The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(14)

“I’m not sure yet,” he muttered, tapping his pencil against his chin. “An idea… Or not. We shall see.”

“It’s now or never, I suppose,” Victoria said from across the room, and both twins left off what they were doing and rose.

“Good luck,” Tristan said to them. “Remember, cheating is always a valid option.”

They grinned as they departed, and I shook my head at him. “You’re a bad influence.”

He inclined his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dropping the pencil, he leaned back in his chair, the doors to the room clicking shut, magic shutting out sight and sound. “Well?”

“The half-blood ranks are growing,” I said. “More and more are committing to the cause, are swearing that they’ll fight when it comes to it, but…”

“But?”

“Too many refuse to commit without knowing who the leader is.”

“They’re supposed to think it’s you.”

“They know it’s not me, Tristan.” I leaned back on my chair, balancing it on two legs. “I haven’t the mettle to overthrow the crown – they know I’m a stalking horse, but they want proof that whoever I represent has the power to see this through.”

Taking another cake from the tray, Tristan’s eyes went distant as he chewed, finishing the dessert before he asked, “Do they suspect me?”

“No. Tips has told me at least a dozen of the popular theories, but no one has marked you for the role of revolutionary. Why overthrow a crown that is destined to be yours anyway?”

What I didn’t say was that no one would suspect the tyrant prince would ever have sympathetic leanings to half-bloods – he’d played his part too well for that. Maybe a little too well, I thought, remembering Pénélope’s outburst. There was no love lost for him by those who had kindness in their hearts.

“They believe,” I added, “that our friendship is false on my part – that I’ve been planted to spy on you, or perhaps to take you out when the time is right.”

“Who do they favor for the role?”

I hesitated. “My father.”

Tristan winced, then rested his elbows on the table. “I’m sorry for that. I know it puts your entire family at risk, but you’re the only one who can do this. If I could…”

He trailed off: the explanation for why it was impossible for him to take on the burden was not worth voicing. Tristan’s movements were too well scrutinized for him to meet with the half-bloods without notice, and there was too much risk that once they knew his identity, the knowledge would fall into the hands of those who’d use it against us, namely, the Duke. Or worse, the King. Everything was predicated upon his ability to defeat his father, and as powerful as my cousin was, Thibault was more powerful still.

“I know it’s demanding of me to ask this of you,” Tristan said, “but for now, you’re the heart of our revolution, Marc. Without you, everything we’ve worked for will collapse. Trollus depends on you.”

I toyed with the arm of my chair, the speech I’d been planning since I’d spoken with my father sticking in my throat, his warning ringing in my ears: think long and hard about what it will mean for your friendship if you ask for his permission and he refuses to give it.

Because he would refuse to give it. Not out of cruelty, but because his commitment to saving our people consumed him and he’d not willingly allow anything to jeopardize our cause. There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for what he saw as the greater good of Trollus, and he demanded the same from me, Ana?s, and the twins. He didn’t want anything more from life.

But I did.

As if sensing my thoughts, Tristan said, “Another three years. Maybe four. Then this will all be over.”

Logically, I knew that it wasn’t such a long time. But it felt like an eternity. Longer than an eternity, because even though once Tristan was on the throne there should be no reason for him to deny my wish to be with Pénélope, I knew there would be. Too easily my father’s haggard face came to mind, the pressures of a lifetime as the right hand to the King dragging him to an early death. Tristan was not his father, but in his own way, he was equally as demanding. Was that to be my fate?

Was it selfish of me to want more?

A loud knock sounded at the door, and Tristan’s magic shifted, allowing the visitor to enter. He glanced up once, then did a double take, so I turned.

At first I thought it was Pénélope, not Ana?s, but the weight of the power that came with her was distinctly that of the younger Angoulême sister. She was wearing a purple gown, ribs corseted tight and hair hanging to her waist in elaborate curls. Her silver eyes were rimmed with kohl, full lips stained a pale pink that made them very… kissable in appearance.

“Another Angoulême party that I’m not invited to?” Tristan asked.

“No.” Ana?s flung herself with force into the chair next to me, then wrenched off the heeled shoes she wore and threw them across the room. “I’m seducing you.”

“I see. In that case, carry on.” A faint smile formed on Tristan’s face, and I fought the urge to kick him under the table.

Ana?s needed no defenders. “Your Highness,” she said, “if you are under the mistaken impression that I can’t beat you bloody wearing skirts and heels, I’d be happy to demonstrate otherwise.”