Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(34)

We’d been through this earlier, her explaining that my reactions were inappropriate, hurtful, and offensive. That Cécile’s magic had wiped away not only the emotions I felt from her, but also my own. I believed her; knew, logically, that my mind was altered from its normal state. But I felt no displeasure or discomfort with the change – quite the opposite, as my ability to focus on a singular problem for hours at a time could only be an advantage.

“Is Cécile alive?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What if she’s hurt? Would you know?”

I shrugged. “Likely.”

“What if she needs your help?”

It seemed to me that Sabine was missing the logic behind why Cécile had created the seeds in the first place. “If it is dire, she can always use my name.” I refrained from adding that if there were a way to eliminate that particular avenue, I’d do it. Cécile had all but offered to promise never to use my name, but I hadn’t taken her up on it. That had been a mistake.

“I’m going up into the tower,” she said. “Are you coming?”

I shook my head. With Fred gone and Sabine lingering outside, I’d have a rare moment alone to think, and I intended to use it. Ignoring her exasperated snort, I waited until I heard the click of the door latch shutting, and then sat on a chair and let myself slip into my thoughts.

Nearly everything I knew about the fey was information I’d been told or read. Nearly all, because, for a brief moment at the height of summer, I’d been in Arcadia and met the Winter Queen. It was into that memory that I delved.

It had hurt. The moment when my heart had stopped and I’d felt the bond between Cécile and me sever almost completely, the few frayed threads doing nothing to combat the feeling of loss. The empty void in my mind where my sense of her, and all her kaleidoscope of emotions, had lived.

Darkness.

Then the scent of grass and flowers and rain had filled my nose, and I’d opened my eyes to meet the verdelite gaze of a woman, her breath icy against my cheek. “Greetings, mortal.”

I’d tried to scramble back, but my wrists and ankles had been bound to the earth with ice, which, inexplicably, I couldn’t break. I reached for my power, but it wasn’t there.

“The last fleeting moment of consciousness of a soulless thing has no magic, mortal.” She smiled, revealing a mouth full of fangs. “You’ve little time – she has little time – and we’ve much to discuss.”

Cécile. If I was dead, then she… “Who are you,” I demanded, though I already knew. This was Arcadia. We were in a meadow, and all around things grew lush and fragrant. Alive. Except, where her hands rested, the grass was brown. Death snaked out and away from her, leaves changing color and falling from the trees, petals withering into dried little husks. Which should not be possible. Not at the height of summer, in the depths of my uncle’s court.

Winter.

“What do you want?” I demanded, trying to maintain focus. But it was hard, because I was dead and I had not been through with life. There had been so much left to do, and Cécile…

Winter ran one clawed finger down my cheek, and I felt the burning cut of cold. The silver lace of bonding marks covered her knuckles, the back of her hand, her wrist. “It is a cruel thing,” she whispered, “to be tied to the one whom you hate. To battle and war for eternity while knowing you will never see your enemy’s demise, for it would also be your own.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snarled. But the bravado was false, because I could feel myself fading. Soon I would be nothing, and Cécile… Please live, I silently pleaded. Please try.

Amusement filled the fairy queen’s gaze, and she said, “Summer was in the bloom of its power those many millennia ago when He allowed his brother, and his brother’s warriors, to wander in your world unchecked. He was so convinced of his invulnerability with me quelled and chained to his throne that he did not see the danger. But I did. And it was a sweet thing indeed to watch him lose so much out of his own arrogance.”

Her eyes were bright and vicious, and I wanted to tell her to get on with it. To tell me what it was that she wanted, because she would not be wasting her time on this conversation if moments later I’d cease to exist.

“There was a reason no fey of ice and snow were trapped in your miserable world,” she said. “I protect my people. I keep them safe.” Bending over, she kissed my forehead, and it was all I could do not to scream in pain. “And now, Winter is once again in power.”

“What. Do. You. Want.” I said the words between my teeth. Please don’t let me be too late.

“I can send you back.” She sat on her heels, the ice disappearing from my wrists and ankles. “The sluag are mine. Their power is my power. I can bring you back to life.” She licked her lips, her tongue silvery and forked. “For a price.”

I’d give her anything. I knew it. She knew it. “Name it.”

“A life-debt,” she said, rising to her feet and drawing me to mine. “To be called at a time of my choosing.”

If it ever came to pass that she and I stood face to face once more, she could ask anything of me, even to take my own life. But what choice did I have? “Done.”

“And one more thing,” she purred. “You will agree never to speak of what I have told you. To anyone.”