Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(83)

“Stones and sky!” I jerked my arms back so hard I toppled onto my bottom, watching as his misty figure drifted and swirled, then finally coalesced into the librarian I knew and loved.

He blinked at me.

“Martin?” I bent closer. “Can you hear me? Are you all right? How do you feel?”

His lips parted and his eyes shifted back and forth. “There are no words for this, Cécile. Not in any language.”

It was only then that I realized he was whole once more. “You are as you imagine yourself to be,” I breathed, so painfully happy that I’d fixed my friend that it took me a moment to realize I felt no relief of my promise. Martin was free from iron and fey once more, but there was something more that needed to be done. Something that I’d missed.

“Tristan,” I said, turning. “I think I…” But the words died on my lips, because I found myself face to face not with Tristan, but with Victoria. And before she even spoke, I knew what she would ask.





Chapter Forty-Seven





Tristan





“You fixed him,” Victoria said to Cécile, her voice strange and breathy. Desperate. “You made him better.”

I knew where this was going, and judging from the look on Cécile’s face, so did she.

“Victoria, no,” I said, catching hold of her arm to draw her back.

In a blur of fury, she spun, her fist connecting with my face in a burst of pain. She’d hit me. I touched my lip, then looked at the blood on my fingers, trying to understand how we’d gotten to this point. How instead of untrussing Angoulême and dealing with him, I was fighting with my closest friends.

“It’s not up to you, Tristan. Not this time.”

“Can we please discuss this rationally,” I said as Cécile crept away on her hands and knees. But before she got more than a few paces, magic lashed around her leg, jerking her back. Her grandmother grabbed her hands, but Cécile brushed her away. “Go,” she said. “Get out of the way.” And when the old woman didn’t listen, to Martin: “Take her.”

His brows furrowed, then his misty form solidified. Snatching up the fragile woman, he bolted for the trees. Chris remained, crouched low to the earth, pistol in hand. He was no more likely to leave with Cécile in danger than I was.

“Let her go.” I circled, trying to get closer to Cécile, but Victoria pivoted, keeping between us. I didn’t want to believe she’d hurt her, but Victoria was mad with grief, and that made anyone unpredictable.

“You owe me this,” she said. “You owe Vincent. Let Cécile fix him.”

“She can’t. Not yet.”

“Why?”

Against my will, my eyes flicked to Cécile then back. “You damn well know why not.”

Victoria laughed, and the sound of it made me cringe with its unfamiliarity. Not only had Angoulême stolen Vincent from us, he’d taken Victoria, too. Destroyed her spark, her humor, her spirit, and left a bitter angry girl in his wake. “Because you still have a use for us? Because you don’t want to give up any of your tools?”

“Don’t,” I snarled, remembering how Lessa had lobbed the very same insult at me when I still believed she was Ana?s. “You bloody well know how much he means to me. His loss hurts more than just you.”

“He’s not lost,” she shrieked, and Cécile winced, clutching at the magic wrapped around her ankle. But she caught my eye and shook her head. I’m fine. Which was all well and good until Victoria lost her temper and accidentally snapped her leg in two.

“How can you say that?” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice. “I’ve looked in his eyes, Victoria. He’s not there!”

“You don’t know that.”

“But what if I’m right?” I demanded. “What if Cécile strips away the iron and his mortal form and there’s nothing left? Think of what that will that do to you.” I couldn’t lose her, too.

“Think of what this is doing to me!”

“At least you’re alive,” I said, putting voice to my thoughts. “Be grateful for that.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The grass smoldered and burst into flame, and the magic holding Cécile whipped her body through the air like a rag doll.

“You’re hurting her,” I shouted, slicing through the rope holding Cécile even as my magic rose to counter Victoria’s attack. Our powers collided with a thunderclap, snow falling from trees for miles as the ground shuddered. But I’d used too much power – far more than I’d intended – and Victoria was launched through the air, landing heavily on her back on the far side of the clearing.

Cécile landed on the ground, the grass not doing as much as I’d hoped to cushion her fall, but already she was rolling to her feet, shouting at me to leave Victoria alone.

Victoria was struggling against my power, her voice a maelstrom of blistering oaths. “Enough,” I shouted at her, furious that she was making me do this. “If you have any loyalty left in you, you will stand down.”

But my words were drowned out by a roar, and something slammed into me, knocking me from my feet. Fists pummeled my face as we rolled into the trees, but I didn’t fight back, because it was Vincent. Vincent, who had come to the aid of his sister.