Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(87)

“There they are!” He sat up straight, jostling my hands away as he pointed. “Look, Tristan. Look at all the humans.”

Dread filled my stomach with ice as my gaze jumped from the forested slope, to the beach below, and then to the open water.

“Yes, Tristan. Look at all those humans.” Angoulême’s voice drifted up the slope. Cutting. Cruel. “Roland, kill him.”

My brother whispered one word before his body went stiff, power manifesting with vicious heat: “Run.”





Chapter Fifty





Cécile





“It looks like a sheet of fabric being torn from the middle out,” I said, throwing another log on the fire and giving Martin an encouraging nod. “Or a piece of paper.”

“Your analogy is not becoming any more helpful with repeating,” he replied, scowling and plucking at the air. “I feel so useless. I should be able to feel the press of Arcadia against this world, but I feel nothing.”

And I felt no relief to the press of my promise to the Summer King. It was as though, despite removing the iron from Martin, despite making him fey once more, that I’d accomplished nothing. Because he could not go back to Arcadia, and that, ultimately, was what the fairy king wanted. There was another piece. Something that I was missing. But what?

“You aren’t useless,” I said, holding my hands over the flames. “Without your bravery, we wouldn’t even know removing iron from trolls was possible. It’s just that there’s another step in the process that we haven’t figured out yet. But we will.”

And hopefully soon. Beyond fulfilling my promise, there’d be advantages to having someone with fey magic on our side. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the advantages we’d gain as we sat around the fire waiting for Tristan to save the world. Or die trying.

Chris had finally lost patience and gone hunting, Victoria had somehow convinced Vincent to chop wood, much to the detriment of the forest, and my gran was busy gathering what plant life hadn’t been razed by troll-fire. The only thing I could think to do to keep my mind off Tristan was to help Martin, but all it had amounted to was frustration.

“You’d know if something was wrong,” the librarian said, focusing on solidifying his form so that he could pat me on the arm.

I got to my feet and began to pace, tension singing through me from head to toe. Everything wasn’t fine. Tristan was in the thick of it, and the constant bombardment was making me physically ill. I’d wretched up everything I’d eaten for breakfast, and now I was dizzy and tired.

A deep sense of reluctance filled my core and my mouth tasted abruptly sour. I shoved one of the mint leaves Gran had given me into my mouth and chewed furiously.

Then a jolt of panic hit me and I staggered, Victoria catching hold of my arm. “Something’s happened,” I said. “Something’s not right.”

In the distance, explosions of bright color filled the sky and Victoria swore. “That’s Marc. Trianon’s under attack.”

Chris ran into camp right as the earth began to tremble. “Earthshake,” Chris shouted, but as I was thrown to the ground, I knew that wasn’t it. Trees toppled as the intensity increased, and my ears popped with the sound of an enormous thunderclap.

I pushed up on my hands and knees in time to see Chris point and say, “God in heaven, what is that?” A white cloud of mist roared toward us like an ocean wave, and as it passed over our heads, a wall of heat hit my face, turning what snow remained on the trees to water.

“Is Roland attacking Trianon?” my gran asked, her face pale.

“Wrong way,” Chris said, helping me up, both of us swaying as the ground shook again. “That cloud came from the direction of Triaucourt.” His eyes went to mine and I nodded, trying to keep my fear in check. “Tristan’s fighting Roland.”

I grasped Martin’s shoulders. “You need to figure out your fey magic, we need to see what’s happening.”

“I can’t! I don’t know how.” There were tears on his face, but I didn’t care, because Tristan was in trouble, and I didn’t know how I could help him. “Try harder,” I screamed.

He shoved me away, and I fell into Chris’s arms. “I can’t!” he shouted. “You might have cured me, but you didn’t fix the problem, because I can’t go back. I can’t feel the press of the worlds. There is no connection.”

Can’t feel… No connection.

I struggled out of Chris’s grasp. “The élixir,” I demanded. “Where is it?”

Martin blinked at me, then fumbled at his robes. “It’s gone,” he said. “It’s not here.”

My heart was racing, Tristan’s panic mixing with my own. “Did Angoulême take it? Think!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” He tore at the pockets of his robes, and I swore. Because the robes weren’t real – they were a manifestation of his magic. His real robes lay in a heap in the tent. I only prayed the vial was with it.

I sprinted across the camp, stumbling as the ground shuddered, falling through the tent flaps to land on my knees. Martin’s blood-stained clothing was in a heap in the corner, and I rifled through it.