Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(55)

CHAPTER 17





TRISTAN





The sharp stab of pain made me jump in surprise, the motion noticeable enough that my father looked up from the reports the Miners’ Guild had delivered that morning. “What?” he demanded, fixing me with a piercing stare. “Cécile?”



I gave a slight nod, and rose to my feet. Judging from Cécile’s mood, the injury did not seem grievous, but I wanted to go make sure. “By your leave…” I started to say, when the door swung in, interrupting me.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” The troll bowed low, and I recognized him as one of my father’s men.

My father grunted and leaned forward on his desk, fingers interlocked in front of him. “What has she done this time?”

The troll cleared his throat. “The lady Cécile is currently quarreling with Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême, Your Grace.”

Rubbing one eye, my father glanced my direction. “That’s new. I thought she only quarreled with you.”

I shrugged. “We are all wrong from time to time, Father. Even you.” Looking to the messenger, I asked, “What was the nature of the argument; and importantly, who instigated it?”

“It was regarding Her Grace’s abuse of a servant, my lord. And it is a matter of opinion as to who instigated the confrontation.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”

By the time the messenger finished his tale of the events with “…and the Dowager Duchesse requested the Comte open the labyrinth so she could dispose of the servant,” sweat was trickling down my spine. It was made all the worse by the knowledge that Cécile was coming in our direction. Which meant she intended to ask me to thwart the blasted old woman’s plans to dispose of her servant, no doubt entirely unaware that she had been set up. And by falling for the ploy, had set me up.

“Cécile is coming this way,” I said abruptly. There was no point in hiding the knowledge.

My father shook his head wryly. “If she intends to ask me to make an exception, she will be sorely disappointed. I don’t make laws for the purposes of breaking them at the whim of a human girl.” He turned in his chair to look at me. “Unless, perhaps, you are feeling benevolent today.”

I kept my face still. “I don’t make a practice of countering your decrees unnecessarily.” Picking up my glass of water, I stared into its depths and contemplated how best this situation might be resolved. “Did you happen to notice,” I said to the messenger, “the identity of the servant in question?”

The messenger coughed uncomfortably and I instantly knew. “It was Miss Lessa,” he said, voice hoarse.

The desk exploded away from my father, smashing against the far wall. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye. “That bloody manipulative old hag!” he shouted, the air growing hot and the pressure of the room building until my ears popped.

“Get out,” I said to the messenger, and breaking courtesy, he turned and bolted.

I remained still, watching my father storm around the room. Lessa, Lessa, Lessa, I thought. Her mother had been three-quarters troll, making Lessa almost a full-blood. And a powerful one at that – she was reckoned to be the strongest mixed blood alive in Trollus, and she was worth an absolute fortune on the markets. The Dowager Duchesse kept her more as a companion than as a servant. A certain element of prestige came from owning Montigny blood. This was a multi-angled scheme intended to get at not only me, via Cécile, but at my father. Angoulême was growing bold.

“What do you intend to do?” I asked. My father didn’t respond. His eyes were distant, deep in thought. If he protected Lessa, he would be seen as not only willing to circumvent our own laws, but as willing to do it for his own benefit. But if he didn’t protect her, he would be allowing his rival to send one of our blood to her death, and we would be seen as weak. There were no good options.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” my father snarled.

Cécile entered, but to my surprise, she was not alone. Trailing at her heels was the Dowager Duchesse herself, along with Lessa, Marc, and the twins. Cécile’s expression was cross, but despite whatever injury she had sustained, she felt oddly eager. Everyone else was unreadable. Which made me worried.

Her eyes took in the smashed desk and she paled slightly.

“We heard about your exploits,” my father said darkly. “I assume you are here to make a request of me?” His fingers twitched ever so slightly as he anticipated Cécile’s appeal. The Dowager Duchesse was strangely quiet. What was going on here?

She glanced in my direction. Please don’t ask me, I prayed, then cursed my own cowardice. I watched her reach up with one hand and rub her arm, obviously the source of her injury, her eyes fixed on me for a long moment before she turned her attention back to my father. A message.

“You really ought to arrange for the girl to be educated in our laws and customs, Your Majesty,” the Dowager Duchesse said, obviously deciding to take advantage of Cécile’s silence. She glanced Cécile’s direction, and their eyes met for a long moment. Cécile said nothing. Damia looked away first. Interesting.

“Unfortunate circumstances such as those that occurred between us,” Damia gestured at Cécile, “would not happen if she knew better. If Her Highness were aware of the laws governing the relationship between a troll and her servant, she would have known not to interfere. It is my right to treat my servants in any way I see fit. To dispose of them how and when I choose, if I no longer care to keep them in my household.” Her eyes flicked from Cécile, to my father, to me. She was visibly flustered, and the Dowager Duchesse was never flustered.