Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(91)

Swiftly across the bridge. Up onto the rocks. The rotten wooden door at the base was slightly ajar, but one gentle touch…

The island and everything on it disappeared in a pillar of white-hot heat that seemed to stretch up to the sun itself.

Stepping back into the shadows of the forest, I knelt down. And I waited for them to come ensure that I was dead.

Moments later a hooded figure stepped out of the trees, arms crossed beneath the cloak that dangled to his heels. Part of me wanted to see the Duke’s face – for him to know it was me who had ended him. But enough was at risk without theatrics, and vengeance was vengeance.

Magic honed as sharp as a razor flew from my hand, blood spraying as it sliced the Duke’s neck in two. The hooded head toppled even as the body slumped to the ground, rolling end over end until it stopped next to my feet, face up.

It wasn’t Angoulême.

Which meant he was still in control of my brother. And there was one very easy way for him to test as to whether I was still alive.

Swearing, I threw all the magic I had toward the ocean, and prayed it would be enough.





Chapter Fifty-Four





Cécile





Dismay echoed from the lips of everyone on the tower, followed by a collective sigh of relief as the skiffs were caught just above the waterline, visible fingers of magic grasping and clawing at the wood to keep them upright and steady.

Marc swore. “That has to be Tristan holding them, but it isn’t sustainable.”

There was no missing what he meant. What had been a straight and steady bridge over the water was now little more than a floating dock, waves pummeling both magic and skiffs, sending them swaying back and forth.

Chris rounded on Melusina, who remained perched on the edge of the tower. “Will you take me closer?” She ruffled her wings and then dropped a shoulder for him to climb on, barely waiting for him to hook his feet into the ropes before taking off.

The door slammed open and Tips clattered out on his crutch. “Are you seeing this?” he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of me.

“Can you hold the wall?” Marc demanded.

Tips nodded. “For now, anyway. Might not have to for much longer – they’re killing each other out there. Countless injured or dead.”

“I’ll try to think of something,” I said. “Are there trolls amongst them?”

“No, not yet,” he said. “Though I expect it’s only a matter of time – this human shield of theirs won’t do much good if they’re all dead.”

“I’ll think of something,” I repeated, though I had no idea what I could do that would help in time.

“Pray to your god that these people aren’t oath sworn to Roland,” Marc said, bracing himself against the stone. “Because I’m bringing them to shore.”

We stood mutely as Marc plucked skiff after skiff off the failing bridge, dropping them on the beach. But people still over the water were climbing from their craft, trying to run toward shore. They slipped on the slick surface of the magic, unable to keep their balance as it bucked and plunged, sending them tumbling into the water.

“Idiots,” Marc shouted, but his voice was full of desperation, not anger, as he abandoned the skiffs on the bridge to save those who’d fallen in the water.

It was impossible to look away, especially knowing that Tristan’s power was beginning to fail. His panic was thick in my mind, as was his fear. There were still countless skiffs out there, and even more people in the water, but there was no more time.

“Hurry, Marc,” I pleaded, knowing he was doing the best he could. “He can’t last much longer.”

“Cécile?”

I turned in time to see Sabine running toward me, Souris at her heels, barking like mad. I caught her and we went down in a heap. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, tears smearing against my cheeks. “We don’t know what to do. It’s madness outside the walls: they’re all so afraid, but they can’t seem to help themselves. So many people are dead or hurt, but no one knows what they’ll do if we let them in.”

Gran was leaning against the wall next to Marc. “I’d say we put them to sleep or in a trance like you did in Revigny, but we haven’t the supplies for so much potion, and even if we did, I’ve no notion how we’d get them to drink it.”

“Compulsion?” Marc asked, his voice strained. “Roland’s oath is a weak method of control – it might be that you can overcome it for a time.”

The very idea was overwhelming. I’d compelled a handful of people simultaneously, but it took an incredible amount of focus on each individual, and I’d never been able to sustain it for long. “I don’t think I can,” I said, explaining why.

Grim silence filled the tower as we all came to terms with the idea that we might not be able to do anything. That the survival of those people was entirely dependent on whether Tristan persevered.

“What about a song?” Sabine asked, and when I raised both eyebrows in askance, she added, “I saw your mother, I mean Anushka, do it at the masque. So did Tristan. When she sang, it seemed as though everyone was in a trance. No one moved – they barely seemed to breathe.”

But that had been Anushka, a witch who’d been honing her craft for five centuries. What she had been capable of and what I was capable of were two very different things. Still, the idea resonated with me, and the more I thought about how it might work, the more I believed it was possible. To focus on the song as sort of a spell. Not to compel, but to… mesmerize?