Stolen Songbird
Page 6
“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 na**d 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.”
CHAPTER 6
CéCILE
The chambers Marc led me to were lit by the light of two lovely troll girls dressed in drab grey dresses belted with black and white sashes. They dropped into deep curtsies at our entrance. The room itself was lushly appointed: tapestries and paintings covered the walls and thick carpets muffled my footsteps. In the center stood a giant copper bathtub filled with water and next to it was a small dining table set with a feast fit for a queen. It made me think of the dinner I had missed tonight – the one my grandmother had been preparing for my going away party. My father would have set up a pig turning on a spit over the open flames, and I could imagine our dogs watching with wistful eyes, begging whoever walked near for scraps. Gran would have made some potato mash, along with last year’s carrots and beets drenched with butter. And her famous apple cinnamon cake. Cake that couldn’t be made without eggs. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the way the yellow yolks had mixed into the mud. I had gone away, but there would have been no cake, no dinner, no party. Only a fruitless search in the growing dark.
“Quit being a sentimental fool,” I muttered to myself. “It’s just food.” The three trolls look at me askance, and I gave them a weak smile. “That’s quite the spread.”
“Have as much as you like,” Marc said. “If there is anything in particular you want, let the girls know and they will arrange for it.” He then turned to the servants. “You have three hours.”
“Yes, my lord,” the girls responded in unison, curtsying again as he strode from the room.
“You must be hungry, my lady,” one of them said.
“Mostly, I have to pee.”
The girls giggled and pointed to a side door. “Over there, my lady.”
After I had rid myself of a few gold coins’ worth of extra weight, I came back and surveyed my options: bath or food. My growling stomach decided for me. I set into a bowl of thick stew as if I hadn’t seen food all day, which I hadn’t, and then gobbled down handfuls of berries and an apple, their juices running down my chin to add stains to my already destroyed shift. The girls watched me with wide eyes. “What are your names?” I asked between bites.
Both of them jerked as though slapped. I stopped chewing, and watched them exchange meaningful glances. “I don’t think that is what she means,” one whispered to the other.
“I’m called Élise,” the elder said to me after an uncomfortable pause. “Call her Zoé.”
“Cécile,” I said around a mouthful of bread, deciding to ignore the awkwardness. I was acting like I’d never met a manner in my life, but stones and sky, I was hungry.
“We know, my lady. We’ve been expecting you.”
The bread stuck in my throat, and I set aside the rest of the loaf, my hunger vanished. “I’m not anyone’s lady. I’m just Cécile.”
“You are betrothed to Prince Tristan, my lady. After tonight, you will be a princess of Trollus,” Zoé said, her wide eyes growing even wider. “You are so fortunate, my lady – His Highness is exceptionally handsome.”
“And brave,” Élise chimed in. The girls clutched each other’s arms and pretended to swoon.
“And dreadfully rude,” I grumbled, getting to my feet and walking over to the tub. I’d never bathed in front of anyone other than my gran or my sister before, but I knew that this was how the nobility did things. Making a fuss over their presence would only draw attention to my common upbringing. Pride was armor, and I wouldn’t let them take it from me. My scant clothing discarded, I climbed hurriedly in, wincing as my collection of abrasions stung.
“Is the water warm enough, my lady?” Élise asked, passing me a sponge.
“It’s…” I glanced towards the cold fireplace on the one wall. Clearly the grate hadn’t known a fire in a long time. After a moment’s contemplation, I realized I hadn’t seen an open flame since Luc’s lantern. “I’d like it a bit warmer,” I said, curious as to how she’d manage such a feat.
The troll set aside the bottle of bath salts she had been pouring in and touched the water with a fingertip. It swirled around me, glowing faintly silver, and almost instantaneously the temperature rose. She withdrew her hand, and the steaming contents settled. “Warm enough?”
I soaked for a good hour in the tub, the trolls ignoring my protests and setting to scrubbing, trimming, washing, and filing with an intensity never before directed at my body.
With the dirt washed away, my injuries stood out in stark reds and purples on my pale skin. Élise dispatched Zoé to get some ice – something I learned their magic could not create –and I spent the rest of my bath holding a silk-wrapped block against my swollen eye while I sipped a cup of mulled wine.
Élise and Zoé were quite beautiful, but something set them apart from the broken beauty of the troll nobility. Their hair, for one, was not jet black but dark brown, and a faint flush warmed their faces that did not mark the cheeks of the other trolls. “You two are sisters?” I asked.
