Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(98)

If we moved. I sighed, pulling my hood further forward to keep my ears warm.

“He looks so sad,” Sabine said, leaning against me as we watched the twins disappear into the darkness, Vincent following at his sister’s heels.

I glanced at her. “Roland?”

She nodded, and I fought the urge to regale her with stories of the many ways Tristan’s brother had harmed people, including me. Truthfully, she was right. Roland sat across a crackling fire from Angoulême and Lessa, his chin resting on his knees as he stared into the flames. Neither of his companions made any attempt to engage in conversation, and the human soldiers and servants in their camp gave them wide berth.

“He’s been made to do things he didn’t wish to do,” I said. “That’s why he’s upset. Not because he feels badly for the hurt he’s caused.”

“A broken child,” Sabine said. “But still just a child.”

That thought in our minds, we all sat in silence watching the trio.

“Stones and sky, Roland,” Marc muttered. “Go take a piss or something.”

“This isn’t working,” I said. “We need to find another way to lure him away from his minders.”

“What if we sent him a message,” Sabine said. “A note.”

“How?” Marc asked. “It isn’t as though any of us can traipse in there and deliver it.”

“Why not?” Sabine asked, and I immediately shook my head, seeing the direction this was going. “It’s too dangerous, Sabine. He’s too dangerous.” I looked to Marc for agreement, but instead his gaze was thoughtful.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I smell cooking, and a growing boy’s got to eat.”



* * *



“I should be the one doing this,” I muttered as we approached the group of servants working around the cook fire.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she replied. “From what I’ve heard, the Duke is wise to all our tricks and he’s not so much a fool to have completely lowered his guard. If any of them were to sense the magic of your disguise, you’d be done. Tristan would be done. And I don’t really care to fight the rest of this war without you.”

I couldn’t argue with her logic.

Two of the cooks looked up at our approach, and we both smiled. “She’s going to serve His Majesty his dinner tonight,” I said, a breeze drifting through the camp as I forced power into my words. “You’ve both known her for years. Me, you never saw.”

Moving at a sedate pace that wouldn’t attract attention, I retreated into the woods to where Marc and Martin waited, their eyes on the portal.

“Here she comes,” Martin whispered, and we all watched in silence. If it went badly, there was nothing we’d be able to do to help her.

Sabine and two other women approached the three trolls, trays of steaming food carefully balanced in their hands. She dropped into a curtsey, and the other two followed suit, dishes rattling against each other.

“Idiots don’t know the first thing about serving royalty,” Lessa muttered.

“Perhaps you might instruct them, my lady,” Roland said. “Given your own expertise in the matter.” There was a sly edge to his voice that reminded me of his brother, but I shook away the thought.

“He knows she isn’t Ana?s,” Marc murmured, and I nodded. Knew, and wasn’t entirely pleased about the deception.

“Check them,” Angoulême said, his tone sour. Indeed, for one who, in his mind, had won a victory a lifetime in the making, he seemed of a poor temper.

Roland glanced at Sabine, then turned back to the fire. “They are who they are. Human. No magic.”

“Are you sure?”

Roland slowly lifted his chin to meet the Duke’s gaze, and the hatred in his eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen. A wrath inhuman in its magnitude. “By all means, Your Grace, please check for yourself. Or perhaps have the lady check them, given she excels with disguises. Or at least thinks she does.” His eyes shifted to his half-sister, eyeing her up as though wondering how she’d look without her skin.

Lessa licked her lips nervously, and shifted a few inches away. But Angoulême seemed unperturbed. “Do not test me, boy,” he snapped, jerking the tray from one of the women’s hands and slamming it on the ground.

Noticeably trembling, Sabine approached Roland, and I took hold of Marc’s hand, squeezing it hard to keep my fear in check.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered, dropping into another curtsey, then carefully setting the tray in front of him, her body obscuring Angoulême and Lessa’s view. Then she slowly lifted her face to meet his eyes and I held my breath. Please don’t hurt her.

Roland’s head tilted ever so slightly, expression considering. Then his eyes flicked to the scrap of paper Sabine carefully dropped onto his tray.

Please. Please.

“Thank you,” he said, his smile revealing too many teeth to be comforting. Then magic plucked up the scrap, he glanced at the words, and it disappeared in a smokeless puff of flame. “It smells delightful.”

Sabine curtseyed a third time, then retreated with the other women back to the distant cook fire. Roland watched her go, then began eating, showing no interest in divulging the existence or the contents of my note to his master. He finished his meal and rose to his feet. “Excuse me.”