my hair back into a severe knot or when they brought in a black silk mourning gown and laced the corset so tight I could barely breathe. They were acting like he was dead already, when I knew he wasn’t. When they’d finished with me, I stood in front of the mirror. The woman looking back at me appeared haggard, a decade older than I was. Her blue eyes were dull and swollen red from tears and the corners of her mouth turned down. I turned away from my reflection and resumed my vigil, eyes fixed on my hand.
“You were supposed to be our salvation,” Élise said. “We did everything we could to help you, and this is how you repay us? By trying to escape?”
I remained silent, refusing to look at her. There was nothing I could say.
“I can’t decide if you’re happy or sad that he’s dead,” Zoé said, and something inside me snapped.
“He’s not dead!” I screamed, my hands balled into fists. “He’s not dead,” I repeated. Turning away from her, I fell to my knees and sobbed silently.
I was still on the floor when the guards came, and their rough hands lifted me and dragged my uncooperative form through the palace and into the open air. I looked up only when I felt the mist from the river hit my face and saw thousands of trolls standing all around, their eyes fixed on me. It was eerily similar to my wedding day, except this time I stood alone. And in place of an altar, there stood a guillotine.
Tristan’s father walked away from the cluster of noblemen, managing to carry himself in a stately manner despite his bulk. His eyes were puffy and red, but when he stopped in front of me, I saw that his cheeks were dry.
