Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(22)

“Only if I don’t get to her first,” Vincent said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back until his chair creaked dangerously. “Marc, you can take Roland.”

“Thank you for that.” Marc leaned forward, dropping the magic that hid his face so that I could see him. “Cécile, it’s the only option. We cannot allow Roland and Lessa to continue unchecked, and we dare not send Tristan out with the power Winter has over him unless there is no other choice.”

“You mean if you’re dead.” My eyes burned.

Marc sat back. “Yes.”

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip. “Then we need to even the odds.” I turned to Tristan. “I’m going with them.”

I expected a knee-jerk reaction from him. An instantaneous no. But he had expected this. “You’re in the same circumstance as I am, Cécile. She wants to get her hands on you, so she can get to me. They’ll be watching for you, and not just the fey, but the trolls as well. You’re too recognizable.”

I pulled the knife from my belt. “I can remedy that.” I sliced the blade across my braid, as close to my head as I could get without risking my neck. Then I dropped the slowly unraveling crimson plait on the table. “I’m going with them. End of story.”



* * *



“Oh, Cécile.” Sabine stood back to inspect her handiwork, giving a slight shake of her head.

“It’s just hair.” I said the words, but as I tugged the black locks hanging just above my shoulders, I knew I was lying. It was vain and foolish, but my hair had meant a lot. “It will grow back.”

“And the black will come out, I promise.” She hugged me, the long plait of my hair falling over her shoulder. It would be the other part of our deception: Sabine, disguised as me, going out onto the towers with Tristan.

I rubbed the dark that had transferred from my hair to her shoulder, and took one final glance in the hand mirror, confirming that the cosmetics she’d applied had satisfactory darkened my lashes and brows. I wore trousers and a coat that had been hastily altered to fit, and the scarf Sabine handed me completed my disguise. It wasn’t as good as troll magic, but unlike magic, it was firmly in place.

“Sabine, I need to speak with Cécile.”

I’d felt Tristan enter the room, but I took my time turning around, not entirely desirous of him seeing me like this.

“You look dreadful,” he said, stepping aside so that Sabine could leave the room, seemingly oblivious to the dark glare she cast his direction.

“I didn’t realize your feelings were so dependent on my appearance,” I said, crossing my arms.

“They aren’t.” And before I could blink, he was across the room, lifting me up and against him. “But I’m tired of disguising you and sending you off while I wait to see if you’ll return.”

“I always come back,” I murmured, gently kissing his forehead, the heat of his skin against my lips making me burn hot in other places. “I will always come back. And besides, you aren’t sending me. I…” Frowning, I straightened so I could meet his gaze, seeing his self-satisfaction even as I felt it. “You knew I’d insist on going.”

“Of course I knew,” he said. “Why do you think your brother was in such a foul temper?”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Predictable? No.” He buried his face in my neck, teeth catching at the skin of my throat. “Steadfast and constant? Yes. Brave? Always.”

He walked backwards, then fell onto the bed so that my knees rested on either side of him on the coverlet. One gloved hand gripped my waist, then slid over the curve of my hip, while the other cupped the nape of my neck, gently tugging me downward. The feel of leather against my skin irritated me for reasons I could not quite articulate, and I resisted, bracing my arm against his shoulder. “Then why the pretense?”

He turned his head, cheek pressing against the bed as he stared into the fire burning in the hearth. “In case I was wrong.”

His doubt gnawed at me, and I sensed it was for reasons other than the subject at hand. And also that he had no intention of talking about them. Sighing, I relaxed my arm and lowered myself to his chest, listening to the measured thud of his heart. I wanted to stay like this for as long as I could, content in his arms, the warm glow of the fire in my eyes. But there was no time. For us, there was never time. “Tell me.”

Tristan’s hand dropped from my waist. Lifting me up slightly, he extracted something from his coat pocket. I blinked and focused, then frowned as I saw it was Anushka’s grimoire, the latch unfastened. “You left it open after you helped Aiden,” he said. “I found it when I went back to the council chambers. There’s a spell in here that I think we could use.”

Rolling me over so we were facing each other, our legs tangled together, he held up the grimoire and illuminated the text with a ball of light. “It’s near the back,” he muttered.

Flip, flip. His gloved thumb turned the pages, and my head felt light as though I were about to faint as I waited to see where he would stop. Because somehow, I knew what page he was looking for.





Chapter Fourteen





Tristan





“Does this spell work?” I asked her, wishing that I didn’t have to. Wishing that I’d never picked up the grimoire and flipped through the pages. Hating the pragmatic and logical part of myself that had seen the spell and immediately considered how it could be used for my benefit.