Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(106)

I hadn’t been back since Tristan and I had fled, but he had. Often. The magic holding up the mountain was his once more, the Builder’s Guild all departed to Arcadia. The stone tree, which Thibault had very nearly completed for him, was hidden in the darkness of the cavern.

“Would you like to see?” he asked, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeve.

I shrugged, turning to examine a fountain that I’d always admired so that he wouldn’t see the smile on my face. “I suppose.”

He was silent for a moment, then he laughed. “It’s almost as though you know me.”

“Almost.” I sat on the edge of the fountain, tipping my head back to watch as the magical tree illuminated, its light revealing the stone structure Tristan had dedicated so many years of his life to create.

“It’s lovely,” I murmured, wondering if trolls were even capable of building something that was otherwise. Slender pillars and elegant arches filled the cavern, and it seemed impossible such a graceful structure was capable of holding so much weight.

“Care to see if it works?” Tristan asked.

I blanched, but before I could speak, the light of the tree blinked out. The groan of shifting rock filled the cavern as the rocks settled, and I clutched at Tristan’s arm.

“It feels as though you doubt me,” he said, squeezing my hand and sending a hundred balls of light up toward the ceiling to replace the light of the tree. Little rainbows of color danced in the mist of the waterfall, and slowly, very slowly, I relaxed. “You’re mad.”

He grinned. “Runs in the family.”

I let him lead me toward the palace, the silence of the city seeming strange. “There’s no one here.”

Tristan shook his head. “None of the half-bloods cared to stay, and everyone else…” He lifted one shoulder, face reflecting the sorrow of his heart.

All his people were gone. For as much as the half-bloods shared some of the same blood, they were not the same. And not for the first time, I wondered if he’d be lonely. If all the humans he’d come to know and care for would be enough to replace what he’d lost.

We meandered through the palace, that beautiful structure full of the work of artists with skill the world might never know again, our boots thudding against tiles that inexplicably remained polished to a high shine. Our travels ended at his rooms – our rooms – as I’d known they would, and I sank into the sumptuous covers while I watched him carefully pack certain items into a bag. A few books. A rolled up painting. Miniatures of his mother and aunt. A ring. A broken blade.

As he walked by the closet doors, he shoved them open to reveal the dozens of elaborate gowns I’d worn during my time here. “Put on your favorite.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Why?”

“Why not?”

There was something about the tenseness in his shoulders that told me not to argue. And with his assistance, I donned an emerald velvet evening gown, my fingers brushing against the familiar fabric. With the ease of someone who’d spent a lifetime surrounded by wealth, he plucked matching jewels from the box, brushing aside my hair to fasten them around my neck.

“Take anything else you want,” he said, seeming not to notice when I shook my head.

We moved on, making our way to the throne room. He led me between the statues lining the walls, their eyes brightening with magic as we passed, then dropped my arm to go to enormous golden throne, where he sat. “I’m going to abdicate.”

“Pardon?” It was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “To whom?”

“Aiden.”

I frowned, disliking the choice. When we’d returned to Trianon, I’d woken him from his sleep, only to discover that he’d been mostly aware the entire time. That he’d remained sane was a miracle, the only sign of his tribulations the haunted expression he wore when he thought no one was looking. Zoé had watched over him for most of his ordeal, and he remained as attached to her as though all their time together had been waking. More than attached, and Zoé seemed inclined to be more forgiving than I was of the mistakes he’d made.

“This is an Isle of humans,” he said. “It makes no sense for me to rule. And besides, I was thinking we might travel for a time. See the continent. The world.”

As if I could begrudge him that.

“Besides,” he said. “If he turns out to be dreadful, I can always take it back.” Unhooking the crown that had been left on the back of the throne, most likely by his father, he tucked it in his bag. “There’s one more thing we have to fetch.”

And it was fitting that it was in the glass gardens. Though no doubt he knew the exact location of what he wanted, he led me on a meandering route through the maze of glowing foliage. We crossed the place where his mother and aunt had been slaughtered, but, mercifully, someone had cleaned up the mess, and I said nothing. Eventually we ended up next to the small fountain where, through the tear in the fabric of the world, dripped the élixir de la Lune. The fountain was almost empty, depleted from all the trolls I’d sent back to Arcadia. “Planning on taking another wife?” I asked, as he carefully filled a small vial.

“I can barely keep track of the one I have.” He lifted the glass cylinder and sniffed at it before stoppering it. “I’ve a promise to fulfill.” He gave no further explanation, and I followed him out of the gardens and down to the river, where he turned in a slow circle as though drinking the city in.