Stolen Songbird
Page 36
Tristan gently stroked my back, and I listened to his heart beating strongly beneath my ear. But I couldn’t relax. The King and most of the trolls hated me – the half-bloods most of all. I had jeopardized all of Tristan’s plans and put lives at risk. I was supposed to be the key to the freedom of Trollus, but I was completely in the dark about what I was supposed to do. And to top it all off, I was fairly certain that Anaïs was plotting my murder for having stolen Tristan away from her.
I felt Tristan’s exhaustion finally take over and he drifted off to sleep, but it was a long time before I was able to do the same. I could not hope for a long life if I remained a pawn constantly manipulated by those around me – learning to play Guerre had taught me that, if nothing else. I needed to take action, and soon. I began to form a plan, but eventually my mind grew heavy. I clung to Tristan as though it was our last moment together like this, which maybe it was. But there was nothing to be done about that now. Only the morning would bring answers.
When I woke many hours later, it was with a start. Dreams of sluag, darkness, and Tristan dying plagued my sleep. Again and again I’d relived the moment when death sliced through our bond like a scalpel through flesh. The loneliness, as though there was no one left in this world but me. I didn’t know how anyone could survive it; what sort of strength it took to live on after the loss of the one you’d been bound to for years, decades even. I thought about the black lines tracing over Marc’s hands, how he rarely removed the leather gloves hiding them and could not tolerate even the mention of her name.
My light had woken up with me, and it shone dimly as though it were still sleepy. In its glow, I gently traced a fingertip over the golden filigree inked across Tristan’s left hand, more intricate and delicate than the finest lacework. Gold, because I was a child of the sun. The first human to ever be bonded to a troll, much less a troll prince.
Tristan sighed, his breath warm against my cheek. In his sleep, he’d curled around me, his arm tucked tight against my stomach. My perpetually cold feet were warm for once, tucked as they were against his shins. My body complained mightily as I extracted myself from his grip, but despite my attempts not to wake him, his eyes opened.
“You need to rest,” I said. “You’re exhausted.”
“No time for it,” he replied, crossing the room and quickly dressing. “I need to go make reassurances to a few individuals. And there is the tree.”
“Can’t it keep for one day?”
“Possibly, but I’d rather not risk it.” He buckled on his sword. “Don’t leave these rooms unless Marc accompanies you. Certain individuals misunderstand the cause of yesterday’s events, and I don’t want them going after you because of some misguided sense of loyalty.” He kissed my cheek. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
After he left, I tried to find ways to occupy myself in our rooms, but my mind wouldn’t focus. So much had changed in so little time – going back to how things were before I’d fallen for Angoulême’s trickery would be impossible.
Tristan was worried and upset, his uneasiness crawling down my spine like a spider. I wished I knew what was going on. What was he telling the half-bloods? Would they be able to forgive me for what had happened, or had I irreparably damaged my relationship with those who needed our help the most?
Tossing aside the novel I had been trying to read, I went through the doors and out onto the balcony, down the steps to the courtyard where my piano stood. The stack of music sat undisturbed on the bench, and after shuffling through it, I chose a lengthy piece and sat down. I had no great talent – my short fingers prevented that – but I played well within my limitations. I sat at the piano until my fingers ached, but I refused to sing. I would not call him. He would come to me when he was ready.
“You are a talented musician, but I must confess, I prefer to hear you sing.”
The keys jangled harshly beneath my fingers and I froze. Slowly, I looked over my shoulder. The Duke d’Angoulême stood at the base of the stairs, his gold-tipped cane held horizontally between his hands. “Perhaps you’ll sing for me, little bird.”
I shook my head.
“Pity.” He walked towards the piano, and I scrambled to my feet, wanting to keep some distance between us. Not that it would matter. If he’d come here to kill me, there wasn’t much I could do to stop him.
“These are my private gardens,” I said. “You have no right to be here.”
“True.” He ran a finger down the shiny surface of the piano. “But there isn’t much you can do about it, is there?”
“What do you want?”
The corners of his mouth twisted up in a cold parody of a smile. “A great many things, Cécile, and I fully intend to have them.” He picked up the delicate glass rose Tristan had given me, turning it over in his hands. “You caused quite the disturbance yesterday.”
“That was your intention, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it was, although not in my wildest dreams did I expect it to turn out so well.” He held up my rose as if to smell it, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Did you know that when an infant is born of half troll, half human blood, its magic never reaches half that of its troll parent? And if that child takes up with a human, the resultant child will have almost no magic to speak of. The fact of the matter is, if a child has less than one-eighth troll blood, it has no magic at all. It is as weak and unintelligent as a human, as susceptible to illness and injury.”
