The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(42)

“I know.” She kissed my cheek. “But it’s not your choice, it’s mine. Now lower me down – I need to get home before Ana?s notices I’m gone.”

I did what she asked, but I found I couldn’t let it go. So, knowing that I might very well have cause to regret it, I dressed and made my way to the palace to find my uncle, the King.



* * *



“He’s walking in the gardens with the Queen, my lord,” élise, one of my aunts’ half-blood servants, said.

Which could be better, I thought. Queen Matilde was kind, and my Aunt Sylvie was perhaps the only individual in Trollus willing to talk back to my uncle. Both of them might be willing to advocate on Pénélope’s behalf.

I followed the sense of power through the gardens until I caught sight of the three walking slowly along the paths. My uncle had his hands clasped behind his back and was listening to my Aunt Sylvie, but the conversation was shielded, so I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

I silently rehearsed my speech, explaining the danger Pénélope was in, appealing to the value of every full-blooded life in our declining world; to the benefit of caring for Ana?s’s sister, given she was set to inherit the duchy and would be a valuable ally to Tristan; to–

“Quit lurking in the shadows, boy!” Aunt Sylvie’s voice made me jump, and I obediently walked toward them, trying to calm the rapid thunder of my heart in my chest.

“Your Majesties; Your Grace,” I bowed low.

“Nephew.” The King fixed me with a piercing stare, as though I’d interrupted something far more meaningful than a stroll through the gardens. “What do you want?”

“I…” The words froze on my tongue. Coming here had been stupid. A waste of time. What I’d intended to say appealed to an individual’s empathy and innate decency, of which my uncle had none.

“He’s here about Angoulême’s girl,” Aunt Sylvie said, gesturing for me to come into the open space, the center of which was dominated by the élixir fountain, the blue liquid glowing in the stone basin.

“Ana?s? What about her?” There was an unexpected edge to my uncle’s voice, a frown furrowing his brow until my aunt shook her head and said, “Pénélope.”

I scuffed my boot toe against the ground. “He treats her poorly.”

The King’s face soured. “If he treated her poorly, she’d be dead.”

“He threatens her life.”

“Words.”

Frustration burned across my skin, because I was limited in what I could say. My uncle was the last person to whom I could confess that Pénélope had been set to spy on me in the hopes of proving I was a traitor. “What if they aren’t? And even if they aren’t, she lives in terror. It’s not right.”

The Queen made a soft clucking noise of dismay, but said nothing.

“And what precisely do you wish me to do about it?”

“Take her out of his home,” I said. “Make her a ward of the state.”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

Because it was the right thing to do.

Not waiting for my answer, he said, “Just how well do you think Angoulême will take me plucking his eldest daughter from his home? Embarrassing him before all of Trollus?”

“What do you care?” My voice was unintentionally sharp. “You don’t even like him.”

“Like him?” His eyebrow rose. “What difference does that make? The Duke is a powerful troll who holds the ears of many other powerful trolls. Anger him, and I anger them.”

“So you won’t do it because you’re afraid of him.”

A soft hiss of warning escaped Aunt Sylvie’s lips, but it was the Queen, my Aunt Matilde, who rested her hand on my uncle’s arm, as though her delicate grip could restrain him. Then I thought of Pénélope, and thought maybe it could.

“Is this the sort of advice you’ll give your cousin when he ascends the throne?” he demanded. “Will you tell him to risk political suicide and the downfall of Trollus for the sake of one life?”

Maybe. “She’s popular with the people,” I said instead. “It would create goodwill.”

“Amongst those who already hold ill will toward the Duke. It gains me nothing.”

“He has Roland. Why shouldn’t you have the wardship of one of his children?”

His eyes narrowed. “Roland was part of another transaction.”

“Which no longer exists,” I snapped, not caring that I wasn’t supposed to know about Tristan’s ill-fated betrothal to Ana?s. “Tell him you want Pénélope or you’re taking Roland back.”

“That’s not a deal I can make,” he responded, and though I knew there was more to that answer, all I heard was the refusal. He wouldn’t help her.

There was nothing I could say. No argument that would sway him. Which left only one option. “Do it as a favor to me, then,” I said. “I’d be in your debt.”

The only sound was the faint drip, drip of the élixir fountain behind me, and I wished for a moment that I could slip through the tear in the fabric of the world from which the precious liquid came.

Then, to my surprise, the King glanced at Aunt Sylvie, silent communication passing between them. I knew she sat on his council, but given their contentious relationship, she was the last person I’d expect him to take advice from. I held my breath, watching as she stared thoughtfully at the ground between us.