Stolen Songbird: Malediction Trilogy Book One (The Malediction Trilogy) (35 page)

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.”

He took me to a small open space surrounded by glass rosebushes. At the center stood an ornate fountain, but instead of water, a blue liquid glowed faintly within the basin.

“Liquid Shackles,” I exclaimed, hurrying over to it.

“You’ve clearly been spending too much time with Tristan,” Marc chuckled. “It’s called Élixir de la Lune.”

“That’s much prettier,” I said, looking into the basin. “Where does it come from?”

“Watch.”

We waited for a long moment, then seemingly out of nowhere, a large droplet fell into the pool.

“Stones and sky,” I muttered. “Where did that come from?”

“You have to look from the right angle,” Marc said. “Like this.” Bending over, he tilted his head to look upwards. I mimicked him, gasping at what I saw. It looked like a circular window hanging in the air, but it was only visible when viewed directly. Looking through it didn’t show me Trollus – it was a window to somewhere else entirely. I could see part of a rocky cliff, a faint hint of glowing blue dampening it. As I watched, a droplet slowly formed and fell, dropping between our heads to land in the fountain.

“Where is that place?” I wondered aloud.

“The moon.”

I blinked at him.

“What you are looking at is a tear in the fabric of the world.” He straightened upright again. “This liquid is the magic that bonds the moon to the earth. We harness its power to bind the hearts of two trolls. Or a troll and a human.”

Holding out my hand, I caught the next drip as it fell and went to taste it, the memory of its sweetness vivid in my mind. Marc caught my hand. “Only once in a lifetime.” Tilting my hand, he let the drip fall into the pool.

“In the southern half of the labyrinth, there is a small opening where the sky shines through. Very few know of its existence. One night, I stole a vial of Élixir de la Lune and the key to the gate from my father – the Comte de Courville has been its guardian for generations – and took Pénélope into the tunnels. She was terrified of the small spaces and afraid a sluag would come upon us, but she came anyway. We bonded under the full moon.”

“I bet you got in a lot of trouble for that.”

A hint of a smile touched his face. “Yes. But there was nothing anyone could do. The bond cannot be undone by any power in this world or the next.”

He was quiet for a long time, and I dared not break the silence.

“We were together for sixty-three glorious days. Then she miscarried. The child died. Pénélope died.”

Tears streamed down my face, but Marc’s eyes stayed dry. He had long since run out of tears for his pain, I thought. Pain I could well imagine because I’d felt it myself. “How did you survive it?”

“I didn’t want to live. I wanted to throw myself from the highest precipice. Cut my heart out with a knife. Dash my brains against the rocks. Anything. I didn’t think I could live without her.”

“So how did you?” I remembered how easily I had knelt down before the guillotine, ready to die rather than to live without Tristan. And ours was a new love, not one built over a lifetime.

“Tristan was there with me when she died. The instant her heart stopped, he tied me up with magic so I couldn’t move. I fought him with everything I had, but even at fifteen, he was one of the strongest living. In the few moments he took to sleep, it required both the twins to hold me. He kept me tied up for weeks, forcing me to eat and to drink when I tried to starve myself. When I’d finally calmed down enough, he made me swear that I would live. Said I was his best friend, and his family and he needed me alive.”

We were quiet for a long time, Marc remembering and me trying to take in what he had just told me.

“Does it get better?” I finally asked. “The pain? The feeling that a part of you is missing?”

Marc shook his head. “You just learn to live with it.”

Fresh tears flooded my eyes and dripped down to stain the silk of my skirts. He had known she would die and the pain it would cause him, but he had bonded her anyway. It was the most incredibly brave and selfless thing I had ever heard – a love story such as songs were written about.

“Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?”

He smiled, eyes growing distant. “In a heartbeat.”

We sat in silence for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“Cécile, you asked me if I dreamed of the outside.”

I nodded.

“Everything I have known and loved has been in Trollus. All my memories are of here. I belong here, in the dark. But you…” He took my hand. “You don’t belong here, Cécile. This place is no good for you – you belong in the sun. And so does he.”

Coming around the fountain, Marc gently kissed my forehead. “You must find a way.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to struggle with a burden that seemed to grow heavier by the hour.

“How much of that did you hear?” I asked, once Marc was out of earshot.

Tristan stepped out from around a glass fir tree. “A fair bit,” he admitted.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I know.” He walked over to the fountain and looked through the window to the moon. “You were afraid before.”

“Angoulême paid me a visit.” I turned my back on the fountain and smoothed my skirts down. “Mostly, I think he wanted to boast about the trouble he had caused. It seems he has known for some time that our behavior was an act.”

“That vile malignant pustule!” Tristan hissed. “He’s a craven, dog-breathed, interfering weasel of a man!”

I waited for him to finish cursing before asking, “So, do we carry on as before? Is there any point?”

“I don’t know.” Tristan rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can go back to it, though.”

I nodded, feeling much the same way. “Another strategy then?”

“Yes.” He was feeling conflicted about something. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

I frowned. “And whatever it is you are not telling me, now is the time to come clean. We can’t have any more secrets between us, Tristan.”

He sighed heavily. “I know, but we can’t talk about it here. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

 

With a mind to evade my guards, Tristan led me to a well-hidden gate at the rear of the gardens and then down a meandering path to the river, where we crossed one of the many small bridges. It was a long walk down the valley, and by the time we reached the fork in the river, my feet were sore and aching. The soldiers guarding the River Road eyed us from the opposite bank, but despite our lack of escort, said nothing as we turned to follow the water branching off to the right.

The tunnel we entered was loud with the sounds of rushing water, and soon the faint glow of Trollus faded away, leaving only my little light and Tristan’s larger one to illuminate our path.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

We walked a little further until the cave walls fell away and Tristan pulled me to a halt. The river water spilled down an incline worn smooth by the current, but to either side of its banks it was terraced with large steps. The structure was entirely flooded with water, forming a large, dark lake.

“The parade grounds.” Tristan’s light shot away from us, growing brighter as it traveled until it shone like a minute sun.

“Stones and sky,” I whispered, trying to take it all in. I’d never seen a building so huge. Designed like a vast, circular theatre, tiered seating rose up from all sides, the topmost barely illuminated by Tristan’s magic.

“The history books say that before the Fall, you could see the stadium from leagues away. It held fifty thousand people at capacity, and is the largest structure we ever built. Most of the army was here when the mountain broke, which is the only reason it wasn’t crushed. A great deal of magic and pride.