The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(2)
“Sorry?” His voice was icy, and despite knowing it was all an act on his part, discomfort twisted in my stomach, because the half-blood didn’t know. Her fear was real.
“Tristan,” I said, because I had my own part to play in this ruse. “Let it go.”
If he heard me, he didn’t show it, and magic twisted through the air, invisible, but tangible. Dangerous.
The half-blood took one step back. Then another. But even if she fled, she would not get far.
Suddenly, the shards of broken glass rose from the ground, turning into floating liquid blobs that hovered between the half-blood and us. They drifted together, swirling and coalescing until the glass reformed. Droplets of wine eased out of Tristan’s sleeve to drip, one by one, into the vessel, turning to mist as they hit the heated glass.
“There.” Pénélope’s voice filled the air, soft and musical, and she took hold of the now-cool stem with slender fingers. “No damage done.”
Tension still clung to the courtyard, everyone watching. Waiting. Then Tristan clapped his hands together. “A nice trick, Pénélope.”
Music once again filled our ears, and Ana?s pushed past her sister. “You’re so dramatic, Tristan.”
“Better than boring,” he shot back, then took her arm and led her off into the corner, both of them laughing. All the men in Trollus could stare at Ana?s as long as they wanted, but there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know it was my cousin who had the heart of Angoulême’s heir. The question in everyone’s minds was whether Tristan would flaunt the rivalry between his father and the Duke by bonding her anyway.
But I wasn’t interested in Tristan and Ana?s right now.
I stood rooted on the spot, unable to tear my eyes from Pénélope. Or to come up with anything clever to say, I thought, wondering when I’d become so tongue-tied around her. Despite the conflict between her family and Tristan’s, we’d been friends since we were children, but that easy camaraderie had burned away recently, replaced with something else entirely.
“You watched the bonding?” she asked, light reflecting off her irises as they darted to the new couple, then back to me. The wistfulness in her voice made my stomach clench, but I managed a nod.
“It was beautiful.”
You are beautiful. And I was glad the shadows cast by my hood allowed me to watch her openly, for a lovelier girl I’d never seen. Her inky hair was coiled in a multitude of braids set with jet pins, revealing her long graceful neck and delicate collarbone. Our fey nature made us all difficult to harm, but there were times she seemed as fragile to me as the glass flowers in our gardens. And should I ever have the privilege to touch her, I’d do so with equal care. “It was,” I managed to say.
“Have you ever wondered what it’s like?”
I shrugged, scuffing my boot against the ground. It was as close to a lie as the magic running through me would allow, because the truth was, I thought about it all the time. Specifically, I thought about what it would be like to be bonded to her.
“I wish…” Her voice faltered, and I opened my mouth to ask what it was that she wished, desperate to have some part of her, even if it were only something as small as a secret desire. But before I could say anything, I felt the press of power coming up behind me, and heard the Duke’s sharp voice say, “Come now, Pénélope. There were others who would have a moment of your time.”
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “Father, I’m–”
“Now.”
She flinched, and I turned with a mind to tell him to leave her alone, but his cold gaze froze my tongue. He looked me up and down, his lip curling up with distaste as he reached out to take Pénélope’s arm. But before he could drag her off to parade in front of whomever he desired a liaison with, the crowd of guests pushed in close, trapping him in place.
A space was forming in the courtyard, Tristan and Ana?s at the center, swords in hand, both their expressions gleeful.
“A duel,” someone shouted, and then my Aunt Sylvie started calling the odds. “Place your bets,” she shrieked, then pointed a finger at the Duke. “Your usual, édouard? Or are you too busy meddling?”
Angoulême’s expression soured, and he waved a hand in her direction as though to drive her away. “Yes, yes. A thousand on Ana?s.”
“Done!”
The guests pressed tighter, and I found myself next to Pénélope. Her skirts brushed against my leg, and I held my breath, barely seeing as Tristan and Ana?s harried each other across the yard to the roaring approval of the aristocracy. Instead, my eyes tracked downward. Her dark purple gown was cut low enough to reveal the soft curve of her breasts, the black lace trim stark against her skin.
Sword clashed against sword, and I jerked my head up, watching Ana?s dive out of the way of Tristan’s blade, her cheek scraping against the paving stones. She was back on her feet in a flash, skin streaked with blood, but her magic already healing the injury, face unblemished within seconds. She lunged at Tristan, sending him stumbling, the crowd shrieking as she landed a blow against his wrist, the crack of bone audible above their noise. He swore and switched to fighting with his left arm, slamming his weapon against hers with brute strength rather than skill, barely managing to hold her off while his wrist healed.