Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(69)

“It’s Your Majesty, now. Although I suppose Roland might contest my claim.” Tristan’s tone was light, but Chris seemed to sense that congratulations were not in order.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, taking a swig of a wine skin before passing it to Tristan. “I’ve trouble enough finding hats to fit your ego as it is.”

Then they all turned expectantly to me. “What’s the plan?” I asked. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you tell us where we’re going,” Tristan responded.

Unease prickled over my skin. “Didn’t Martin tell you…” I trailed off.

“Martin isn’t here,” Tristan said, then turned to Vincent and Victoria, who both shook their heads.

“He was with me when we learned what had happened to you,” I said, setting aside my cup. “He was supposed to come here and tell you where Angoulême’s hiding – your family’s tombs,” I added, glancing at Tristan. “I gave him directions to find the twins and told him the signals to use.”

“I don’t know this Martin fellow,” Chris said. “But given he’s never been outside of Trollus, there is every possibility he’s wandering around lost in the woods.”

“Or that he’s run afoul of someone he shouldn’t have, and they know our location,” Vincent said, scratching his arm. “We may need to move our camp.”

They all argued about where Martin might be and what he might be doing, but I barely heard them, my ears full of a strange ringing.

Tristan touched my arm. “Cécile?”

My mouth was dry. “He was in love with élise.”

Tristan hissed softly between his teeth, and everyone went silent.

“I promised him revenge,” I said. “That you would see Angoulême dead for what he did to her.”

“And in discovering I’d lost my magic, he likely believes he’s the only one left to deliver that revenge.” Tristan rattled off a string of profanity. “We need to go. Now. Cécile, you are sure this is where the Duke is hiding?”

I explained how Martin and I had come to the conclusion based on Lessa’s words.

Victoria rubbed her chin, eyes on the map Chris had spread flat. “Makes sense. The tombs are deep in the mountains and are easily defended.”

“And difficult to reach, as I recall.” Tristan pressed a gloved finger against the map. “One needs magic – or significant climbing skills – to reach them. It isn’t a place you just stumble upon. Chris, can you guide us there?”

My friend nodded. “I’ll ready the supplies. Who’s going?”

“Us three and you,” Tristan replied, then he chewed on his bottom lip.

I was about to voice exactly what I thought about being left behind, when he added, “And Cécile.”

My gran made a noise of protest that was seconded by my father. “She’s dead on her feet already. You trying to kill her, boy?”

“We’ll all be dead if we don’t succeed in this,” Tristan said, his voice betraying none of the guilt my father’s accusation had instigated. “It would be one thing if merely killing the Duke was an option, but we need to capture him. To use him to lure Roland out of Trollus to a place where I can engage him without fear of casualties. And our success may depend on Cécile’s power.”

“Then I’m coming, too,” my gran said. “I’m not powerless myself.”

Tristan nodded absently. There was already a plan forming in his mind. I could see it; could feel it. And there was some comfort in knowing that. I should’ve known that Martin had no intention of sitting idly – that he would’ve gone after the Duke himself. But I’d been so caught up in my concern for Tristan that I’d been blind to anything but my own plight. I prayed we’d catch Martin before we reached the tombs, or that he’d change his mind and come back. And though it pained me to do so, I prayed that if he managed to reach the Duke, that he’d fail in his quest. Because if Angoulême was killed, Roland would be free to do what he wanted.

And all the world would burn.





Chapter Thirty-Nine





Tristan





“What is with you trolls and mountains?” Chris muttered, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“We like impressive things,” I said, resting my elbows on the rocky outcropping. Dawn was upon us, and, just then, the sun crested the horizon, illuminating the faces of two towering statues of a king and queen seated on thrones. Though time had worn the stone, the crown resting on the king’s brow was deeply familiar to me from the countless times I’d seen it on my father’s head.

Chris whistled through his teeth. “Relatives of yours?”

I nodded. “They were the first. He was the brother of the Summer King, and both were immortal until the iron bound them to this world. Even then, they lived and ruled for many hundreds of years before succumbing.”

“And the pass leading to the tombs runs between them?”

“Yes,” I said. “Give the sun a few more moments, and we’ll see it.”

The line of golden light slowly edged its way down the statues, revealing the queen’s elaborate jewelry, the king’s embroidered coat, a scepter resting across his knees, and a blade across hers. And then it revealed something else.