Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(64)

“Can’t remember what she had for lunch, but she can do that.” Sylvie’s face was sour. “Why are you here, Cécile? Thibault sent you to Trianon.”

“I didn’t go,” I said. “I had to come back.”

“Why is that?”

“Tristan’s here,” I blurted out. “He’s lost his magic.”

“What?” Sylvie barked even as Matilde exclaimed, “Where?” She rotated in a circle, eyes searching the gardens.

“Matilde, stand still!”

I swiftly explained as much as I could, along with my suspicion that it had been Winter who’d taken his power. “He walked in here of his own accord.” My eyes were burning, and I blinked furiously. “I think he’s given up and surrendered.”

Sylvie’s eyes lost focus, shifting back and forth as she delved into the problem, the expression eerily reminiscent of Tristan’s when he was deep in thought. “No,” she said. “He hasn’t. But he is about to make a mistake.”

The ground shook and I was flung against the corner of a stone bench. I fought the urge to curl up in pain, struggling instead to my feet. “Is it her? Is it Winter?” I gasped.

Magic lifted me up into the air. “Tell me what you see,” Sylvie ordered, lifting me higher and higher.

The air was filled with dust mixed with frost, and I coughed, covering my mouth with my sleeve as I peered toward the end of the valley. “There’s no one at the gate.” Other than the bodies of the guards.

She lowered me so swiftly, I might as well have fallen, my spine shuddering as my heels hit the ground. “Stay here,” she said; then to the Queen: “Matilde, find Thibault now. Hurry!”

In a blink, they were gone.

I stared in the direction they’d gone for another heartbeat, then I took off after them.

Keeping up with the troll queen was impossible, but she was heading toward the palace, so I took the shortest way I knew. There was probably nothing I could do to help, but Tristan was in there without any way to protect himself, whereas I still had magic. If Thibault or Matilde would lend their power, I suspected my spells would be just as affective against the Winter Queen as any troll.

“Mother?”

I skidded to a halt just shy of a bend in the hedgerows, my skin breaking out in a cold sweat at the sound of that familiar voice. Pressed my arm to my mouth to muffle my ragged breathing, I squatted down making myself as small as possible.

“Roland!” The Queen’s voice was serene and sweet.

“Matilde, no! Matilde!” The Duchesse screamed the warning, but it was too late. A cry of pain cut through my ears, then the rustle of silken skirts and a thud.

Tears streamed down my face, but I knew better than to move. If Roland saw me, I was dead and would be no help to anyone. But if I waited until he was gone, then there was a chance I could save Matilde and Sylvie.

“Cécile?”

I flinched at the Duchesse’s voice.

“There is no chance you stayed where I told you to, so you can come out now. Roland is gone.”

Mustering my courage, I peered around the corner. The Queen lay on her side, silver eyes blank and unseeing, blood pooling on the white stone beneath her. The hilt of a knife stuck out of her chest, the blade embedded in her heart. Without having seen it, I knew she’d reached for her son with open arms, innocent and unsuspecting.

And he’d killed her. Not because of anything she’d done, but to put an end to his father. To take the throne.

My mind was awash with Tristan’s emotion, and I shook my head to clear it as I approached. Sylvie hung limply from her twin’s back, but she was alive. For how long, I could not guess. Touching the knife at my waist, I silently contemplated whether it would be possible to separate the two, and if it was, whether I had the mettle to do it.

“No.”

I jumped at the coldness in her voice.

“Banish the idea from your thoughts,” she said. “Then come and hear me out before I breathe my last.”

I knelt next to her, desperate to find Tristan and get him free of Trollus before Roland found him. We could hide, or find a ship that would take us to the continent. Run and live while everyone else suffers for your mistakes.

“Thibault is dead,” she whispered, and I watched in disbelief as a tear trickled down her cheek.

“You do not know that for sure,” I said, taking her hand. “He’s strong, it’s possible that–”

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.” The air surrounding the hand I held shifted, illusion falling away to reveal blackened bonding marks. “When Thibault and Matilde were bonded, something unexpected happened. We kept it a secret, but the time for that is over.”

“I thought you hated him,” I said. “That you were helping Tristan with his plot to kill his father.”

“I did.” She smiled. “And I was. I’ve hated Thibault since he destroyed our plans over Lessa’s fool of a mother. Fought against his decision to bond my sister and made his life a living hell every day since. But over Tristan, we were united. Allies against enemies who would’ve seen that boy dead a dozen times over and comrades in our efforts to mold him into the man he needed to be.”

Like the gardens around us, I could spend a lifetime amongst these creatures and never stop being surprised at their duplicity.