I was silent. There was no mistaking his point.
“Magic,” he continued, “is what makes us superior. Any act that diminishes it is an abomination.”
“Except if such an act breaks the curse,” I retorted, my anger rising. “Isn’t that what you mean?”
“But it hasn’t.” He held out the rose. “So all you are is an abomination that has failed to serve any purpose.”
The rose slipped through his fingers. I gasped, diving forward to catch it before it smashed against the paving stones. At my touch, it blossomed a dusky pink.
“You two thought you’d fooled everyone, didn’t you?”
I stared up at him from my knees, fear filling me.
“And perhaps you did. Everyone, that is, except me.” Reaching down, he took hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet. “I confess, you played the part of a hellion-bride quite well. And Tristan, well the boy has been playing something he is not for so long that sometimes I wonder if he remembers who he really is.” He paused, considering his words. “You would know by now that all children receive an identical education until they are ten years of age, at which time they are educated by their respective guilds. Builders’ Guild, Artisans’ Guild, Bakers’ Guild, Miners’ Guild, and so on and so forth.”
“Make your point, Your Grace.” I tried to jerk my arm out of his grip, but his hand was as implacable as a vice.
“My daughter, Anaïs, she isn’t guild-educated. No, I saw early in her life that she had a mind fit for a particular purpose. She is military educated, you see. She is strategic, ruthless, loyal, but…” He sighed. “She is still female – her emotions make her weak.”
I fought to keep fury from rising to my face, but it was difficult.
The Duke leaned on his cane. His position and the way he watched my movements reminded me of a vulture. “Her emotions are what betrayed her. For weeks, she has sobbed herself to sleep every night, and Anaïs is not a girl prone to such behavior. There could be only one cause – that her dear Tristan had abandoned her for another girl. His wife.”
I scowled. “That isn’t what you said yesterday, Your Grace. Unless, of course, you were lying?”
His laughter echoed through the courtyard, mocking me from every corner. “Is that what I said? Are you sure?”
Even though I already knew the truth, my heart still sunk to know how thoroughly he had played me. Like a finely tuned instrument.
“A wise man once wrote that the truth spoken may not be the truth you think you hear. I would have thought you’d learned that by now, little bird.”
“Leave her alone, Angoulême.”
The soles of Marc’s boots smacked against the stairs as he leapt down them two at a time. Striding across the courtyard, he stepped between the Duke and me. “He doesn’t want you anywhere near her.”
“I haven’t harmed her in any way. I am well aware of His Majesty’s laws.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t intend to.” To my amazement, Marc shoved Angoulême backwards. “Leave, now.”
The Duke’s face darkened. “You dare lay a hand on me, you twisted wretch! I outrank you. In more ways than one.”
“I’m under Tristan’s orders not to let you anywhere near the Lady Cécile, and last time I checked, Your Grace, the heir to the throne outranked you. In more ways than one.”
I felt the air around me grow hot, their magic manifesting and drawing together. “I’m not afraid to die, Angoulême,” Marc said softly. “Are you?”
“You think you can best me, boy?”
Marc laughed. “No, but I think I can hold you back long enough for Tristan to get here. And I know he can best you. He’ll tear your body into so many pieces that what’s left won’t amount to more than a smear of blood on the street.”
Angoulême paled. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“Are you sure enough to tempt fate?” Marc’s voice was chilly.
Without another word, the Duke spun on heels, hurrying up the steps and out of sight.
I tried to calm my racing heart. “He won’t forgive you for this,” I said.
“I’ll add it to the list of things he’ll never forgive me for,” Marc muttered. “Are you all right?”
“Fine – I think he was just trying to scare me. And send a message to Tristan.”
“He was expecting it.” Marc shoved his hands in his pockets and stared silently at my piano for a long moment before speaking. “Cécile, I want to apologize for what I said to you in the labyrinth. How I behaved. It’s just that…”
I held up a hand. “There is nothing to forgive.” Slipping my arm through his, I sighed. “Let’s walk. I need to be away from this space.”
We wandered aimlessly through the glass gardens, which never ceased to amaze me: the detail blown into each plant, the thorns on the rose bushes, the pinecones and seedpods artistically scattered beneath the trees, the tiny drops of glass dew suspended beneath the tips of leaves. Unlit, they were a thing of beauty, but flooded with troll-light, they were magical, ethereal even. “How long did it take to create?” I asked, bending down to look at a gardenia that was so realistic, I half expected to smell its sweet perfume when I inhaled.
