The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(30)
But while that fleeting few minutes of intimacy slipped further into the fabric of my imagination, the notion that my friends – and my sister – formed the heart of the sympathizer cause became more and more of a reality to me. Over and over, I ran through the events of that day, and those that had preceded them. From Marc arranging for the human trader to transport contraband, to the twins being behind the strange order, to my father’s inference that he’d expected to catch the humans with propaganda. Most of all, I reflected on how Ana?s had lured my father to the King’s audience where he articulated how little regard the upper classes possessed for half-blood life minutes before sympathizer propaganda was released attacking that very belief system. All of it seemed like a perfectly orchestrated plan to stir up anger against the King and the aristocracy, and one that could only have been accomplished by players at the highest levels.
And I’d put everything they were working toward in jeopardy.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t known. That I’d been motivated to rid my sister, Marc – and all of Trollus – of a future ruler who I’d believed was a villain. A tyrant in the making. Good intentions didn’t make up for the fact that I’d given my father information to help in his war against the only faction in Trollus attempting to do any good. Which meant I needed to find a way to undo the damage that I’d done.
* * *
Opportunity came in the form of one of my father’s gatherings. A select group of aristocrats arriving under the cloak of illusion through the open front door, the only clue to their presence the massing of power under our roof. A group of trolls who, for reasons unknown, wanted no one in Trollus to know they were meeting in one place.
Which, in my mind, meant they were discussing something worth hearing, especially when they all ventured into the atrium.
Easing open one of the delicate doors, I slipped off my shoes and crept into the glass structure. This was my father’s abode, and for that reason alone, I avoided it unless in my sister’s company. Still, I knew the paths through the garden like the back of my hand, as well as the best places to hide.
Extinguishing my light, I drifted through the maze of stone sculptures and fountains, the air full of mist from water that sprayed and soared in every direction, whether it belched from the mouths of dragons or created arching paths for dancing pixies. Streams gurgled under delicate bridges, tiny fish made of gold and jewels glittering in the light of the artfully placed lamps. Heated sconces released the scent of gardenias, and from above, raindrops fell in an occasional storm, making a soothing pitter-patter against the ground below.
At the center of the oasis sat a large gazebo, and it was from there that I felt the press of magic from at least a dozen powerful trolls. I could hear nothing over the echoing sound of running water, which was likely why they had chosen this meeting place. At best, they discussed secrets, at worst, treason against the crown. My bet, my hope, was they discussed both. The area around them would be warded, but I knew my father and his traps. And how to avoid them.
Reaching one of the small bridges, I crouched next to it and formed a small raft of magic that I placed atop the water. Hooking my shoe heels into the bodice of my dress, I knelt on the raft, holding onto the bridge until I had my balance, an illusion of running water balanced over my head. Then I let go.
The raft wobbled and rocked as it made its way down the stream, and I held my breath as I floated over the perimeter of my father’s ward, the ground and stream bed coated with magic set to do horrible things to anyone who set foot where they were unwanted. That included me, should I fall in and touch the bottom.
Voices reached my ears.
“It could be nothing more than rumors, you know,” a woman said, and I recognized the voice of the Comtesse Báthory. “Half-blood wishful thinking that swirls and grows until fiction becomes fact because they’re too stupid to realize the difference? You do recall these same sort of whispers grew some twenty years ago, and nothing came of that.”
“They aren’t just rumors.” My father’s voice was sour. “And it isn’t just half-bloods. There is support for the sympathizer cause growing amongst certain of the guilds, and possibly even into the ranks of the aristocracy. For that to be occurring means they’ve found a leader who can do more than just spin words – whoever it is has power.”
The raft wobbled, and I clenched my teeth against a gasp. Then I slowly lifted my head. I was approaching the gazebo; the Comtesse, with her hair piled a foot or more above her head, sat on one of the divans with her back to me. My father sat to her left and my grandmother next to him, but I could see nothing more of their company but the balls of light hanging over their heads.
“And you think this leader is Tristan de Montigny?” Báthory laughed, and the sound made me cringe. She was a murderess of some fame even within Trollus, the stories of what she did to her victims enough to curdle even the King’s blood. He’d come down hard on her recently, which explained why she was in my father’s company. Her interest was in carnage, not in politics.
“My, my, how your tune has changed, Your Grace,” she continued. “Not so long ago you seemed willing to turn a blind eye to any of the boy’s faults if only he kept his sights on your precious Ana?s. Now that we all know her blood is faulty, you seek to throw mud on his character in the most ridiculous of ways.”