Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(85)

“Don’t get mad at me for worrying,” I snapped. “You were the one who was so confident that capturing Angoulême in the tombs would go off without a hitch and look what happened. Vincent’s a mindless shell, and Victoria’s a grieving mess.”

Silence.

“A low blow, Cécile.” The fury in his voice made my skin burn, and I stepped back despite knowing it was an act. “You’d do well to remember that it’s to save your kind that I have to do this at all. That it’s my friends and people who are suffering to ensure their survival.”

I flinched, because his words were the cold truth.

“I’m going to finish packing up, and then we’re leaving,” he said. “Courville is a long ways from here.”

I waited until he’d gone to the far side of the clearing, then, whirling, I stormed around the fire and kicked Angoulême in the ribs. “I hate you,” I snarled. “This is your fault!”

The snow crunched as someone ran up behind me, then Chris lifted me off my feet and pulled me back. “Cécile, don’t!”

“Why not?” I demanded. “He deserves it a thousand times over for what he did to Vincent. And to Victoria.”

“Because he’s bound and helpless, that’s why.” Chris’s words sounded rehearsed, and I prayed the Duke didn’t notice.

“He’s not helpless.” I slumped on a stump next to the fire, every inch of me tense with having the Duke in such close proximity. Especially knowing that Victoria’s magic was slowly unraveling. Knowing that he could hear me. “Do you think Tristan would be treating him with kid gloves if he was helpless? Would be negotiating with that backstabbing whore?”

“Easy,” Chris replied, sitting across from me. “Tristan knows what he’s doing. He’ll make the deal, and in a matter of days, Roland will be cured and the Duke will be dead. The war will be over.”

“But at what cost?” I blew my nose on a handkerchief. “Do you know what deal Lessa offered him before? That he set me aside and take her, pretending to be Ana?s, as his wife. Her allegiance in exchange for him making her queen.”

“That’s revolting.” The disgust in Chris’s voice wasn’t feigned. “Wait, you don’t actually think that he’d…”

I stared into the fire for a long time before saying, “No. He’ll never forgive Lessa for killing Ana?s or her part in killing his parents, but he will string her along if it means defeating Angoulême.” My eyes burned from the smoke. “Where is Victoria? She’s supposed to be keeping an eye on him.”

“Off trying to get Vincent to speak, I expect,” Chris said. “God in heaven, but I feel for her.”

“I do too,” I said, “but she needs to stay focused. I doubt Angoulême is out of tricks just yet.”

“Cécile.” Tristan came up behind me. “It’s time to go.”

We said our goodbyes to our friends; then we left the camp. Once we were out of earshot, Tristan stopped. “He knows Victoria is distracted by Vincent, so he shouldn’t suspect that we’re allowing him to escape.”

I nodded, wishing there were fewer uncertainties.

“Even if he’s not entirely convinced Lessa turned on him, he’ll still call Roland out of Courville and her reach until he’s sure. All I have to do is follow him, and then…”

“Kill your brother.”

He sighed and looked away. “Yes.”

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him hard, trying to keep my trepidation in check. “Please be careful.”

“I love you,” he said; then he disappeared into the night.

I crept back on silent feet to the tent where Gran and Martin sat silently watching. Taking a seat next to them, I turned off the lamp, and together, we waited.

The fire burned low, Chris occasionally prodding it with a stick and sending bursts of sparks in the air. The wind howled softly, and faintly, but clearly, I heard Victoria’s voice. “Please, Vincent. Say something, anything.”

She cajoled him gently, reminding him of stories of their past, but of Vincent, I heard nothing.

The blanket overtop Angoulême’s sled stirred, the motion imperceptible enough that I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t be watching for this very moment. The edge of the blanket lifted, and I almost imagined I could see the Duke’s silver eyes peering out from the shadows. My gran gave a soft cough as one does in one’s sleep, and a few minutes later, Chris rested his head in his hands, shoulders slumping with apparent exhaustion.

I clenched my teeth, desperately afraid as the blanket stirred again. Be brave, be brave, be brave, I silently chanted, even as our prisoner extracted himself from what he believed was a neglected cage of magic. My eyes caught a faint distortion in the air, then the blanket settled down, taking on the shape of a prone man, though I knew nothing lay beneath.

Sweat prickled on my skin as I waited for the Duke to make his move. He could kill Chris where he sat before Victoria could make it back to camp. Tristan was long gone, making his way down to the coast. We were banking on Angoulême’s cowardice.

My pulse hammered in my ears, and I took hold of my grandmother’s hand, squeezing it hard.

Then the distortion moved, making its way swiftly toward the trees. Martin touched my shoulder, then his form turned misty and he ran on silent feet into the night, returning some time later with a smile on his face.