“Three hundred and thirty-seven years.”
I smiled at his troll-like precision.
“Why didn’t they use color? I’ve seen it in other glassworks in Trollus.”
“You would have to ask someone in the Artisans’ Guild, but if I were to speculate… it would be because they knew it would be a pale imitation of the real thing.”
“Or perhaps they couldn’t remember the colors,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to visualize fields of green grass and vibrant wildflowers. Already it seemed something from another life.
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t you ever wish you could see it, Marc? Stand in the ocean and feel the water swirl around your knees? Feel the blast of winter snow coming off the mountains or the scorching heat of the summer sun? To walk through a field of golden wheat just before harvest, or gallop through a meadow sweet with the smells of spring?”
I sat on one of the stone benches scattered throughout the garden, the weight of memory heavy upon me. “Don’t you ever dream of it?”
Marc looked away so that I could only see his profile, so handsome on its own. So like his cousin’s.
“No,” he said. “I don’t dream of that.”
“What do you dream of?”
His shoulders jerked as if I had slapped him.
“Pénélope.” His voice rasped over her name like he hadn’t said it in a very long time. “Every night. Every time I close my eyes.” He sat heavily on the bench next to me, head in his hands.
Gently, I took his left hand and pulled off the leather glove he always wore. An inky black pattern scrolled across his fingers, still beautiful in its own sad way. “Will you tell me about her?”
He nodded. “She is… was, Anaïs’s elder sister. But the only similarity between the two was their beauty. Pénélope, she was sweet and kind. Quiet. We were friends as children. I don’t remember when it was that I fell in love with her. Sometimes I think I loved her all my life.” His voice cracked and his fingers tightened over mine. “I wanted to marry her, but my father refused because she… It had recently come to light that she had the bleeding condition. Such things pass on to children.”
I sighed softly. I had not known such a thing existed until I came to Trollus, but since I had been here, two boys had died from it. Blood that would not clot – the slightest injury could be fatal.
“So we became lovers, and were so for some time. I was a fool to allow it,” Marc continued. “Perhaps if I hadn’t, she might still be alive.”
“She got pregnant, didn’t she?” I asked softly.
“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “She was happy. She believed she would survive it, but I knew.” His shoulders slumped. “I knew it would kill her.” He rose to his feet. “Let me show you something.”
I felt Tristan’s exhaustion finally take over and he drifted off to sleep, but it was a long time before I was able to do the same. I could not hope for a long life if I remained a pawn constantly manipulated by those around me – learning to play Guerre had taught me that, if nothing else. I needed to take action, and soon. I began to form a plan, but eventually my mind grew heavy. I clung to Tristan as though it was our last moment together like this, which maybe it was. But there was nothing to be done about that now. Only the morning would bring answers.
When I woke many hours later, it was with a start. Dreams of sluag, darkness, and Tristan dying plagued my sleep. Again and again I’d relived the moment when death sliced through our bond like a scalpel through flesh. The loneliness, as though there was no one left in this world but me. I didn’t know how anyone could survive it; what sort of strength it took to live on after the loss of the one you’d been bound to for years, decades even. I thought about the black lines tracing over Marc’s hands, how he rarely removed the leather gloves hiding them and could not tolerate even the mention of her name.
My light had woken up with me, and it shone dimly as though it were still sleepy. In its glow, I gently traced a fingertip over the golden filigree inked across Tristan’s left hand, more intricate and delicate than the finest lacework. Gold, because I was a child of the sun. The first human to ever be bonded to a troll, much less a troll prince.
Tristan sighed, his breath warm against my cheek. In his sleep, he’d curled around me, his arm tucked tight against my stomach. My perpetually cold feet were warm for once, tucked as they were against his shins. My body complained mightily as I extracted myself from his grip, but despite my attempts not to wake him, his eyes opened.
“You need to rest,” I said. “You’re exhausted.”
“No time for it,” he replied, crossing the room and quickly dressing. “I need to go make reassurances to a few individuals. And there is the tree.”
“Can’t it keep for one day?”
“Possibly, but I’d rather not risk it.” He buckled on his sword. “Don’t leave these rooms unless Marc accompanies you. Certain individuals misunderstand the cause of yesterday’s events, and I don’t want them going after you because of some misguided sense of loyalty.” He kissed my cheek. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
After he left, I tried to find ways to occupy myself in our rooms, but my mind wouldn’t focus. So much had changed in so little time – going back to how things were before I’d fallen for Angoulême’s trickery would be impossible.
