Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(103)

“No. But they won’t stop Ana?s.”

I stared up at him, confused. “What?”

“You’ll see.”

Tristan led me through a series of alleyways, and then stopped at a door in the back of a building. At his knock, a man opened the door and bowed deeply. “My lord. My lady.” His chocolate-brown hair marked him as part human, but Tristan did not introduce us. The man gestured to the entrance of another room, but did not follow us in.

“About time. Do you think I have all day to waste sitting around waiting on you?” Ana?s reclined on a sofa, smirk firmly in place. I scowled at her and her grin grew even wider. “No need for that, Cécile. I am doing you a favor, after all.”

“No, you are not,” Tristan snapped. “You are doing me a favor and it is from me whom you will collect.”


She got to her feet and made her way to Tristan’s side. The parlor seemed too small to contain the three of us. Ana?s was too close, and the satisfaction on her face made me want to hit her. Not that that would go well.

“You don’t do anything that doesn’t benefit you in some way, Ana?s.” I felt too drained, too tired, to deal with her today. Even at my best, she was better. “This is no favor.”

“As you like.” Ana?s laughed. “Turn around, Tristan. I’m not your wife. Yet.” A wink accompanied this last bit, and the urge to strike out became almost unmanageable.

“Get on with it, Ana?s,” Tristan said darkly, but he turned around.

“Help me,” she said, turning her back to me. “We need to switch dresses. I’d never wear something like that.”

“It’s going to take more than a dress for anyone to mistake the two of us,” I replied. But I began undoing the gold buttons running down the back of her gown. Her skin felt soft and overheated beneath my fingers, the lace of her undergarments reminding me of the tattoo on Marc’s fingers, black against porcelain white.

When she was unbuttoned, I pulled off my own dress, needing no assistance to extract myself from its forgiving design. When she turned around I flushed, profoundly grateful that Tristan had his back turned. Fully clothed she was the most beautiful girl I had ever met. Half-naked, I was certain she was every man’s fantasy. Beside her, I felt like the troll. Shorter, plumper, with a smaller chest and a bigger behind.

We put on each other’s clothes, her dress so tight I could hardly breathe and mine hanging off her slender frame. Then she pulled off her shoes and as she settled onto her bare feet, I realized she wasn’t all that much taller than me after all. “You’re short for a troll.”

She raised one finger to her lips and then handed me the shoes. “No one needs to know that.”

I put them on, wobbling on the high platforms and wondering how I would get more than two steps without falling. In the meantime, Ana?s pulled a black wig out of her bag, along with a golden-framed mirror. “Hair is tricky,” she muttered.

It took a bit of doing to get all of my red hair tucked beneath the wig, and my ribs began to ache from my extra-tight corset. Sweat trickled down my back as I took one shallow breath after another. Ana?s held up the mirror and examined her face. “Now for the illusion,” she said, and her brow furrowed in concentration. I watched in amazement as her black hair turned red and her features shifted until the girl looking back at me was my mirror image.

“Now, for you.”

Warm magic washed over my face, but otherwise I could feel nothing. “Done,” she said, my face smirking in a way that betrayed the girl lurking underneath. I’d never make that face. She handed me the mirror and I held it up to my face. An unhappy looking Ana?s stared out at me, silver eyes and all.

“You shouldn’t frown like that,” she said. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

I lifted my hand and made a gesture that was extremely unladylike.

Blue eyes widened and Ana?s-as-me shrugged. “Just saying. Tristan, you can turn around now.”

He turned and looked from one of us to the other. “It will do.” He took my hand and squeezed it in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring. But it wasn’t. All this costuming and deception was just a step in the process of us being torn apart. “Please don’t make me do this, Tristan,” I whispered. “I don’t want to go.”

He shook his head. “I have to know, Cécile.” He bent to kiss me, but I turned away, not fond of the idea that he’d be kissing Ana?s’s face, not mine.

“This is all very touching,” Ana?s said, interrupting. “But my magic tends to grow bored and wander if unattended. You’ve got maybe half an hour with my face and then it will fade.”

Tristan nodded. “Where will you be?”

“In the glass gardens, wandering around and looking forlorn.”

“Are you certain you want to do this, Ana?s?” Tristan and Ana?s stared at each other for several long moments. I flinched at their familiarity. It was something he and I had never had. “He won’t let you off easily for helping me.”

“I’ve never said ‘no’ to you, Tristan. Never denied you anything.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “And I never will.” They exchanged more long looks, and then Ana?s turned and walked out, comfortable in my flat shoes.

Tristan waited a few moments and then took me by the arm, leading me back into the city and down the valley towards the River Road. I walked blindly, not seeing anything or anyone. It took every ounce of control to keep my face serene, my steps even on Ana?s’s impossibly high shoes. “Don’t say anything,” Tristan muttered. “They’ll recognize your voice.”