Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(103)

“I don’t need magic to kill you,” I said, and struck. He ducked and rolled, coming up swinging, and then we were fighting in earnest. Fists and feet flew, both of us landing blows. I was the better fighter – had trained with Marc, Ana?s, and the twins since I was a child – whereas he’d disdained of combat in order to hide his affliction. But I was burned out, my movements sluggish, and my healing slow. And he knew it – staying on the defense. Wearing me down. And with each spare second, he used handfuls of snow to wipe away Cécile’s spell.

I had to end this now, or he’d regain his magic and I’d be done.

Without warning, he turned and sprinted up the slope, the gully sharpening and turning into a ravine that carved back into the foothills. My breath came in labored gasps as I struggled to keep pace, refusing to let him get away to fight another day. We’d been at this game of Guerre for far too long, and it was time it came to an end.

Cutting through a copse of trees, I saw him once again on his knees in the snow, water beading on his skin where it had melted. Snatching up a rock, I dived into him, nearly sending us both over the edge. Then magic snatched hold of my body and flung me hard.

I smashed into the forest, taking a tree down with me. And his laughter followed.

“Once again, you have erred, boy,” he said, watching me rise with glittering eyes. “And so ends the reign of the fabled Montignys.”

I leaned one hand against a broken tree trunk. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Your Grace.” Then I held up the sharp piece of rock in my hand, one edge coated with crimson.

His eyes widened, and then he felt it. The warm flood of blood from the severed artery at his neck coating his chest and running down to pool at his feet. His magic manifested and struck, but the blow was weak and glancing. He tried again, but his power faltered, and he dropped to his knees.

I walked over to stand in front of him. “Checkmate.” I said, and the light fled from his eyes and he fell to the ground at my feet.

My enemy was dead. But instead of triumph, all I felt was numb, because his death did nothing to bring back all of those I’d lost. An empty victory.

“Well done, little brother, well done.”

I jerked up from Angoulême’s body to see Lessa standing on the opposite side of the gorge, holding Cécile in front of her by the hair.

“Let her go, Lessa,” I said, searching for a way to get across and coming up with nothing. My magic was flickering, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold my weight, and a fall from this height might well kill me.

“Oh, I fully intend to let her go now that you’ve disposed of my master for me.” She spit into the ravine, her face full of hatred. And yet she’d fooled Angoulême for years, made him think she loved him and was loyal. It made the lie that I had lived seem like nothing. Like child’s play.

“I finally made it to the top,” she said. “Everyone who stood in my way is dead, or is about to be dead, and I am ready to take my throne.”

“Take it,” I said, my heart skipping as she leaned Cécile over the edge. “You can have it, just let her go.”

She laughed. “Easy for you to give up, when you know you’re planning on sending all our people back.” She jerked hard on Cécile’s hair, eliciting a cry of pain. “I saw what she did to Roland, but it won’t work for me, will it? Cursed human blood, always holding me back. You’d make me queen of nothing, witch.”

“Lessa, please.” If I could just buy enough time for my magic to strengthen, maybe there’d be something I could do to stop her.

“I offered you the chance to rule with me, Tristan,” she said. “And when you turned me down, I told you I’d make you pay.”

There was a flash of motion behind Lessa, Marc, running toward her, face barely recognizable though the burns.

But he was too late.

“Goodbye, brother,” Lessa said, and she let go of Cécile.

She screamed, and I flung out all the magic I had at my disposal, a slender rope wrapping around her waist. Her weight hit, and it felt like my body was being jerked apart. But the magic was just strong enough to hold her tiny form. Out of my periphery, I saw Lessa and Marc falling, but there was nothing I could do.

My eyes burning with pain, I dragged Cécile up. “I’ve got you,” I said, pulling her close. “I won’t let you fall.” Our enemies were dead, but looking over her shaking shoulder at the two bodies at the base of the ravine, I knew we had not won.



* * *



We found a goat track and picked our way down to the base of the ravine, climbing over the frozen creek and slippery rocks until we found our friends. Chris stood sentry over Lessa’s body. “She’s dead,” he said. “Very dead.”

I didn’t care. All that mattered was the still form next to her.

Sabine knelt on the ground next to Marc, her face streaked with tears and his hand clutched in hers. Blood was pooling around her knees, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

“Is he…?” I found I couldn’t say it.

She shook her head, and I saw that his chest was still moving. His hood had fallen back to reveal his face, and I wanted to pull it forward again. Not for the reasons he’d always worn it, but to hide the silent plea in his eyes. A dull ache filled me, and for a moment, it felt like I’d been the one to fall. Like I was the one who couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.