Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(13)

Tristan peered at me as though I were a curious insect. “She isn’t mute, is she? That would be dreadful.” He leaned back against the chair, his strange eyes fixed on me. “On second thought, perhaps it wouldn’t be dreadful at all. I hardly need another woman in my life telling me what to do, and it would mean I could do all the talking and she the listening.”

“Perhaps our mistake was in not finding you a deaf one,” Marc said. “And her name is Cécile de Troyes, which you very well know, so quit pretending otherwise.”

“Thank you, cousin. It was on the tip of my tongue. Now Mademoiselle de Troyes, tell us your thoughts. Astound us with your wit.”

“Mmmmm hmmmm,” I mumbled around the gag.

“Could you repeat that?” he said, coming closer. “Afraid I didn’t quite catch the punch line.” A slender finger caught me under the chin, lifting my face. He frowned. “Release her, Aunty.”

“She tried to run.”

A noise of exasperation passed his lips. “To where? There is nowhere for her to go, nowhere to hide. Binding her is unnecessary.”

His flippancy made my heart sink – the very idea of my escape was so improbable to him that it was little more than a jest.

I felt power brush over my skin, and I dropped to numb feet. If not for Marc taking hold of my arm, I’d have sprawled across the carpets in front of them all.

“Now that your speech impediment has been rectified, perhaps you might say something. It would be best if it were humorous. I enjoy a good jest.”

“You are dreadfully rude,” I said to him.

He sighed. “That wasn’t the slightest bit funny.”

“Nor are you in any way a gentleman.”

“Cruel truths, mademoiselle, but tell me, did you expect otherwise?” His eyes gleamed, not with humor, but something else.

“I confess my expectations were low,” I snapped.

“I’m a firm believer in low expectations, myself,” he said cheerfully. “Makes for less disappointment in life. For instance, I expected you to arrive fully clothed, but here you are in little more than a scrap of fabric that might once have been a shift.” His eyes raked over my body, and I jerked the edges of Marc’s cloak around me.

“Watch your tongue, Tristan,” the Duchesse snapped.

“Ridiculous expression, that,” Tristan said. “I can’t very well observe my own tongue unless I am to sit in front of a mirror, and I can’t tolerate such vanity. Now tell me, Cécile – you don’t mind if I call you by your given name, do you? Considering we are about to become as close as a dog to his fleas, the familiarity seems appropriate, don’t you think?”

I glared at him.

“Splendid! As I was saying then, Cécile, what became of your clothing? Or is this the latest fashion on the Isle, and I am merely behind the times?”

I scowled at him. “I was deprived of my dress.”

“Really?” One eyebrow rose. “That sounds most salacious – perhaps you’ll regale us with the details later?”

“Perhaps not.” I crossed my arms tightly, trying to hide my mortification.

“More’s the pity,” Tristan sighed rather melodramatically. “It would have been the first interesting thing you’ve said.”

“Are you very nearly finished, Tristan?” the King asked wearily. “We are somewhat pressed for time.”


“Nearly,” Tristan agreed. “I have only one question.”

“Which is?”

“Who damaged her? Granted, I don’t spend much time in the company of humans, but in my experience, they don’t generally drip blood without cause. I was under the impression I’d be getting a whole and healthy human.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Marc jerk his chin in Luc’s direction. Tristan’s gaze turned to my kidnapper, whose arm remained frozen up in the air where the Duchesse had left it, perpetually poised to strike. The Prince’s jaw tightened, and the temperature in the room rose, driving the chill from my fingers.

“Tristan.” The King stood behind me, but I heard the warning note in his voice. “He upheld his end of the bargain. We shall uphold ours.”

The troll prince rubbed a hand across his face, his countenance turning to indifference. “Of course. We agreed to her weight in gold, did we not?”

I gasped, as horrified as I was astonished by the amount.

“Aye, Your Highness,” Luc replied.

“You see, Mademoiselle de Troyes, another instance where low expectations have served me well. Given the contract your dear friend Luc made with us, I half expected him to deliver me a girl of prodigious girth to tip the scales in his favor. Imagine what a pleasant surprise it was for me to discover you were just a little bit of a thing.”

“Tristan.” The King’s voice oozed admonition.

Tristan’s mouth twisted up at the corner. “Well then, best of luck in your travels through the labyrinth with all your gold, Monsieur Luc. I hope you have a strong back.” He gave Luc a companionable slap on the shoulder that sent him staggering, but also released his frozen arm.

Luc shot him a black glare and rubbed his shoulder. “Aye, my lord. Best wishes on your forthcoming nuptials.”

To this, Tristan said nothing, only strode out of the room. I cringed, though; for as much as I did not want to marry a troll, I was just as certain the troll didn’t want to marry me.