Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(16)

“Without risk?” Tristan’s voice was toneless, but somehow managed to be filled with incredulity and admonition.

Ignoring the comment, I continued, “She came when I called, and bargained with me. In exchange for a song, she agreed to show me our enemy.” I dragged my gaze up from the floor to meet Tristan’s eyes. “She showed me Angoulême, Roland, and Lessa.”

“She?”

I nodded. “The Winter Queen.”

Victoria whistled through her teeth, but I barely heard it through the jolt of trepidation I felt from Tristan. “And?” he asked.

An explanation of what I’d seen poured from my lips, but as valuable as the information was, I was more interested in his reaction to the Queen’s comments about his father. I repeated the conversation word for word, and then held my breath, waiting.

Nothing.

“She thinks Angoulême is the enemy we should focus on.”

Tristan let out a humorless laugh. “No, she withheld what you really wanted so that she could get what she really wanted. Which was?”

I swallowed, my chest feeling tight. “She wanted me to arrange a meeting with you. She wanted to trick me into getting you outside these walls. But ultimately, what she wanted was your name.”

Everyone in the room went quiet.

“Obviously I declined that bargain,” I said.

“I suppose we can consider that a win,” Tristan said, and my spine stiffened.

“Don’t you take that tone with her.” Sabine stormed up and inserted herself between Tristan and me. “We might have taken a risk in talking to those creatures, but at least we accomplished something. We know which of our enemies is most worth our attention and at least part of their plan, including a hint as to where the Duke might be hiding. And we know that monster who styles herself as a Queen has an interest in getting you out into the open. What have you done?” She waved her hand at the bloodstains. “Let Aiden run willy-nilly through the castle despite knowing he was under your father’s control. Let him kill the Regent. Glassed us in with magic that so far hasn’t protected us from anything. Stones and sky, you should be thanking Cécile for arriving when she did or Aiden would be dead and Marie, the only ruler you could expect the soldiers to follow, would hate your miserable guts.”

“If you two hadn’t provided such a timely distraction, the Regent wouldn’t be dead,” Tristan retorted. “And your clue to Angoulême’s intended hiding place is hardly helpful. ‘The faces of Ana?s’s ancestors?’” He shook his head sharply. “It could be the ruins of one of their old properties or a stockpile of artwork and possessions. She might not even have meant her family specifically, but rather something related to the fey. Nor need it be on the Isle: for all we know, he intends to catch a ship to the continent and run things from there. Distance means little when one has a name.”

It was then that I tuned them out, their bickering nothing but a drone of noise in the background. My cheek stung and I was exhausted from days without sleep, but I knew if I closed my eyes, all I would see was Roland walking across the Isle and slaughtering as he went. Tristan and I had unleashed him on the world, and what were we doing to stop him? Fighting amongst ourselves.

“Well?”

I blinked, realizing that everyone was staring at me. “Pardon?”

Tristan’s face darkened further. “What do you suggest we do?”

I swallowed into the empty pit that was my stomach. “We can’t hope to fight a war on two fronts and win. Your father is the lesser evil. For now, we need to join forces with him to stop Angoulême and Roland.”

I swayed against the wave of emotion that smashed into me, and it was an effort to meet Tristan’s eyes. The room became uncomfortably hot, the itchy tingle of too much magic in too small of a space marching across my skin.

“No.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but everyone heard it. Stepping around Sabine, he walked out of the room.

I tried to go after him, but Marc stepped into my path. “Let him go.” He nodded once at Victoria, and she swiftly departed. “She’ll calm him down.”

“How many people will have to die before he realizes he’s making a mistake?” I asked, rubbing a hand across my face. It came away coated in gold glitter – remnants of my costume from a performance that seemed a lifetime ago.

Marc caught hold of my elbow and led me over to the table. “Sit.” To Sabine, he said, “She needs to eat something – can you arrange for that?”

She didn’t answer, but her shoes made soft little thuds as she crossed the room. Marc sat next to me, and though he was silent, his presence was as much a comfort as it had always been.

“It is hard for any of us to imagine Thibault as an ally,” he eventually said. “But for Tristan…”

“I understand that.” I rested both elbows on the table. “I hate him, too. He’s hurt me. Hurt those I care about.”

“Do you understand?”

I lifted my head, surprised.

“I do not wish to marginalize the harm Thibault has caused you,” he said, gloved finger tracing a knot in the wood of the table. “But you’ve been under his thumb for a matter of months, whereas we’ve been there our entire lives, Tristan especially. Almost his entire life has been predicated upon the belief that his father is the enemy – the man he needed to defeat at whatever cost. To set that aside – even if it is the correct choice – is no small thing.”