The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(3)

“Come on, Ana?s,” Pénélope murmured, bouncing on her toes with excitement, her fingers brushing against mine. I closed my eyes, relishing the inappropriate thoughts that danced through my mind even as I tried to banish them. What was the point in thinking about them, in thinking about her, given that her father would never allow it to happen?

Swords collided. But instead of a sharp clang, the sound of the steel shattering punctuated the air. My eyes whipped to where Ana?s stood scowling at her ruined blade, shards of metal scattered on the ground around her. But a soft exclamation of pain drew my attention back to my more immediate proximity.

But Pénélope was no longer next to me.

I turned, watching as Angoulême dragged her through the crowd with silent determination, no one paying them the slightest bit of attention. But there was no mistaking that there was something wrong. That something had happened.

I nudged those around me to move, and when they didn’t, I pushed, forcing my way after Pénélope and her father.

Then a voice rang through the air. “Halt.”

Instinctively, I froze, as did every other troll in the courtyard, no one daring to tempt the King’s anger. Slowly turning my head, I saw Tristan and Ana?s unmoving, swords lowered. But it hadn’t been them to whom the King had spoken.

Rising from the chair where he’d been watching the duel, the King strolled toward Angoulême, the crowd parting like a tide to let him pass. “Away so soon, Your Grace? Are you certain of the outcome, or is it only that you have more pressing matters to which to attend?”

Angoulême dropped Pénélope’s arm, rotating on his heel to face the King, expression smooth. “My money is on Ana?s. I’m certain she will not cause me to be parted with it.”

The King laughed. “I’m inclined to agree. But what of you, Lady Pénélope? Do you not care to watch your sister triumph? Or perhaps you grow weary of constantly being outshone?”

Pénélope remained silent, her back to the King, and my heart lurched. Why did she not answer? Why did she not turn around? What could possibly cause her to court his wrath?

“You will face me when I’m speaking to you.” His voice was soft. Ominous. I inched in their direction, uncertain what I would do if he harmed her. Any attempt to stop him would be fruitless, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

“Turn around!” The King barked out the command, but he wasn’t angry. Angry men didn’t smile like that.

Pénélope looked at her father. The Duke’s face was as grim as I’d ever seen it, and he nodded once. “Do what he asks. It’s done now.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I only wanted what was best for my sister,” she said, then turned.

Her hand was pressed against the injury, but that did nothing to hide the crimson rivulets of blood tracing the pale skin of her chest. I lurched forward, the sound of Ana?s screaming her sister’s name loud in my ears as she bolted past.

She did not make it far.

Ana?s’s body jerked to a stop, tangled in invisible threads of the King’s magic, her head snapping forward with a crack. She went limp and would have crumpled to the ground, but Tristan caught her, her head lolling against his shoulder, body paralyzed until her magic healed her broken neck.

“Help her,” she pleaded. “Help her, Tristan. Please!”

Face ashen, Tristan lowered Ana?s to the ground. “What’s the point in this, Father? Far be it from me to judge what you find entertaining, but standing here and watching a lady bleed seems beneath you.” Pushing past me, he walked to Pénélope, extracting a handkerchief from his pocket and reaching for the hand she had pressed against the injury. “She must have been struck by a piece of the broken blade. Bad luck, but it will m…” His final word stuck in his throat as the injury was revealed.

A tiny shard of steel protruded from her flesh, blood seeping out around it. But what made my heart lurch were the black lines of iron rot already snaking out and away from the wound. In a flash, Tristan jerked out the shard and pressed the handkerchief to the injury, but it was too late. Everyone had seen.

And everyone knew.

“Tragic,” the King murmured, then glanced over his shoulder at Ana?s, who was dragging herself to her feet. “So very, very tragic.” Then he turned back to the Duke. “The truth always outs, Your Grace. And we must all pay the consequences when it does.”





Chapter One





Pénélope





The sharp clang of steel against steel made my hand twitch and my paintbrush along with it, leaving a streak of black where none had been intended.

“Drat,” I muttered, accepting the proffered rag from my maid and dabbing at the errant paint.

The swords crashed together again and, despite it having been three weeks since the accident, I flinched. I wondered if I ever would not.

Sighing, I rested my wrist on my knee and shifted to watch my sister fight. Ana?s was harrying her opponent backward across the yard, dulled practice blade flashing with the skill not of one trained since she was old enough to hold a sword – though she had been – but of one who’d been born to battle. She fought as I imagined a viper would, so quick I scarce saw her move but she was there, her deadliness a matter of speed and agility rather than brute strength.