Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(110)
“Someone needs to send for Alex,” Sabine said to Chris, who had come as soon as he’d heard. “She isn’t going to last much longer.”
Though I’d known it was coming, the words were a blow.
For many years, I’d been wondering how this moment would go. Whether, now that I was immortal, her death still had the power to kill me. Whether I wanted it to. Or not. And in the wondering, an idea had come to me, little pieces of a lifelong puzzle falling into place. That idea had blossomed and grown, and turned into the wickedest of all things: hope.
Closing the tear, I made my way to the hedge maze that stretched higher than I could see, meandering through the paths that changed depending on his mood, allowing only those whom he cared to see through to the center. The maze opened up into a clearing, at the middle of which lay a lake of molten fire, its surface heaving and shifting, the air above it shimmering with heat. The sun.
“She’s dying,” I said, and the lake settled, my reflection appearing on the smooth surface. “Will you let me see her through?”
An enormous tear opened in front of me, and with a bittersweet ache in my heart, I stepped back into the world of my birth.
* * *
The opening was in a field on the de Troyes farm, and I stood motionless for a moment, savoring the crisp scent of pine on the spring breeze that still had the bite of winter. Icicles dangled from under the eaves of the barn, drip-dripping into the barrels beneath them with a sound like music. The sun overhead was warm on my back, and I stopped to pat the head of the dog sitting on the front porch before adjusting my cuffs and knocking at the door.
It swung open to reveal Chris standing in the front entry. He’d grown sturdier with age, crow’s feet marking the corners of his blue eyes, but his blonde hair was untouched by grey. He stared at me for a long moment, then said, “You pretty-faced troll bastard. How dare you show up looking like you haven’t aged a day when the rest of us had to go and get old.”
A grin – the first in longer than I cared to admit – pulled up the corners of my mouth. “I’ve missed your compliments. No one else phrases them quite like you do.”
“Did I hear you say…” Sabine pushed past Chris, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Stones and sky,” she whispered. “Is it really you?”
Not waiting for an answer, she flung her arms around my neck. “Oh, Tristan. Cécile, she’s…”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.” Her eyes met mine, and she gave a slow nod of understanding.
They led me inside, where Joss stood next to the same scarred wooden table she’d once sat me at. Without saying a word, she lifted my hand, tears flooding down her cheeks at the sight of my blackened bonding marks. “I’d thought maybe…” She scrubbed a hand across her face, wiping away the damp. “It’s good that you’re here – it will mean everything to her.”
Sabine took my arm at the elbow. “She hid it well, but we all knew she never recovered from losing you,” she said. “And of a surety, she never stopped loving you. Not for a moment.”
My chest tightened, and for a second, it hurt to breathe. “She never lost me.”
Boots clattered down the stairs, and my son stepped into the kitchen. “Aunt Joss–” he started to say, then froze, his inability to use his own magic doing nothing to dampen the sense of mine.
“Alex, this is–”
“I know who he is,” Alex said. “I’ve seen his portraits, and even if I hadn’t… Well, I do own a mirror.”
“The ego does not fall far from the tree,” Chris said, but I ignored him, knowing well what my son’s wit was hiding.
“If you’re here, then…” Alex looked away, jaw tightening as he struggled to contain his emotions, wiping a hand across eyes that were more blue than grey. So like his mother.
I nodded, confirming his fears. But what was there for me to say in this short moment when I was allowed in this world? I’d watched him born, watched him grow from a boy into a man under his mother’s guiding eye. I knew him, but to Alexandre, I was a stranger. Little more to him than the sum of the stories told about me. He was older than I’d been when I left – than how I appeared to him now – somewhat shorter, but filled out by his adult years and hours spent training with his uncle. Though he was everything I could have wanted in a child, sentiment between us would be awkward and strange.
But neither could I leave having said nothing. I was not my father.
“When you are playing cards,” I said, “you might consider losing from time to time. Especially when you’re playing against your Uncle Fred. He takes great offense to cheating, and he’s starting to become suspicious.”
His eyes widened, then he crossed his arms. “I don’t cheat.”
I laughed. “All trolls cheat at cards – it’s in your blood. The lying on the other hand, that came from your mother.” Clapping him once on the shoulder, I started up the stairs, goodbyes seeming unwarranted now that they knew I could see them when I wanted.
Her labored breathing filled my ears before I even entered the room, and for a long time, I stood with my hand on the handle, searching for the courage I needed.
“I know you’re there.” Her voice was weak, but familiar. “So quit skulking, and come in.”