Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(63)
The troll stared at me in astonishment, and I grabbed his shirt, slamming him against the wall. “Which way?”
He pointed, and I took off in that direction.
The halls of the palace were a familiar maze, and I soon guessed his path. Even deprived of my own, I could still feel the weight of his magic, and I pursued it, catching sight of him right as he slammed open the doors to the gardens. “Father!”
He turned at my voice. “Go back.”
Instead I pressed forward, grabbing hold of the front of his coat. “Roland’s come to kill you.”
His eyes bored into mine, then he looked away. “What does it matter? Without magic, they won’t follow you. All that I’ve done…” He shook his head. “It was for nothing.”
“It wasn’t.” I tried and failed to pull him back into the hallway. “If you would just listen.”
Then he stiffened, eyes going wide with shock. Fear. Pain. “Tristan–” he gasped, then he collapsed to the floor at my feet.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cécile
I sank to my heels, bracing a hand against the slick rock of the tunnel. Deprived of my magic… It had been the Winter Queen who’d taken it. Who else could accomplish such a feat? And in all likelihood, it was my fault for putting myself in danger. Why else would he step outside the safety of the castle walls?
But why, knowing I was all right, had he continued into Trollus? Was he here to make an alliance with his father? To surrender? Or another reason all together?
I couldn’t see Martin’s face in the darkness, but his breathing was loud enough for me to reach out and pull him close. “You need to go to the twins,” I whispered. “Tell them where to find the Duke – they might be able to defeat him.” I swiftly gave instructions to the camp and the signals to use so they’d know he was no foe.
“What about you?”
I gave him a gentle shove down the road. “I’m going after Tristan.”
* * *
The gate stood open, Guilluame’s corpse and one other lying next to it in a pool of blood. Though it had been hours since I’d left the king fighting the sluag, the streets were still empty, the citizens of Trollus bound by curfew.
Pulling up my hood, I kept to the shadows, avoiding the patrols of guards armed with sluag spears. The main gates to the palace were flanked by armed trolls, as were the side entrances. Sitting on my haunches next to one of the towering pillars of the stone tree, I contemplated how I might get inside. Then, from behind the palace, blossomed a familiar glow.
The glass gardens.
Only royals and members of the Artisan’s Guild were allowed to light the gardens. The guild members would be subject to curfew, and I sincerely doubted Thibault was in the mood for a whimsical stroll. Which left only one, or rather, two, other candidates. And they might just be willing to help me.
I entered through the hidden gate at the rear that Tristan had once shown me, the glass brilliant with the unearthly beauty of troll-light. I dreamed of them often, but even the limitless bounds of imagination had failed to capture their beauty. It was a place one needed to be in order to experience, and though I’d explored them countless times during my time in Trollus, I knew that if I spent the rest of my life walking through them, there would always a new detail to discover. The curve of an unknown flower. The vaulting height of a tree. A dewdrop balanced on the tip of a leaf.
As I searched the paths and courtyards for the Queen and the Duchesse, the waterfall roaring as it toppled from the heights, little memories layered themselves across the present. The places I had lingered, deep in thought. The songs that I had sung. The maze of hedgerows I had walked with Tristan shadowing my steps, both of us deeply aware of the other. Listening. Watching. Wanting. But neither of us daring to hope there might be a chance for us.
My chest ached as I remembered those moments. The enchantment of Trollus. Leaving had been like waking from a dream, and no matter how many nights I slept, I could never find my way back. And even if I did, it would never be the same. I stopped in my tracks, resting a hand against a tree trunk while I gave the profoundness of that loss its due.
Then I heard them.
The Queen and the Duchesse were arguing; more accurately, the Duchesse was lecturing while her sister protested with soft sounds of dismay.
I crept closer, so focused on the placement of my feet that I did not notice my sleeve catch on a bush.
Snap.
A twig, little more than a filament of glass, broke away. I reached for it, but my hand was too slow and it shattered against the ground.
The faces of both trolls snapped my direction, and I hunched down, holding my breath. Not that there was any point.
Magic wrapped around my waist, lifting me up and over the foliage, depositing me in front of the two women. “Why am I not surprised,” Sylvie said, crossing her arms. “We keep sending you away, but back you come.”
Queen Matilde’s eyes were wide, her full lips slightly parted. “Oh, Cécile, you look dreadful.” She shook her head. “This will not do.”
My scalp prickled, and seconds later, little bits of black rained to the ground. “Better,” she said, slender fingers plucking at one of my shortened curls, which was crimson once more. Pulling a pin from her own hair, she carefully twisted mine back from my face and smiled.