Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(33)

I gave a slight nod.

“Was he a… friend?”

“No.” I turned my head, watching her squish a little pattern into the snow with the toe of her boot, her cheeks pinched in from where she was biting them with her teeth. “You were the other rider.”

Joss nodded without lifting her head. “They needed someone light who could ride fast, and after we saw what he’d done to Nomeny, everyone else was too afraid.”

Everyone but my little sister. The folk around us were all men and women grown – they should’ve been the ones to take the risk. Not a child. But she wouldn’t like being protected while her friends were in danger any more than I would. “It was well done,” I said.

Her eyes met mine. “Why hasn’t Tristan stopped him? Why isn’t he helping us?”

“He’s protecting Trianon.” My voice cracked as I gave the excuse, and I realized for the first time how terrible it sounded. How worthless it made those not in the capital feel, especially my sister, who had met him. Who was family to him. And pragmatically, I saw how swiftly we were losing our chance to convince the people of the Isle to rally to our cause.

“He can’t,” I whispered, and shivered as a cold wind brushed against my neck. “Is there somewhere safe we can talk?”

“Camp’s got a cabin circled with steel,” she said. “You can ride with me.”

I followed her to where her horse was tethered to a branch. She slipped the bit back in the gelding’s mouth, checked the girth, then fiddled with the buckle of her stirrup. “Cécile?”

My skin prickled. “Yes?”

“Is mother all right?”





Chapter Twenty





Tristan





I shifted one of the pieces on the Guerre board I’d made out of light and illusion, then turned to Fred, who’d insisted on standing and watching while I considered my next move. “Yes?”

“There are refugees outside the gates,” Fred said, his face flushed. “They managed to escape the Duke’s militiamen.”

“Tell them to seek refuge in the mountains.” I shifted several of the Duke’s human players closer to my own.

“They have no supplies. Even if they don’t freeze to death, they’ll surely starve.”

“A certain number of casualties are inevitable.” I took a sip of mulled wine and circled the game, nudging Fred out of my way. He huffed out a breath, one hand balling into a fist.

“What is it that you want?” I asked.

“For you to pay attention to me, for starts,” he snapped.

“I am paying attention to you,” I said. “I’m not so simple-minded that I can’t manage two things at once.” Although it would’ve been my preference that he left so that I could focus on puzzling through our enemy’s strategies, which, in my opinion, was a far better use of my time. I told him as much, and his scowl deepened.

“You need to let them into Trianon.”

I shook my head. “They might claim to have escaped my brother, but it’s just as likely they are lying. They could be spies, or worse, insurgents with orders to stir up what chaos they can.”

“Insurgents? There are children amongst them. Stones and sky, there are babies still in their mothers’ arms!”

“Roland is a child.”

Fred threw the jug of wine across the room, where it splattered against the wall, the air filling with the smell of cinnamon and cloves. Souris promptly ran over to the mess and began licking it up.

“A child can point a pistol as well as any man,” I explained. “Letting them in Trianon would put all those whom we know to be loyal at risk, which would be a disservice to them.”

“I’m not turning them away.”

I sighed, and sipped at my drink only to find my cup was empty. “I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter.”

Expletives fountained from his mouth, and I catalogued a few away for future use.

“You can’t turn them away, Your Highness.” Sabine came into the room wearing a gown that was too elaborate and costly to be hers, and judging from the sheen of her hair, she’d heeded my earlier advice and bathed. “It is a strategically poor decision in the long run,” she continued. “The people of the Isle will see you as callous and cruel, and they will hate you for it and seek to betray you.”

“Don’t they understand–”

She held up a hand. “No. They don’t. You must think of another solution.”

I set my cup down and extracted a map of the city from a pile, spreading it out smooth. “Is there room at the Bastille?”

“Putting famers and their families in a prison lousy with vermin and disease is no better.”

Frowning, I traced a finger over the map. “The opera house, then. It is easily secured, and it’s likely more comfortable than any residence these farmers have ever known.”

Sabine closed her eyes and muttered something I couldn’t make out before saying, “It will do.”

“Provide what they need,” I said to Fred. “They’re your responsibility.”

He turned and left without acknowledging the order, and Sabine gave me a black look as she sat, crossing her ankles beneath her chair.