Tristan was worried and upset, his uneasiness crawling down my spine like a spider. I wished I knew what was going on. What was he telling the half-bloods? Would they be able to forgive me for what had happened, or had I irreparably damaged my relationship with those who needed our help the most?
Tossing aside the novel I had been trying to read, I went through the doors and out onto the balcony, down the steps to the courtyard where my piano stood. The stack of music sat undisturbed on the bench, and after shuffling through it, I chose a lengthy piece and sat down. I had no great talent – my short fingers prevented that – but I played well within my limitations. I sat at the piano until my fingers ached, but I refused to sing. I would not call him. He would come to me when he was ready.
“You are a talented musician, but I must confess, I prefer to hear you sing.”
The keys jangled harshly beneath my fingers and I froze. Slowly, I looked over my shoulder. The Duke d’Angoulême stood at the base of the stairs, his gold-tipped cane held horizontally between his hands. “Perhaps you’ll sing for me, little bird.”
I shook my head.
“Pity.” He walked towards the piano, and I scrambled to my feet, wanting to keep some distance between us. Not that it would matter. If he’d come here to kill me, there wasn’t much I could do to stop him.
“These are my private gardens,” I said. “You have no right to be here.”
“True.” He ran a finger down the shiny surface of the piano. “But there isn’t much you can do about it, is there?”
“What do you want?”
The corners of his mouth twisted up in a cold parody of a smile. “A great many things, Cécile, and I fully intend to have them.” He picked up the delicate glass rose Tristan had given me, turning it over in his hands. “You caused quite the disturbance yesterday.”
“That was your intention, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it was, although not in my wildest dreams did I expect it to turn out so well.” He held up my rose as if to smell it, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Did you know that when an infant is born of half troll, half human blood, its magic never reaches half that of its troll parent? And if that child takes up with a human, the resultant child will have almost no magic to speak of. The fact of the matter is, if a child has less than one-eighth troll blood, it has no magic at all. It is as weak and unintelligent as a human, as susceptible to illness and injury.”
I was silent. There was no mistaking his point.
“Magic,” he continued, “is what makes us superior. Any act that diminishes it is an abomination.”
“Except if such an act breaks the curse,” I retorted, my anger rising. “Isn’t that what you mean?”
“But it hasn’t.” He held out the rose. “So all you are is an abomination that has failed to serve any purpose.”
The rose slipped through his fingers. I gasped, diving forward to catch it before it smashed against the paving stones. At my touch, it blossomed a dusky pink.
“You two thought you’d fooled everyone, didn’t you?”
I stared up at him from my knees, fear filling me.
“And perhaps you did. Everyone, that is, except me.” Reaching down, he took hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet. “I confess, you played the part of a hellion-bride quite well. And Tristan, well the boy has been playing something he is not for so long that sometimes I wonder if he remembers who he really is.” He paused, considering his words. “You would know by now that all children receive an identical education until they are ten years of age, at which time they are educated by their respective guilds. Builders’ Guild, Artisans’ Guild, Bakers’ Guild, Miners’ Guild, and so on and so forth.”
“Make your point, Your Grace.” I tried to jerk my arm out of his grip, but his hand was as implacable as a vice.
“My daughter, Anaïs, she isn’t guild-educated. No, I saw early in her life that she had a mind fit for a particular purpose. She is military educated, you see. She is strategic, ruthless, loyal, but…” He sighed. “She is still female – her emotions make her weak.”
I fought to keep fury from rising to my face, but it was difficult.
The Duke leaned on his cane. His position and the way he watched my movements reminded me of a vulture. “Her emotions are what betrayed her. For weeks, she has sobbed herself to sleep every night, and Anaïs is not a girl prone to such behavior. There could be only one cause – that her dear Tristan had abandoned her for another girl. His wife.”
I scowled. “That isn’t what you said yesterday, Your Grace. Unless, of course, you were lying?”
His laughter echoed through the courtyard, mocking me from every corner. “Is that what I said? Are you sure?”
Even though I already knew the truth, my heart still sunk to know how thoroughly he had played me. Like a finely tuned instrument.
“A wise man once wrote that the truth spoken may not be the truth you think you hear. I would have thought you’d learned that by now, little bird.”
“Leave her alone, Angoulême.”
