Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(50)

Silence.

“I meant it as a joke,” I explained. “You know, ha ha?”

He nodded slowly. “You did well today. Talk of our little argument has spread like wildfire through the city. Everyone is convinced we despise each other.”

“You were very convincing,” I said.

He raised his head to look at me. “As were you. I almost believed…” He trailed off and then waved his hand, as though what he had been about to say was no matter. “This really is dreadfully ugly.”

“I know.” I broke out into a grin. “You should have seen the looks on their faces when I told them to frame it.”

Tristan laughed, and I felt the tension flow out of me in a welcome release. I realized that I had been half-afraid that he’d meant what he said earlier – that the argument had been real. Our allegiance was tenuous at best, and his anger towards me today had been so convincing that part of me thought he’d changed his mind. Or worse, that it had been all my imagination that he was on my side in the first place.

“You should sign it,” he said. “Artists always put their mark on their work.”

As I set down his tear-stained handkerchief to pick up a pen and ink, I noticed the monogram on it. For reasons I could not explain, I scrawled Cécile de Montigny on the bottom of the painting.

Tristan went still. “I suppose that’s true,” he said, softly as though to himself. He straightened abruptly. “But the Cécile you presented today would not make such a concession, would she?”

The ink rose off the painting, coalescing into a blob before dropping back into the pot. “I suppose not,” I muttered, letting my hair fall forward so he wouldn’t be able to see the embarrassment written all over my face. Not that he wouldn’t be able to feel it. Re-dipping the pen, I scrawled a C in the bottom corner. “Better?”

He made a noncommittal noise, and pulled something from his pocket. “As it turns out, I have something for you as well.”

My mouth made a small “o” as he held up a necklace glittering with tiny diamonds, wrought to look like a cascade of snowflakes. “It’s beautiful.”

“Try it on,” he said.

He took hold of my shoulders and turned me towards a mirror. I stood frozen as he brushed my hair aside, his expression fixed with concentration as he undid the clasp and fastened it around my neck. My senses seemed magnified, and I felt everything keenly: the brush of his wrist against my shoulder, the warmth of his breath on my hair, the faint scent of apples on his hands.

When he was finished, he eyed our reflection. “The Jewelers’ Guild had it made expressly for you – they sent it to you at dinner, but you weren’t there.”

It was like ice water had been poured through my veins. “Oh,” I said. “How kind of them.”

He frowned. “You don’t like it.”

“It’s… cold.” I moved, needing to put distance between us. I could sense his confusion and it made my own thoughts seem scattered. “Everything here is beautiful!” I said, my voice bordering on a shout. “Everything. But it doesn’t mean anything because I’m always alone.”

“You’re rarely alone,” he replied warily.

“That’s not what I mean!” I pressed my hands to my temple as I struggled to articulate myself. “Everyone around me is there because they’ve been told they have to be. By you, your father, your aunt! No one cares about me except for what they think I can do for them. And now,” I clenched my teeth. “Now, I’m about to send you off to ensure that the only people who do care about me think I’m dead. Soon I’ll be nothing, no one to anyone.”

“I see.” His voice was toneless.

Suddenly the necklace broke away from my neck. I watched helplessly as it rose up into the air and rent into countless pieces before dropping into a heap on the carpet.

“Why did you do that?” I shouted.

“It was ill-considered.”

I dropped to my knees and touched the scattered bits of jewels and metal. “You didn’t consider it at all,” I said bitterly. “Someone else did.”

Tristan turned his back on me and I watched him grip the edge of the desk so hard the wood groaned in protest. “I can’t do this,” he muttered.

“Do what?” I asked.

Silence.

“Victoria and Vincent,” he finally said, not turning around. “They are more than passing fond of you. And Marc, well, I didn’t think there was anything that could breathe life back into him, but you seem to have managed. And given the amount of time you spend with all three, I can only assume the fondness is mutual. Avail yourself of them, and perhaps you will find the warmth you’re lacking.”

Before I could think of anything to say to that, he was gone, the door left swinging from the force of his departure.





CHAPTER 16





CéCILE





“Cécile, I thought you said this would be fun.”



I glanced up from my contemplation of the swirling water of the river. “I said no such thing, Vincent. You asked how ‘we human folk went about catching fish’ and I said that I would show you. You said that it sounded like fun.”