The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(12)

“And maybe if that were her only flaw, it wouldn’t matter.” He set down his pen. “Marc, she’s afflicted.”

A vision of Pénélope’s painting drifted across my mind. “But so am I!”

My father’s face filled with sympathy. “It’s true that you’re a fright to look upon. But…” He shook his head. “Your affliction is purely cosmetic. Your health is good and your magic formidable. But Pénélope… Even if the Duke agreed for her to be bonded, for you, it would border on suicide.”

“You don’t know that,” I countered. “She’s careful.”

“Childbirth would kill her, if some small accident didn’t.”

“She doesn’t need to have children. There are ways to prevent it.” I didn’t know much about such things, but I knew it was true.

“Fallible methods,” he snapped. “And one mistake would mean the doom of both of you.” Lifting a hand to his temples, he rubbed them. “I’m fading, Marc. It will only be luck if I last another year before my light goes out. And when it happens, in all likelihood your mother will be taken too. She who is strong and healthy…” He broke off, face filled with naked grief. “Please don’t make it worse by putting your own life in danger.”

It made me feel ill to have upset him this way. Nearly everyone I knew had contentious relationships with their parents, but that wasn’t the case with me and mine. I didn’t care to think of losing them, and I didn’t want to make their final months harder than they had to be.

“It won’t be long until you’ll not need to ask my permission,” my father continued. “But in the matter of bonding, you will always need the crown’s approval. And the King will not approve a match that endangers your life.” He dropped his hand from his temples. “Your life is not your own, Marc. Your loyalty must be to your cousin above all else. He needs you, and most of all, Trollus needs you to keep him in check.” He hesitated, as though unsure whether to say what was on his mind. “Thibault was not always this way. Perhaps if I’d been as good a friend to him as you are to Tristan, he might’ve walked a different path.”

So strange to think of Thibault having friends and of my father being one of them. Did my father keep as many of the King’s secrets as I did for Tristan? What were they? And if I asked, would he tell me? These were important questions, and if my loyalty was to Tristan, those questions were what should command my focus. But I was tired of my life revolving around my cousin. For once, I wanted to do something for myself.

“The King isn’t the only one who can give me permission,” I said. “Tristan can give it, too.”

“I know,” my father said, his voice quiet. “But please think long and hard about what it will mean for your friendship if you ask for his permission and he refuses to give it.”





Chapter Five





Pénélope





“See what you can learn from the Biron boy,” my father said. Then he eyed me up and down. “Use whatever tools you have at your disposal.”

“But–”

“Your virtue no longer holds any value, Pénélope. Only do make certain that whatever information you gain for it is worth the cost – he’s a twisted creature, but he’s favored by the heir, and that means he has options. His interest won’t last.”

I scowled, but my father only waved a hand, dismissing me from the conversation. Before I could go, my grandmother caught hold of my arm. “Your word that you won’t reveal that you or your sister are spying. The last thing we need is you undermining yet another of our plans.”

I glared at her, but her grip only tightened until I nodded. “I won’t reveal that Ana?s and I are spies.” The promise settled on me, binding, the magic running through my veins ensuring it would never be broken. I fled before they could come up with anything more to ask from me. Or anything more to take from me.

Not caring if it was improper, I bolted up the stairs and down the hallway to my rooms, silently skirting the sounds of Roland playing in his chambers, lest I draw his interest. Closing the door behind me, I rested my forehead against the polished oak and drew in a ragged breath.

What was the point in living?

The thought forced tears from my eyes, burning in a hot flood down my cheeks, because I no longer had a good answer.

Never before had I felt the press of the witch’s curse the way I did now, because there was no escape. Nowhere I could go that my father wouldn’t find me and drag me home. The only thing keeping me alive was Ana?s’s protection, and that now seemed tenuous at best.

My stomach hollow, I went to my bathing chamber, stripping off my sweaty gown as I went. I shut the door, wishing, not for the first time, it had a latch, but my father told me that privacy was a privilege of power.

Not that it mattered, for the tub was dry.

I stared at it, knowing that for once, Lessa ignoring one of my requests had nothing to do with her disdain for me. Corpses didn’t need baths, and that was what she’d expected me to be at this juncture.

Turning the tap, I went to stand in front of the full-length mirror while the tub filled, assessing the damage that had been done to my body by my father’s magic. Livid bruises stood out against my skin, my magic hesitant and faltering as it tried to repair the damage. From experience, I knew it would take days or more, so though I was exhausted, I painted illusion to cover the marks as I’d done so many times before. Until all that remained was a beautiful troll girl, every one of her flaws hidden within.