Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(81)

Chris laughed and threw on another log. “So you’re sure he’s in Courville?”

“Reasonably. Marc and the half-bloods are holding the perimeter at Trianon. It would be nothing for Roland to force his way past, but they’d know it, and Marc would have signaled us.” My eyes went to Angoulême, who I’d left in the sled a few feet away. “He knows I won’t attack Roland while he’s surrounded by so many humans.”

“We could always put him on a spit over this fire and see how long he lasts before calling his pet troll to come save him.”

“Tempting,” I muttered. “But what would be the chances of him leaving Courville unscathed in his departure? There has to be a better way to lure him out.”

“And here I thought you were some sort of strategic genius.”

I grunted. “So is he.”

Snow crunched, and Cécile approached the fire, eyed the damp ground and then perched on my knee. Extracting the stick from my hand, she nudged the burning wood a few times, and the smoke switched directions. Chris scowled and I smiled, pulling her closer.

“I think we’ve figured it out,” she said, and I sat up straight, almost toppling her to the ground. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “Martin’s volunteered to be my test subject. I think he’s the best choice, for… for obvious reasons, but I know we’ve few enough trolls on our side that you might not be willing to let him go.”

Cécile was right about that. I rested my chin on her shoulder, staring into the flames. Sentiments aside, the loss of Vincent was a major blow, especially as it had rendered Victoria unreliable. I didn’t dare pull Marc away from Trianon, which meant that my arsenal was a group of armed farmers and a maimed librarian with only middling power at his disposal. If Cécile’s plan worked, Martin’s magic would almost certainly change: I’d be down a weapon and up a fairy with a new set of powers he had no idea how to use. Not that there wasn’t potential in that, but was it worth the risk?

“Waiting to try it on one of the half-bloods in Trianon would be better,” I said. Cécile’s expression didn’t change, but there was no missing the flash of disgust.

“We discussed that,” she said, pushing away my arm and climbing to her feet. “If I were to attempt this on a human, it would kill them as surely as a knife to the heart. We believe it would do much the same to most half-bloods, if not all.” Her arms crossed, she swiftly explained the premise of the spell. “I will very nearly have to kill him to cure him.”

“You might, in fact, kill him,” I said. “We’ll have gained nothing and lost another member of our force.”

“And what would you have gained killing him on that mountain top?”

Chris whistled through his teeth. “I’ll leave you two to this little chat.” He rose and swiftly left the fire’s circle of light. I waited until he was gone before saying, “That would’ve been mercy, Cécile. You weren’t there. You didn’t see him bleeding on the ground, his limbs scattered about him like chopped wood.”

Her intake of breath was sharp, and she closed her eyes for a moment. “He doesn’t need mercy, Tristan, he needs a victory. He couldn’t help élise, he couldn’t stop Angoulême, and now what? Do we strap him to a horse and send him galloping into battle where in all likelihood he won’t make a damn lick of difference? This could be something. It could be the solution.”

“To what?” I demanded. “To my moral dilemma over killing my brother?”

“No,” she shouted. “To our mistake!”

I froze, not entirely believing what I was hearing.

“I was wrong,” she said. “You were right about not breaking the curse and a fool for letting me convince you otherwise. Maybe we might make it work for our lifetime if we rule with an iron fist, but what then? There will always be more Angoulêmes, and God help us, more Rolands, and what will happen with us not there to stop them? So many have already died because of the choices we made, and this might be the chance to make things as right as they can be. To save both your kind and mine.”

She scrubbed a hand across her face, leaving a smear of blood and grime. “Your kind doesn’t belong here, and with God as my witness, I’ll send every troll back. And if it’s what you want, I’ll send you along with them.” Then she turned on her heel and stormed into the darkened woods.

My boots seemed fixed to the ground as I watched her retreating form. Of all the things I’d expected to hear her say, that wasn’t one of them. Always, always, she was the optimist, and to hear her give up on our dream, to say that our fight was hopeless… It made it true.

Your kind doesn’t belong here.

If she was right, if the spell worked, then what she was offering was a solution beyond what I could ever have hoped for. Not only a way to save both our kinds and keep blood off our hands, but for me, it was a chance to see my people thrive. They’d be immortal once more, no longer afflicted with iron-wrought maladies, or fearful of what the cursed metal would do to their children.

Your kind.

It would be a freedom so much greater than just release from Trollus. The lands of endless summer would be theirs again, along with countless other worlds and endless years to explore them. It would be the greatest gift I could give them – the ability to return home.