“Yes, my lady,” Zoé replied from where she sat at my feet. Her eyes scrutinized my face as though searching for something. “Our mother was human – like you.”
So the legends were true. The trolls had been at the business of stealing, or perhaps purchasing, young women for some time. “Is she here in Trollus?” Maybe they let them go once they’d fulfilled their duties.
“No, my lady.” Sorrow crossed her face. “She died when we were quite young.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing there was some way to ask how the woman had died. Part of me was still convinced I’d come across a case of a human roasting in a cooking pot.
“Such a beautiful color,” Élise said, interrupting my thoughts. “When they told us you had red hair, I scarcely believed their words. Is such a shade common under the sun?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
“Then it must be prized.”
I thought about how often I’d wished I’d been born with my sister’s blonde hair, or even my brother’s plain brown mop. “Red hair isn’t prized at all. Everyone teases me all the time, and being a redhead means I get loads of freckles in the summer. My mother tells me I should stay out of the sun, which is hardly possible on a farm.”
“Why would anyone choose to stay out of the sun?”
I bit my lip, realizing that obviously the sun would be a sensitive issue for the trolls. I shrugged and set the cup aside. “My mother is vain. Besides,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject, “I’d rather have dark hair like you trolls.” A compliment never hurt.
Élise shook her head. “Nothing common is prized, my lady. One might as well value a stone in a sea of rock as value black hair in Trollus. Now come,” she said, motioning for me to follow. “Time for you to dress.”
Walking stiffly over to the privacy screen, I ran a hand down a heavy, dark green silk dress, which felt warm, almost alive, under my fingertips. Onyx beads decorated the cuffs and tiny jet buttons marched up the back to the high lace collar.
My wedding dress.
“Why isn’t it white?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. In the Hollow, we had a tradition where every girl’s dress included something from a wedding dress of a family member or friend. Sometimes it was just a bit of lace or some fancy buttons, but often gowns were entirely created out of dresses from weddings past. Gran said that the tradition brought love and good fortune into the union. I had always seen myself in the dress in which she had married my grandfather, with its handmade lace overlay. Not this unworn, unloved… thing.
“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 na**d 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.”
CHAPTER 6
CéCILE
The chambers Marc led me to were lit by the light of two lovely troll girls dressed in drab grey dresses belted with black and white sashes. They dropped into deep curtsies at our entrance. The room itself was lushly appointed: tapestries and paintings covered the walls and thick carpets muffled my footsteps. In the center stood a giant copper bathtub filled with water and next to it was a small dining table set with a feast fit for a queen. It made me think of the dinner I had missed tonight – the one my grandmother had been preparing for my going away party. My father would have set up a pig turning on a spit over the open flames, and I could imagine our dogs watching with wistful eyes, begging whoever walked near for scraps. Gran would have made some potato mash, along with last year’s carrots and beets drenched with butter. And her famous apple cinnamon cake. Cake that couldn’t be made without eggs. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the way the yellow yolks had mixed into the mud. I had gone away, but there would have been no cake, no dinner, no party. Only a fruitless search in the growing dark.
“Quit being a sentimental fool,” I muttered to myself. “It’s just food.” The three trolls look at me askance, and I gave them a weak smile. “That’s quite the spread.”
“Have as much as you like,” Marc said. “If there is anything in particular you want, let the girls know and they will arrange for it.” He then turned to the servants. “You have three hours.”
“Yes, my lord,” the girls responded in unison, curtsying again as he strode from the room.
“You must be hungry, my lady,” one of them said.
“Mostly, I have to pee.”
The girls giggled and pointed to a side door. “Over there, my lady.”
After I had rid myself of a few gold coins’ worth of extra weight, I came back and surveyed my options: bath or food. My growling stomach decided for me. I set into a bowl of thick stew as if I hadn’t seen food all day, which I hadn’t, and then gobbled down handfuls of berries and an apple, their juices running down my chin to add stains to my already destroyed shift. The girls watched me with wide eyes. “What are your names?” I asked between bites.
Both of them jerked as though slapped. I stopped chewing, and watched them exchange meaningful glances. “I don’t think that is what she means,” one whispered to the other.
“I’m called Élise,” the elder said to me after an uncomfortable pause. “Call her Zoé.”
