Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(65)

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered before breaking into a ragged cough. “I know Thibault was cruel to his son and that you think me equally so for supporting him, but it was all to protect Tristan. Believing that Thibault was Tristan’s enemy stayed the hands of Angoulême and his followers, because they believed Thibault would kill Tristan himself before allowing a sympathizer to take the crown. It was the only way.”

She shuddered and I gripped her hand tight, knowing death would come to her in moments.

“But our methods left their scars on him,” she said. “And that I regret. Please tell him that he was loved by all his family. That he was all we hoped him to be and more. A true king.”

She went still, and I thought it over, but then she stirred. “Cécile?”

“Yes?” I asked, afraid of what more there could be to say.

“What happened to Matilde was Angoulême’s doing. Roland may have wielded the blade, but he wept as he was doing it.”

She said no more.

Reaching down, I gently brushed her eyelids shut, then the Queen’s as well. When I looked up, Lessa, still wearing her Ana?s disguise, was smiling at me.

I jerked the knife out of the Queen’s chest, holding it up as I climbed to my feet. It was coated with her blood, but I didn’t know if there was enough power in it to bind Lessa or not. Nor was I sure if I could get close enough to find out.

“I ought to just kill you and be done with it,” Lessa said, her eyes glittering with amusement at the knife. “But keeping you alive might serve a better purpose. For now.”

Run.

But my feet were fused to the ground with magic, and before I could try to throw the knife or work another spell, Lessa threw back her head and screamed, “Help! Someone help! The Queen has been murdered.”





Chapter Thirty-Six





Cécile





Beneath Trollus ran a network of sewers. Below that, extensive caverns and vaults where grain and foodstuffs were stored. Underneath that, I discovered, was where the trolls kept their prisoners. That it was devoid of light was a given, but as the guards dragged me deeper into the earth, it seemed darker than the city, than the mines, than even the labyrinth, because it was so very far from any sort of light.

The low-ceilinged tunnels were damp with moisture, the air stale as though no one came down here very often. Or perhaps stale from the countless exhalations of prisoners who would never again see light.

The guards hadn’t doubted Lessa’s words when they’d come upon us, me holding a knife coated with blood, the troll queen and her conjoined twin sister lying dead at my feet. While most would’ve forgiven Tristan for killing his father – many even applauding him for it – having his human wife achieve the same results by killing his mother was another matter. At best, it made him a coward, and at worst… Well, the Queen had been well-loved by her people, and the Duchesse, too. Their murderer would not be forgiven.

I couldn’t even defend myself or offer up the truth. Lessa had gagged me before anyone arrived on the scene, warning the guards who took me away not to allow me to speak lest I use my witch magic upon them. They’d taken her words to heart – though in truth, I did not need to say a word to work with troll magic – guiding me at arm’s length with steel shackles, eyes wary and watching. I might have struggled still, but they were taking me in Tristan’s direction, and where he was, I needed to be.

“Put her in here,” one of the trolls muttered. His light gleamed against the heavy steel door, which swung open on oiled hinges to reveal mildew covered stone walls of a tiny space. Then he shoved me inside, and all there was to see was blackness. The shackles on my arms clinked, but they were nothing compared to the walls closing in on all sides, the space barely larger than a coffin.

Stay calm! I ordered myself, but I didn’t know how I was to do so when I’d been effectively buried alive. Tristan was very close, but what good was that with us both entombed and me gagged? Snot bubbles snapped and splattered against my cheeks as I struggled to breathe through my nose, through my tears, but I couldn’t get enough air.

My lungs fluttered like the wings of a sparrow, and I clawed at the liquid magic filling my mouth. But it did no good. I was drowning on my own tears, on my own panic, and my elbows slammed against the walls, tearing my skin and bruising the bone.

“Cécile?”

His voice did as much as a mouthful of air to calm me, and I rested my forehead against the door, my breathing steadying.

“There’s a gap at the base of your cell,” he said. “Reach down, and you will feel my hand.”

I dropped to my knees, scrabbling around until my fingers found his, warm and familiar. Fresh tears threatened, and I bowed my head, pressing my face against our linked hands.

“Say something. Tell me you’re all right.”

My nails dug into his skin, and I shook my head, strands of my hair brushing against our fingers.

He was silent, then, “They’ve gagged you? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

I squeezed once for yes.

“They told me that you killed my mother and my aunt–” He broke off. “Is it true?”

He didn’t want to believe it, I could feel it. But there was doubt there, too, and I couldn’t blame him for it. Maybe I’d done it in a desperate attempt to save him, or maybe I’d decided to finally have my revenge. I squeezed twice. No.