The soles of Marc’s boots smacked against the stairs as he leapt down them two at a time. Striding across the courtyard, he stepped between the Duke and me. “He doesn’t want you anywhere near her.”
“I haven’t harmed her in any way. I am well aware of His Majesty’s laws.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t intend to.” To my amazement, Marc shoved Angoulême backwards. “Leave, now.”
The Duke’s face darkened. “You dare lay a hand on me, you twisted wretch! I outrank you. In more ways than one.”
“I’m under Tristan’s orders not to let you anywhere near the Lady Cécile, and last time I checked, Your Grace, the heir to the throne outranked you. In more ways than one.”
I felt the air around me grow hot, their magic manifesting and drawing together. “I’m not afraid to die, Angoulême,” Marc said softly. “Are you?”
“You think you can best me, boy?”
Marc laughed. “No, but I think I can hold you back long enough for Tristan to get here. And I know he can best you. He’ll tear your body into so many pieces that what’s left won’t amount to more than a smear of blood on the street.”
Angoulême paled. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“Are you sure enough to tempt fate?” Marc’s voice was chilly.
Without another word, the Duke spun on heels, hurrying up the steps and out of sight.
I tried to calm my racing heart. “He won’t forgive you for this,” I said.
“I’ll add it to the list of things he’ll never forgive me for,” Marc muttered. “Are you all right?”
“Fine – I think he was just trying to scare me. And send a message to Tristan.”
“He was expecting it.” Marc shoved his hands in his pockets and stared silently at my piano for a long moment before speaking. “Cécile, I want to apologize for what I said to you in the labyrinth. How I behaved. It’s just that…”
I held up a hand. “There is nothing to forgive.” Slipping my arm through his, I sighed. “Let’s walk. I need to be away from this space.”
We wandered aimlessly through the glass gardens, which never ceased to amaze me: the detail blown into each plant, the thorns on the rose bushes, the pinecones and seedpods artistically scattered beneath the trees, the tiny drops of glass dew suspended beneath the tips of leaves. Unlit, they were a thing of beauty, but flooded with troll-light, they were magical, ethereal even. “How long did it take to create?” I asked, bending down to look at a gardenia that was so realistic, I half expected to smell its sweet perfume when I inhaled.
“Three hundred and thirty-seven years.”
I smiled at his troll-like precision.
“Why didn’t they use color? I’ve seen it in other glassworks in Trollus.”
“You would have to ask someone in the Artisans’ Guild, but if I were to speculate… it would be because they knew it would be a pale imitation of the real thing.”
“Or perhaps they couldn’t remember the colors,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to visualize fields of green grass and vibrant wildflowers. Already it seemed something from another life.
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t you ever wish you could see it, Marc? Stand in the ocean and feel the water swirl around your knees? Feel the blast of winter snow coming off the mountains or the scorching heat of the summer sun? To walk through a field of golden wheat just before harvest, or gallop through a meadow sweet with the smells of spring?”
I sat on one of the stone benches scattered throughout the garden, the weight of memory heavy upon me. “Don’t you ever dream of it?”
Marc looked away so that I could only see his profile, so handsome on its own. So like his cousin’s.
“No,” he said. “I don’t dream of that.”
“What do you dream of?”
His shoulders jerked as if I had slapped him.
“Pénélope.” His voice rasped over her name like he hadn’t said it in a very long time. “Every night. Every time I close my eyes.” He sat heavily on the bench next to me, head in his hands.
Gently, I took his left hand and pulled off the leather glove he always wore. An inky black pattern scrolled across his fingers, still beautiful in its own sad way. “Will you tell me about her?”
He nodded. “She is… was, Anaïs’s elder sister. But the only similarity between the two was their beauty. Pénélope, she was sweet and kind. Quiet. We were friends as children. I don’t remember when it was that I fell in love with her. Sometimes I think I loved her all my life.” His voice cracked and his fingers tightened over mine. “I wanted to marry her, but my father refused because she… It had recently come to light that she had the bleeding condition. Such things pass on to children.”
I sighed softly. I had not known such a thing existed until I came to Trollus, but since I had been here, two boys had died from it. Blood that would not clot – the slightest injury could be fatal.
“So we became lovers, and were so for some time. I was a fool to allow it,” Marc continued. “Perhaps if I hadn’t, she might still be alive.”
“She got pregnant, didn’t she?” I asked softly.
“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “She was happy. She believed she would survive it, but I knew.” His shoulders slumped. “I knew it would kill her.” He rose to his feet. “Let me show you something.”