“Cécile,” I said around a mouthful of bread, deciding to ignore the awkwardness. I was acting like I’d never met a manner in my life, but stones and sky, I was hungry.
“We know, my lady. We’ve been expecting you.”
The bread stuck in my throat, and I set aside the rest of the loaf, my hunger vanished. “I’m not anyone’s lady. I’m just Cécile.”
“You are betrothed to Prince Tristan, my lady. After tonight, you will be a princess of Trollus,” Zoé said, her wide eyes growing even wider. “You are so fortunate, my lady – His Highness is exceptionally handsome.”
“And brave,” Élise chimed in. The girls clutched each other’s arms and pretended to swoon.
“And dreadfully rude,” I grumbled, getting to my feet and walking over to the tub. I’d never bathed in front of anyone other than my gran or my sister before, but I knew that this was how the nobility did things. Making a fuss over their presence would only draw attention to my common upbringing. Pride was armor, and I wouldn’t let them take it from me. My scant clothing discarded, I climbed hurriedly in, wincing as my collection of abrasions stung.
“Is the water warm enough, my lady?” Élise asked, passing me a sponge.
“It’s…” I glanced towards the cold fireplace on the one wall. Clearly the grate hadn’t known a fire in a long time. After a moment’s contemplation, I realized I hadn’t seen an open flame since Luc’s lantern. “I’d like it a bit warmer,” I said, curious as to how she’d manage such a feat.
The troll set aside the bottle of bath salts she had been pouring in and touched the water with a fingertip. It swirled around me, glowing faintly silver, and almost instantaneously the temperature rose. She withdrew her hand, and the steaming contents settled. “Warm enough?”
I soaked for a good hour in the tub, the trolls ignoring my protests and setting to scrubbing, trimming, washing, and filing with an intensity never before directed at my body.
With the dirt washed away, my injuries stood out in stark reds and purples on my pale skin. Élise dispatched Zoé to get some ice – something I learned their magic could not create –and I spent the rest of my bath holding a silk-wrapped block against my swollen eye while I sipped a cup of mulled wine.
Élise and Zoé were quite beautiful, but something set them apart from the broken beauty of the troll nobility. Their hair, for one, was not jet black but dark brown, and a faint flush warmed their faces that did not mark the cheeks of the other trolls. “You two are sisters?” I asked.
“Yes, my lady,” Zoé replied from where she sat at my feet. Her eyes scrutinized my face as though searching for something. “Our mother was human – like you.”
So the legends were true. The trolls had been at the business of stealing, or perhaps purchasing, young women for some time. “Is she here in Trollus?” Maybe they let them go once they’d fulfilled their duties.
“No, my lady.” Sorrow crossed her face. “She died when we were quite young.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing there was some way to ask how the woman had died. Part of me was still convinced I’d come across a case of a human roasting in a cooking pot.
“Such a beautiful color,” Élise said, interrupting my thoughts. “When they told us you had red hair, I scarcely believed their words. Is such a shade common under the sun?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
“Then it must be prized.”
I thought about how often I’d wished I’d been born with my sister’s blonde hair, or even my brother’s plain brown mop. “Red hair isn’t prized at all. Everyone teases me all the time, and being a redhead means I get loads of freckles in the summer. My mother tells me I should stay out of the sun, which is hardly possible on a farm.”
“Why would anyone choose to stay out of the sun?”
I bit my lip, realizing that obviously the sun would be a sensitive issue for the trolls. I shrugged and set the cup aside. “My mother is vain. Besides,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject, “I’d rather have dark hair like you trolls.” A compliment never hurt.
Élise shook her head. “Nothing common is prized, my lady. One might as well value a stone in a sea of rock as value black hair in Trollus. Now come,” she said, motioning for me to follow. “Time for you to dress.”
Walking stiffly over to the privacy screen, I ran a hand down a heavy, dark green silk dress, which felt warm, almost alive, under my fingertips. Onyx beads decorated the cuffs and tiny jet buttons marched up the back to the high lace collar.
My wedding dress.
“Why isn’t it white?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. In the Hollow, we had a tradition where every girl’s dress included something from a wedding dress of a family member or friend. Sometimes it was just a bit of lace or some fancy buttons, but often gowns were entirely created out of dresses from weddings past. Gran said that the tradition brought love and good fortune into the union. I had always seen myself in the dress in which she had married my grandfather, with its handmade lace overlay. Not this unworn, unloved… thing.
