Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(101)

A sound, sharp and repetitious. Familiar.

“Tristan!” A voice I knew well. “Don’t you dare be dead, you stupid pretty-faced troll!”

Then the weight was pushed off my chest, the bodies shoved away, and hands, warm with the heat of life, were pulling me out of the cold.

I opened my eyes.





Chapter Sixty-One





Cécile





Roland opened his eyes and sat up, staring at one misty hand as though he couldn’t believe it was his own.

“Roland,” I said. “Are you all right?”

His form solidified, and I eased back, ready to run if I had to. Just because he couldn’t harm me with magic any longer didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of ripping out my throat. “Roland?” I repeated.

He lifted his head, and I sensed in the moment that his eyes met mine that his madness was gone. That in removing the iron from his body, I’d stripped away the poison twisting his mind. “I’m sorry it hurt,” I said, gently touching his hand.

He flinched, and I wondered how long it had been since someone had comforted him, if they ever had. If he had even wanted it. Then warm fingers clutched at mine, his chin trembled, and I knew the pain of the spell was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. How much terror had he caused in his young life? How many had died at his hands? His parents and his aunt, and, in his mind, his brother. Worse, how much emotional neglect had he suffered at Angoulême’s hands? His iron madness had been what drove him to commit all those atrocities, but now it was gone. And he was going to have to find a way to live with what he’d done.

A sob racked through his shoulders, and in a movement almost too fast to see, he curled up in a little ball, my fingers clutched painfully tight in one of his hands. In the same moment, I felt Tristan regain consciousness and relief thundered through my heart.

“Roland, Tristan’s alive,” I said. “He’s all right.”

He went still, then peered up at me with hope. Then his gaze flicked over my shoulder, and in a blur of speed, he slammed into me, knocking me flat on my back. I struggled against him, convinced that I’d been wrong about his madness being gone, when a wave of heat washed over our heads.

“You little human bitch,” Angoulême snarled. “What have you done?”

“Cured him,” I shouted, allowing Roland to pull me to my feet. He stepped between me and the Duke, and I wondered if he knew his powers had changed. “Good luck using him now, you abusive coward.”

“Cured him?” The Duke’s hands were balled into fists as he stalked toward us. “Cured him? You’ve ruined him – now he is nothing. He is worth nothing!”

Roland flinched, but stood his ground.

“Feeling brave, are we, you miserable little wretch?” Angoulême lifted a hand, face twisted with fury. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The air filled with fire, but instead of incinerating us, it blasted around a shield of magic. Marc stepped into the clearing. “It’s over, Angoulême,” he said. “Surrender.”

The Duke spat in the dirt at Marc’s feet. “We’ve been through this before, you broken fool. You can’t defeat me.”

“Perhaps it’s time we put that to the test.”

Angoulême laughed. “Kill her, boy.”

Roland stiffened. Slowly, he turned to face me, and I saw tears were running down his face. “I’m sorry, Cécile,” he said. “I must obey.” Then he lunged.

Stars burst in my eyes even as I heard explosions punctuating the air as Angoulême and Marc fought. Magic ripped Roland off me, tossing him into some bushes, but he was back in a flash, body turning to mist as he ran through Marc’s defenses, solidifying just before he struck. I rolled, his fists striking the earth where my head had been seconds before.

But he was on me in an instant, fingers clawing and bruising my legs as he clamored up my body, reaching for my throat. Then Martin appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Roland’s waist, and pulling him off me. Prying open the boy’s lips, he emptied a handful of gleaming blue liquid into Roland’s mouth and let go of him. Roland stood gaping at him for a heartbeat, then a tear opened in the world and Martin stepped through, dragging the troll prince with him.

But I wasn’t out of danger yet.

Angoulême and Marc battled on, magic flaring bright with concussive blasts that made my ears ring. Swaths of trees were leveled while others were reduced to a smoking ruin. And beyond, I could see the twins had brought the battle to the camp to keep Angoulême’s people from helping their master. Ignoring the aching pain of my body, I rolled behind a boulder, keeping my head down as I watched.

For all of the Duke’s bluster, it seemed an even match, both dripping sweat as they dodged and attacked. But like Pénélope, Angoulême had spent his life avoiding any chance of injury, and that sedentarism had come with a cost. His breath came in great winded gasps, and he began to trip and stumble as he dodged Marc’s blows.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Come on.”

Then he fell, landing on his side in the mess of blood the spell on Roland had left behind. He struggled backwards, barely deflecting Marc’s next attack.