Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(23)

Marc opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and nodded.

I could feel the pressure in the room building as my magic responded to my frustration, the air growing hotter by the second. “So, what you’re telling me is,” I shouted, my words directed more at myself than my cousin, “that on top of controlling every word I say, every relationship I have, every twitch, tick, and gesture that I make, that I must also now control how I feel?” I slammed my fists down on the table, the wood groaning beneath the impact.

“No, Tristan,” Marc said, ignoring my anger. “You’re the one who thinks you can control every aspect of your life. But you’re wrong. You can’t control this. You’ll have to find another way.”

“What other way?” I demanded.

“Win her over,” he said. “Make her your ally – you’re bonded, be what you are supposed to be to each other.”

The world spun around me and I grabbed the edge of the table for support, feeling my aunt’s prophesy driving me towards what seemed like an inevitable and unavoidable goal. “No,” I said under my breath. “I’ll do what it takes, but it won’t be that. The cost is far too high.”





CHAPTER 9





CéCILE





If Zoé and élise were surprised to find me locked in a closet, they didn’t say so. My hands in theirs, they led me to an adjoining room, and I immediately fixated on the large four-poster bed dominating the space. Under other circumstances, its thick blankets and mounds of pillows might have been inviting. Tonight they held all the appeal of a torturer’s rack.



The maids removed my gown and jewels, and at my request, clasped my mother’s necklace back around my neck. They proceeded to dress me in a white lace nightgown and a thick velvet wrap. “We’ll bring your breakfast in the morning,” élise said, then motioned for her sister to leave. Their troll-lights followed along behind them, the room already growing dim.

“Wait,” I called out. “I have no light.”

Zoé hurried back over to me. “Our mother had this problem when she was alive,” she said. “I remember my father leaving lights about our home for her.”

“Your father,” I asked tentatively, “did he care for your mother?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course he did, my lady. Very much so. They were not bonded, though. It was forbidden.” Her gaze flickered down to the silver marks on my hand. “Perhaps that will change now.”

A second ball of light appeared next to us. “I’ll leave this with you, my lady. Though I’m not certain how long it will last,” she added, cheeks flushing faintly. “My magic has a tendency to wander. I’m sure His Highness will think of a better solution – he is exceedingly clever about such things.”

Alone, with only Zoé’s diminishing ball of light for company, I wandered through Tristan’s cluttered room. Not an inch of wall space had been left bare, and I examined the assorted collection of artwork, tapestries, and maps in an attempt to find insight into the mind of the creature I’d just married. There were landscapes, seascapes, and cityscapes I recognized as Trianon. He had a great many paintings of men on horseback galloping after foxes, boars, and deer. Unlike the other rooms in the palace, no prevailing theme dominated, only a wild and random representation of the world outside of Trollus. The normal, unmagical, Isle of Light.

A mantle took up one wall, and I saw with amusement that he’d nailed a painting of burning logs in the empty space where a real fire ought to have been. A small sitting area surrounded the fireplace, reminding me for a moment of home. But only briefly: this room was cold, unfamiliar, and empty, which our farmhouse never was. I settled down in one of the chairs, pulling my cold feet underneath me, and began to sort through the large stack of books on the table. They were novels: adventures of pirates on the high seas, tales of knights slaying dragons, mysteries set in the underworld of cities on the continent.

The door opened and I leapt to my feet.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” Tristan said, tossing his hat on the desk.

“No thanks to you, sir,” I replied, wrapping my arms tightly around my body. “You left me locked in a closet.”

“And you came to no harm, which leads me to believe the closet might be a good place to keep you in the future.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped.

“I’ve warned you about expectations before, Cécile,” he said, pulling off his coat and draping it on the back of a chair. “Be gone!” He swiped at Zoé’s fading ball of light and it winked out.

“I heard everything you two said! I know your plans for me.” I watched him cross the room towards me, not realizing I was backing up until my shoulders hit the wall. He kept walking until we were only inches apart. The top of my head barely came up to his chest and the outlines of muscle were visible through his shirt.

“Good,” he said. “Saves me from having to explain what is expected of you.”

Terror flooded me. If I screamed, no one would come to my rescue. He could do whatever he wanted to me and no one would question him. Every instinct told me to grovel and beg for mercy beneath the weight of his determination, but my knees didn’t buckle. I met his piercing metallic gaze, knowing that a defiant expression would mean little when he felt my terror as though it were his own.