Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(35)

“Heavens,” I gasped, clutching the gazebo railing and blinking at the brilliant light.

“More like hell, really, but the Artisans’ Guild has done a good job disguising it.” I whirled around. Tristan was standing at the foot of the gazebo steps. “You’ve a lovely voice. I can’t say I’ve ever heard anything like it.”

“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me,” I said, my mind reeling. How long had he been standing there listening?

“Don’t get used to it,” he laughed snidely, turning to go.

“Wait!” The word was out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. Tristan froze, then turned slowly back around to look at me. I hurried down the steps and stopped in front of him. “I wanted to thank you for saving my friend’s life today.”

He tipped his head to one side, eyes searching my face. “Is that what you think happened?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. His face was smooth, but his unease was a growing knot in the back of my mind. “Albert would have killed him if you hadn’t made him stop.”

“Albert’s an idiot,” he shrugged. “Christophe didn’t deserve to die just because you foolishly decided to throw yourself on him in public.”

“You know his name?” I asked, surprised.

“I know all their names. What of it? I’m sure you know the names of all your pigs.”

I rolled my eyes at the comparison. “I’m just surprised you bother, given that you supposedly hate us so much.”

One eyebrow rose. “Supposedly?”

“It’s what I’ve been told,” I said. “Although if you do hate humans, then you wouldn’t have cared if it was my fault or not. You’d have killed him anyway. And don’t give me any of that nonsense about humans being tools.”

“Nonsense?” A faint smile drifted across his face.

“Quit parroting my words back at me,” I snapped, “and answer my question.”

“But you haven’t asked one.” He tapped his chin with an index finger and waited.

He was right, I hadn’t. It was sitting on the tip of my tongue: why were you happy when we failed to break the curse? The cynical, logical side of me wondered if he was even more extreme than his father – that he would rather stay in a cage forever than give up an ounce of power – but my gut told me otherwise. He had a reason he was desperate to keep secret. I opened my mouth to ask, but nerves kept the words from coming out.

Tristan cleared his throat. “When I was a young boy, Jér?me used to let me ride around on his mule. He would tell me stories about what it was like outside, and I would imagine that I was a knight on his horse riding off to save the world. That the curse was broken and we’d escaped Trollus.”

Was that an answer to my unasked question? I wasn’t certain. “Do you still dream of escape?”

He closed his eyes and his misery rushed over me. “Yes, but I don’t call them dreams anymore.”

“What do you call them?”


“Nightmares,” he said, so softly I barely heard him. He was shaken, visibly so, but I didn’t understand why. What about coming out into the world above terrified him so much?

“My lady?” Zoé’s voice made me jump and I turned, half expecting to see her right behind me, but her dancing orb of light was still over by the hedgerows.

“She probably thinks I’m lost,” I started to explain, but when I turned around, Tristan was already some distance away and walking quickly.

“My lady?” Zoé called again, and I could hear the concern in her voice.

“Over here,” I called and she hurried over. Albert, I noticed, was with her. “You should come in now, my lady. It is getting quite late.”

“Quite late,” I echoed, my eyes searching for Tristan’s light.

“Was there someone out here with you, my lady? I thought I heard voices.” Albert was watching me intently, and I felt a shiver run through me like ants marching down my spine.

Zoé gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Don’t tell.

“No,” I lied, not knowing exactly why. “I was just talking to myself.”

He frowned. “Who lit up the garden then?”

I tensed.

“Oh don’t be such a boor, Albert,” Zoé said, smiling winsomely at him. “The poor thing is miserable – I thought the gardens would cheer her up a bit.”

“Only royals or members of the Artisans’ Guild are allowed to light the garden, Zoé,” he chided, but I could see he wasn’t immune to her charms, half-blood or not.

“I know.” She lowered her head. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“I suppose not,” he said, motioning for us to start towards the palace. “Not unless I’m asked, at least. I would not care to see you punished.”

The girl smiled at the hulking troll, but said nothing.

I kept my mouth shut, but my mind was whirling about like some great machine. Zoé had just lied. Not overtly, of course, but the effect was the same. But why was she covering for Tristan’s presence when the whole city knew that we were bonded? Why was she covering for him at all when by all accounts she should hate his noble guts?