Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(82)

You.

You don’t belong here.

The cold seemed to bite through my clothing, the wind blowing through the trees a mournful howl. On numb feet, I slowly followed her tracks into the woods.

I found her sitting on a dry patch beneath a fir tree, face buried in her knees, shoulders shaking. “If it’s what Martin wants, do it,” I said, swallowing the tightness in my throat. “And if it works, I’ll do what I can to see every other full-blooded troll goes with him.”

“Every?” Her voice was soft.

“I think most will clamor for the opportunity.”

“Will you?”

I thought of her sharp words, the guilt and the blame. What I had done and left undone, and all the blood on my hands. Our hands. I knew she would forgive me for my failures, because that was her way. But would she ever forgive herself? If I stayed, would I not always be a constant reminder of how she’d forsaken her own kind, however temporarily, for me? Would it be better if I left? Would it help her forget?

“This is all speculation,” I said. “Neither of us know if your spell will work.”

It was the worst of silences, but I felt too cowardly to ask if her heart had veered so far in the opposite direction that she now wanted me gone with all the rest of my kind. And I feared her silence was reluctance to ask it of me.

“Do you have everything you need for your spell to do it tonight?” I asked, needing the moment to end. “One way or another, I need to leave at first light.”

“Gran was gathering what we needed,” she said, getting to her feet and wiping her face with a sleeve. “She should be done by now.”

Cécile started back to camp, and I knew I needed to say it now. “Cécile–”

She stopped in her tracks.

“Given the choice between one lifetime spent with you or a thousand without, I will always choose you.” I took a deep breath. “That is, if you still want me.”

She didn’t turn, kept her back to me and didn’t answer. But this was what made the bond between us worth every risk – she didn’t need to say anything at all. Slowly, she stretched her arm back, palm open, and I took it.





Chapter Forty-Six





Cécile





“Do you smell that?” I asked as we approached the camp.

Tristan sniffed. “Smells like outside.”

“Like summer,” I said, hurrying my step. And then stopped dead.

The camp we’d left behind had been all snow and mud, but now it was a lush oasis of greenery. Grass as high as my knee carpeted the ground, bushes were thick with leaves, and wildflowers painted the clearing in a myriad of colors.

We approached Gran and Chris, who stood near a bunch of lavender flowers.

“Always such a fondness for pretty things, Christophe,” Tristan said. “Were you planning to leave some on my pillow?”

“What I planned to leave on your pillow didn’t smell half so nice.”

Ignoring their banter, Gran took hold of my arm. “Whole clearing took to bloom after you two scampered off to have your spat.” She jerked her chin at the flower. “Lobelia.”

“That’s certainly no coincidence.” I plucked one of the blossoms. “Shall we?”



* * *



“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked Martin, tucking the blanket around him. “It will not be pleasant.”

“Can’t be any worse than what he did to me.” We’d brought him out of the tent and laid him on the grass, but his eyes had been on the Duke the whole time.

“Stay back,” I said to Tristan and Chris. “The last thing we need is you getting caught up in this.” Victoria stood a little further on, Vincent sitting on the ground at her feet, fingers plucking at the grass, and I waited for her nod before I turned back to Martin and my grandmother.

It took a bit of time to create the potion, Gran murmuring instructions as I worked, but when it was finished, I wished it had taken longer. If it didn’t work, not only would I be back to square one, who knew what state Martin would be in?

I started pouring the basin of liquid at his forehead, moving slowly down his body, until I reached the stumps of his legs. The potion sat suspended in a gleaming line, trembling with each of his nervous breaths. Picking up the cast-iron pan, I touched fingers to either side of the liquid on his forehead, and murmured the incantation. The potion spilled in two sheets to either side, flowing like twin waterfalls. At first, it seemed as though nothing was happening, that it was nothing more than an interesting trick to entertain the eye. Then all at once, gravity seemed to double in strength, dragging me down.

And Martin began to scream.

The potion turned pink, then bright red as the spell tore apart his skin, his eyes, his insides, rending him as it took back what belonged to the earth.

Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to stop. Needed to stop. But it was too late. The potion thickened into a metallic slurry that pooled on the ground.

Then it was done.

The twin waterfalls ceased their flow, and I changed my focus, catching hold of his magic and bending it to my will, forcing it to heal him. The gruesome carnage faded, but his chest was still.

“Come on, Martin,” I screamed, slamming my hands down on his chest. “Breathe!” My fists struck him again, then again, but as I flung them down the fourth time, instead of hitting flesh, they sank along with his clothing into earth beneath him.