Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(104)
“Alive! Thank the stars,” Cécile said. “I can do this. I can fix this. I just need…” She eyed me wildly, then caught sight of the twins limping up the creek bed toward us. “Victoria, hurry,” she shouted. “I need you.”
“No,” I said, taking hold of her upper arms and drawing her back.
“What do you mean, no?” she demanded, twisting to look up at me.
“No magic. No spells,” I said. “Leave him be.”
“But he’ll die!”
I didn’t answer, only held her steady and away from my cousin, my best friend. Victoria was on her knees next to him, shoulders shaking as she wept, but when she lifted her head, her eyes were full of understanding.
Cécile was thrashing in my arms. “You can’t do this, Tristan. You can’t let him die. Please let me help him.”
But she wouldn’t be helping him. For my own sake, not his, I’d forced him to live when Pénélope had died. I wouldn’t do it again. This was his decision, and he’d made it. Whether I agreed didn’t matter. It wasn’t my choice.
“Please,” Cécile whispered, but she ceased struggling. And she wasn’t speaking to me. “Marc, please don’t leave us. We need you. I need you.”
His gaze shifted to hers, and whatever she saw there made her shoulders slump. She nodded once, then stepped away from me. Then taking a deep breath, she sang. It was the lament she’d sung for élise, and it echoed hauntingly through the ravine and up into the night sky. Sabine and Victoria moved back, and I dropped to my knees and took my friend’s hand.
His heart was faltering, his breathing ragged and uneven. It would not be long. But what could I say in the space of moment that would do justice to the troll who’d been like an older brother to me? What was I without him? What would I become without him? The world and fate and the stars had given him nothing. Had stolen away almost everything that had mattered to him. And yet despite all he had endured, he was twice the man I’d ever be. If the world were just and fair, I would be the one lying broken on the rocks.
But the world was not just. And it most certainly wasn’t fair.
Say something. I clenched my teeth, desperately searching for the words that would convey how much he meant to me. How badly losing him would hurt. How much I didn’t want to let go. Then he caught my eye, and I knew I didn’t have to say anything all. And in the knowing, I was able to speak. “I hope you find her,” I said, my voice cracking as I clenched his hand tight.
The light in his eyes glowed bright for that last faltering heartbeat, then burned out.
Marc was gone.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Cécile
It took time for me to forgive Tristan, and even longer to understand the choice he’d made, though I never really accepted it. Marc’s loss was a hurt that was felt by many, and whenever I saw Sabine sitting alone, face marked with grief, my anger flared anew, because there had been a chance. A chance for life, for love, for a future, and now…
I did not know the extent of the relationship between the two of them. How far their sentiment for each other went or whether it had been acknowledged. Sabine never said, and I knew better to ask. Whatever had happened was hers to share. Or not. But I knew he’d left a mark on her soul that would not soon fade, if it ever did.
There are some who’d say she hadn’t known him long enough to be so affected. I knew better. There are a rare few in this world with the power to touch the hearts of all those they meet, but Marc was one of them. He’d been my first friend in Trollus, and not a day went by that I wasn’t stricken with an anguish so intense it stole my breath. For Marc. And for everyone else who’d fallen.
The endless tasks demanding my attention helped take my mind off all our friends who had been lost in the battle I’d started. There were countless injured humans who needed a witch’s skill, and Marie dedicated herself to tracking down witches across the Isle who could help, personally guaranteeing their safety. The time of witch burnings was over.
And so was the time of the trolls. Day after day, I worked my magic on the full-bloods, sending them off into Arcadia through a tear that always appeared at the opportune moment, the trolls stepping through wide-eyed and never looking back. I enlisted some of the other witches to help, because once the flow started, it seemed no one intended to give me a moment’s respite, even to sleep.
Tristan worked tirelessly to rebuild that which had been destroyed, opening the Trollus coffers to import the food, grain, and supplies that the Isle needed to replace what had been burned. He frequently rode about on a wagon with Chris, distributing the goods to those who needed them, returning filthy, but in high spirits, to the suite of rooms we’d once again taken command of in the H?tel de Crillon. Those nights we made up for all the time we’d been apart, lying tangled in each other’s arms until dawn, and our respective duties, dragged us out into the sunlight.
Still, there were times I’d start awake in a cold sweat, convinced that Angoulême had returned, and that we were once again at war. Tristan, too, suffered dreams. Lying awake next to him, I could feel the grief and guilt that plagued his mind, though he refused to speak of them in the morning. Neither of us, I thought, were quite willing to believe we were to be given the chance to live the life we’d dreamed. That we could be together and that no one would have to pay the price of our happiness. But as the days turned into weeks, I dared to hope. And I think Tristan did, too.