Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(72)
“She lived in my home her entire life, you blathering fool,” Angoulême snarled. “Do you think I don’t understand how her little mind works? How to dangle the carrot? How to use her like a tool?”
The only time the Duke lost his temper was when he was not in control. “As you say, Your Grace, your family owned her for most of her life. Used her as a servant, and, I think, as your whore. How long do you think she’ll suffer you to live once she is queen?”
“She’s no fool. She knows she needs me to control Roland.”
I drew on my power, letting it seep through the cracks in the granite, knowing how it would prickle and burn on his skin. “And yet courtesy of my dearest sister, here I am.”
They had to be inside by now. I could feel Cécile moving, her nerves and anticipation. But was she ready? If I stalled any longer, Angoulême would know I was up to something, and that would put everything in jeopardy.
Sighing, I polished the last remaining button on my coat. “Enough of this, Your Grace. You know Roland won’t make it in time, so quit the stalling.”
A chuckle rolled through the mountains. “No, I don’t suppose he will be arriving here anytime soon. But I trust you’re clever enough to understand the consequences of killing me and letting the boy off his leash, and that you will act accordingly. I’ve taken my own precautions – if you try to force your way in, everyone inside – including me – will die.”
Including Cécile and my closest friends.
“Unless you’ve grown wings,” he continued, “by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”
Unease snaked down my spine as I parsed his words. “Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed.”
“No,” Angoulême said, his voice full of mockery. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, and I heard the tap tap of his cane against the stone floor of the tomb as he retreated into his depths. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”
Chapter Forty
Cécile
The twins’ mining skills had come in handy, as they’d easily drilled a tunnel into the rear of the tombs under the cover of Tristan’s attack.
“Where did they put the bodies?” I asked, running a finger over the dusty statue lying prone on an altar of carved marble and glass. My finger left a streak of gleaming gold in its wake, and I bent low over the figure’s face, marveling at the level of detail, from the realistic swell of the troll’s lips to the slight creases at the corners of his sightless diamond eyes.
“That is the body,” Victoria replied, smiling slightly as I recoiled, shoving my offending hand into my pocket. “They dip them in liquid gold after they die.”
“Still?” For some reason, the notion horrified me: being encased in metal for all of eternity.
“Maybe that’s why Thibault ate so much in his later years,” Vincent said, coming back from his assessment of the piece of stone sealing the room. “He wanted to ensure his final resting place was worth the most.”
Victoria laughed, but I remained silent. Thibault had been a villain, but he deserved respect. “Do not speak ill of the dead,” I said, but my words were drowned out by a series of percussive blasts.
Vincent took advantage of the noise to shift the stone blocking the entrance, and then he cautiously eased out before stepping back in and nodding.
Sandwiched between Vincent and Victoria, I stepped out into the corridor, taking in what I could of our surroundings. I’d expected it to be dark and close, but much like the chamber we’d just left, the ceilings were high and painted with brilliant depictions of both trolls and fairies alike. The floors were dusty, but they were as smooth as polished tile, and railings inlaid with golden vines ran up both sides of the hallways.
Though Tristan had plumbed the depths of his seemingly endless store of knowledge, all he’d been able to tell us was that the tombs were a vast multilevel maze of chambers and corridors that were illuminated with natural light through the use of tiny shafts and mirrors placed just so. More mirrors sat above the golden railings, and though we were encased in as much rock as we ever were in Trollus, the halls practically glowed with sunlight.
Dusty and faded, the tombs remained beautiful. And entirely wasted, I thought, on the dead.
“This way,” Vincent muttered, eyeing the compass in his hand. The Duke would be engaged with fighting Tristan at the entrance, so that’s where we needed to go. Magic coating our feet to muffle the sound, we ran as swiftly as we dared, passing great stone slabs blocking the tombs of the royalty of old, names and carved likeness marking who was interred within.
“Come out, come out,” a voice thundered through the corridors, followed with a horrifying scratching.
Panic flooded my veins, and turning, I went to run. And collided with Victoria. “It’s Tristan,” she said, wincing. “Aggressive use of acoustics, but I’m sure that’s purposeful. Though in irritating the Duke, he’s likely to render the three of us deaf.”
We crept forward more slowly, listening to the one-sided conversation, Tristan doing his best to bait Angoulême. To keep him interested.
But of the Duke’s responses, we could hear nothing.