Stolen Songbird(31)

The Duchesse turned her attention to me. “Well? Is it done?”

Lie.

“Yes,” I mumbled, not having to fake my mortification.

“Good. You humans are as fertile as rabbits – perhaps a child is the key.”

Magic jerked my chin up. “They’ve predicted a large number of events in my day, girl,” she said. “They’ve never been wrong before. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded, although I didn’t. Who were they? Wasn’t it the Duchesse who predicted the future?

“Good. Now why don’t you get dressed and go into the city. Buy yourself something pretty.”

“Is it safe, Your Grace?” élise asked. “The riots…”

“Perfectly safe,” the Duchesse snapped. “The King has decreed that anyone who harms her will suffer the most extreme of punishments. The law secures her well-being. Besides, presenting her as a princess will demonstrate our continued faith in the accuracy of the prophesy. Help keep the mob quiet for a time.”

“I haven’t got any coin,” I mumbled. Nor did I think a new pair of shoes would compensate for the risk of a mob of angry trolls tearing me limb from limb. My gran always said it was the nature of people to resent those who had more than them. Parading me around in fancy clothes didn’t seem like the best way to earn me popularity.

The Duchesse smiled. “You are a princess now, Cécile. You have unlimited credit everywhere in the city. One of the girls will show you the best shops.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” élise murmured. “I heard a shipment of fine fabrics arrived this morning – perhaps her ladyship would like a new gown made.”

I glanced at the rainbow of dresses Tristan had scattered through the room. Why I’d need another was beyond me. Looking pretty would not keep me safe. A frown creased my brow, and I traced the silver tattoo lacing my fingers. At least I would be a well-dressed corpse.

“An excellent idea.” The Duchesse snapped her fingers. “Now leave us alone for a moment.” The girls darted out of the room.

“You’ve spirit in you, Cécile, just as I knew you would. No doubt you’ve put a substantial amount of thought towards how you might escape. Let me save you the effort – escape from Trollus is an impossibility. In my opinion, there are two ways this can go for you: either you curl up on the floor and wait to die, or you live each day for all it can give you. Little will be denied you here. Clothing, jewels, delicacies from the continent, are all yours for the taking.” She tilted her head. “An education, if you desire. Perhaps further training in the arts. You can become a great woman, Cécile. Or you can remain a prisoner. The choice is yours.”

“I understand,” I said, and watched as the Queen glided from the room. I could have everything in the world but the one thing I wanted. The Duchesse was wrong about my having only two options. I wouldn’t lie down and die, but neither would I give up on obtaining my liberty. I would live each day and fight for what mattered most: my freedom.





The city was marred with innumerable signs of the prior night’s riots. Everywhere I looked, there were grey-clad trolls collecting piles of shattered glass or loading chunks of broken rock into wagons that others pushed down the streets. Although the telltale troll-light hung over each troll’s head, they were all doing the work manually with brooms and shovels. “Wouldn’t it be faster to use magic?” I asked, clutching my glowing wineglass to my chest. No amount of cajoling on élise’s part could have convinced me to leave it behind.



élise glanced at the workers. “Certainly. If they had enough power to manage it. Which they don’t.”

“Oh,” I replied, trying not to stare at their downturned heads as we passed.

Dust motes hung in the light of the multitude of lamps, and the small amount of sun that peered in through the hole in the rock above was made all the more faint by the haze. The trolls in the streets hurried about in twos and threes, expressions alert and wary. There were not many of them considering the size of the city, but to me, Trollus seemed overcrowded and stifling, as though each individual needed ten times his physical space. It was a corked bottle ready to blow at any moment – the witch’s curse must be powerful indeed to keep it all contained.

The worst of it all, though, was the way the trolls reacted to my presence. I had expected dark looks, nasty comments, or even the odd rotten fruit tossed my direction. But after a few near collisions that required me to leap out of the way or risk being knocked down, I realized the trolls were content to pretend I did not exist. I was flanked by two hulking guardsmen whom élise called Guillaume and Albert, but they ignored me as well, seemingly content to discuss what they’d eaten the prior evening and what they hoped would be served at tonight’s dinner hour. Even the dressmakers ignored me, directing all their questions to élise. Which seemed to be going right to her head, because as time passed, she grew more and more bold and less deferential, until I started to doubt which of us was the servant.