Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(107)

“The time of the trolls is over,” he said, though it seemed the explanation was more for his benefit than mine. “To the half-bloods this place is nothing more than a broken cage – none will ever willingly live here again. And I do not wish to see it taken by those who care only for its riches, who would steal the gold, the art, the knowledge, and use it for their advantage.”

“What do you propose?” I asked, my chest aching with a pain I couldn’t explain.

“It’s a tomb,” he said. “And it’s time it was sealed.”

Gripping my hand, he led me down the river toward the gates, and as we walked, I felt the heat of magic manifesting. When we were almost at the River Road, the roar of falling rock shattered my ears. Twisting to look over my shoulder, I watched as column after column collapsed, the rock of Forsaken Mountain falling from the sky to smash into the city below. Elysium disappeared, then the library, then the palace. The glass gardens – so many long years of labor – destroyed in a moment. Tears flooded down my cheeks, but Tristan didn’t look back.

Not once.

Instead he drew me into the tunnel of the road, his magic stalling the collapse of the mountain until we stood on the beach, sunlight on our faces. Then he turned back to look at the rock slide that had given him so much purpose and nodded once.

Trollus was gone.



* * *



I’d returned to my laboratory to pack what things I wanted while Tristan had gone to the castle to give Aiden the keys to the kingdom and to deliver the élixir to Zoé to use as she wished. I sang as I packed, thinking about the plans we’d made on our ride back to Trianon. The places we’d go. The things we’d see.

“You’re beautiful when you smile like that.”

I turned to see Tristan leaning against the door frame, coat unbuttoned and shirt loose at the throat. His hair was longer than he usually kept it, inky black where it brushed against the white of his collar. Silver eyes unearthly bright and beautiful, and for the first time that I’d known him, free of concern. “Like what?” I asked.

“Like you’re happy.”

“Then expect to see it often,” I said, crossing the room. “Because I am.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him, relishing the feel of his lips against mine. The heat his touch sent racing through my veins.

“I love you,” he murmured into my ear, the warmth of his breath making my body ache. I parted my lips to respond in kind, when the smell of summer washed across my face. I turned in his arms in time to the tear open wide, and the King of Summer stepped into our world.

“Your Majesty,” Tristan said, and to my surprise, he stepped away from me and bowed low.

I stood my ground, goosebumps rising to my skin despite the balmy temperature of the room.

The King inclined his head, then turned his attention to me. “You owed me a debt, Cécile de Montigny.”

I lifted my chin. “And I have paid it. You have your people back.”

His head tilted, and I found I had to look away, my eyes burning as though I were staring at the sun. “Not all of them.”

“You cannot have the half-bloods,” I said, catching hold of the fabric of my gown and clenching it tight. “They belong as much here as they do there, more so, in fact. If I tried to take the iron from their flesh, they’d die.”

“Not them,” he said. “Their magic and that of all those born to them I will bind by name.”

“Then…” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t breathe.

“No,” Tristan said, and the word sounded torn from his throat. “I will not go.”

The Summer King’s words rang through my mind: Your debt has been called due, Cécile de Montigny. I will have all my people back, and you will make it happen.

All.

All.

“Please.” Tristan dropped to his knees. “I’ll do anything. Promise anything. Bind my magic, take it away, I don’t care. Just don’t make me leave her.”

The fairy said nothing. He didn’t need to. The weight of my debt was enough.

My body moved, picking up the pouch of lobelia and then the basin, my hand mechanically preparing the potion even as sobs tore from my chest.

“Cécile, don’t.” Tristan jerked the basin out of my hands and tossed it aside with a clatter. “Please don’t do this.”

“I have to.”

The pouch burst into flames in my hands, the flowers incinerated but my hands untouched. “Fight it,” he pleaded.

But it was like stopping an ocean tide. A hurricane wind. The sands of time. It could not be done. Flowers burst up through the floorboards, the reek of lobelia filling the air, cloying and horrible. Tristan tore at them, the petals turning to ash at his touch, but more sprang up in their place.

“Tristanthysium,” the King said. “Abide.”

His fury made my mind scream in pain, but he could not deny his name, especially when uttered by the one who had given it to him. Tristan dropped to his knees in front of me, and I flung my arms around him, refusing to let go.

But it was for naught.

The spell tore from me, magic rising from all directions to take back what belonged to this world. I wrenched the iron from his veins, feeling his pain as though it were my own even as I forced his magic to heal the damage I was causing. And when it was done, I was holding on to nothing.