Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(100)

“What is it you would have me do?” Roland’s voice was acidic. “As you say, he is the one in control.”

I lifted my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze. It was like staring into the eyes of a viper. “So you would live the rest of your life under his thumb, as his puppet, until he decides to do you in?”

Roland’s jaw tightened.

“What if there was another way?” I asked, before his temper snapped. “What if we could make it so that he could no longer use you as his weapon?”

“How?”

I swiftly explained to him how my spell worked. “You would be immortal,” I said. “Your powers would be the same as your great ancestor, the King of Summer, and you’d be able to travel to worlds beyond counting.”

For all he was mad, Roland wasn’t stupid. I didn’t dare mention that if he went through with our scheme, that Angoulême wouldn’t last long in the land of the living: Marc was certain the Duke would have set triggers in the boy’s mind to attack anyone who threatened his master. I didn’t have to say anything – Roland knew as well as anyone that Angoulême had many enemies who would take advantage of his vulnerability.

“If I did this, I’d be king of nothing,” he eventually said.

My hands shook as I debated my response, then I crossed my fingers and said, “You’re already king of nothing. Angoulême rules. But you can take that away from him, if you want.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick,” he said. “How do I know you aren’t lying, and that this isn’t an elaborate scheme to try to kill me?”

I nodded at Martin, who stepped through the tear. “She’s telling the truth, Your Majesty,” the librarian said. “Cécile took the iron from me, and now I can travel back to Arcadia. She will do the same for you, if you wish it.”

“Why?” Roland demanded of me. “I’ve harmed you. Killed your kind. And I…” His throat convulsed. “I killed my brother, to whom you were bonded.”

“And I hate you for it,” I said. “But you are Tristan’s brother, and he loved you for all your faults. For him, I will do this.”

Roland stared at me for a long time, seeing but not, and then he nodded. “Come meet me here and do the spell now, he will notice if I am gone for much longer. Come alone, and Cécile…”

“Yes?” I was so afraid. So terribly afraid.

“Mind your words. If you say the wrong thing, it will not go well for you.”



* * *



Following Martin’s directions, I walked on silent feet through the darkened woods, my body twitching at every rustle in the blackness. Marc was watching, but he couldn’t come close for fear of Roland sensing him, his primary goal to prevent Angoulême or Lessa coming upon us mid-spell. Martin had gone to update the twins, and they were to retreat if they could and engage with Angoulême’s camp when the rest of his followers arrived.

“Breathe,” I told myself. “Just breathe.”

Then magic had me by the hair and I was hurtling through the trees, branches lashing at my body as I passed. I tried to scream, but my jaw was locked shut, invisible rope twisting around my wrists and ankles. I landed heavily in a pile of snow, then small hands were on me, ripping through my pockets and tearing at my clothes before shoving me aside to inspect my bag.

Roland appeared in my line of sight, and smiled. “Can’t be too careful – I know all about your spells.”

My jaw was released from his grip, and I whimpered, curling in on myself.

“Did that hurt?” His breath was hot on my ear.

“Yes.”

He laughed softly, then sat cross-legged next to me. “Good. Now get up and get started. If he comes, I won’t be able to stop him from killing you. He made me promise to leave you to him, if we found you alive.”

I pushed up onto my hands and knees, extracting the flask containing my premixed potion. His eyes tracked my every move. “If this doesn’t work, I won’t be happy,” he warned.

“It will work.” I swallowed hard. “If you would remove your coat and shirt and lay on the ground, Your Majesty. ”

He obliged, the snow immediately melting to form a pool around his overheated skin.

“It will be painful,” I warned.

“I don’t feel pain,” he said, then his eyes flicked to me. “I feel nothing.”

“Then let’s begin.” I poured the potion, and drew upon all the power the world had to offer.





Chapter Sixty





Tristan





I drifted just outside the threshold of consciousness, aware. But not.

It was cold. I was cold. Numb.

Bodies jostled against me, dead limbs clutching and grabbing. Faces full of accusation. They dragged me deeper and deeper until I couldn’t breathe. The weight of a thousand corpses, a thousand victims, pressing down on my chest.

Get off, I screamed at them. I tried. Did everything I could.

The dead do not listen. The dead cannot hear.

I reached for the flame that was my magic, clawed at it with desperate fingers. But instead of burning bright, it guttered. Faltered. Blackness tugged me away from consciousness, further and further until it was only a distant gleam. But something wouldn’t let me go.