Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(67)
“If there was ever a chance of finding her, it was then. Her face was well known. But the humans were not unhappy with the results of what she had done.” He tapped the book in front of me. “This doesn’t tell the whole story – not even half of it. There are things we did that no king would allow to be written, because that would mean they could never be forgotten.”
“Such as?”
“Such as feeding humans the flesh of their own dead while troll aristocracy feasted in their palaces. Sending humans like rats into the labyrinth with promises of riches if they found a way out. Slaughtering human babies and using their mothers like milk cows for troll infants. And once the humans had all fled, doing the same to half-blood women.”
I held up a hand to make him stop, his words making me feel breathless and unwell. What he was telling me was shocking, but looking at the expressions of the kings above us, I could well imagine them giving the orders.
“But human memories are short, it seems,” Tristan continued. “They soon forgot the atrocities of Trollus, or perhaps their greed overwhelmed their fear. They agreed to continue the hunt for the promise of gold. When it became clear she would not be found through her physical description, the hunt turned on women who followed her practices.”
“The witch trials?” He had my attention now. The trials happened once a generation, at least. I’d been ten the last time a mob of men swept through the Hollow looking for women who were uncannily skilled with herbs or predicting the weather. Calling them trials wasn’t even the truth, because anyone the mob accused was burned to death.
Tristan nodded. “Hundreds of years and thousands of women slaughtered and for what? We’re still trapped like rats in this hole. She’s still alive and no doubt has a good daily chuckle about our worsening predicament. And my father continues to send men out hunting for her, when he knows that it’s useless. It is like trying to thread a needle with a battering ram. It’s a waste of time.”
“It isn’t a waste of time,” I argued. “Your aunt told me the prophecies always come true.”
The anxiety in him rose to a fevered pitch. “I want you to drop this, Cécile. I don’t want you to spend another second thinking about it.”
“What is wrong with you?” I demanded.
“Leave it,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “Do not pursue this any further!”
I realized then that he had duped me. “It isn’t that you don’t think the curse can be broken,” I said, snatching hold of his arm. “It’s that you don’t want it broken at all. Not even once you are king. Not ever.”
“And if you had any sense, you’d be thankful for it!” He jerked away from me hard enough that I almost fell off the chair.
“Perhaps I would be if you’d give me half the chance,” I said, rubbing my strained fingers. “But it’s difficult given you seem intent on deceiving me. Why not try the truth for once. If you’re even capable of it.”
He flinched and was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Cécile, consider this: my ancestors did not just rule Trollus, they ruled all of the Isle of Light and much of the western half of the continent. Do you honestly believe if we are set free that my people will settle for anything less?”
“I don’t think what happened in the past dictates what will happen in the future,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“I don’t agree,” Tristan said coldly. “And I think if you knew more about what you speak, you would be singing a different tune.”
He gestured at the table and three books toppled sideways off my stack, revealing a huge tome underneath. “Some light reading on our prior conquests.” Then he turned and walked out.
Reluctantly, I opened the book and shone my light stick on the page so I could read. Before long, I wished I hadn’t. For the centuries prior to the Fall, the trolls had been a conquering force like no other in the world. They had ruled lands that reached far beyond the shores of the Isle. Foreign nations had either bent a knee and paid tribute in slaves and goods, or their people were slaughtered. A lone troll had the power to wipe out hundreds of men, and the troll kings had armies in the thousands. The artists illustrated the history in graphic detail. My stomach turned at the sight of it.
Was this what I should expect if I set the trolls free? King Thibault’s army might be a mere echo of the trolls’ strength in prior days, but what could armies of men do in the face of a magic with the strength to blast rock and tear metal asunder? The Regent of Trianon would not willingly give up power – he would ride against the trolls and learn his lesson the hard way. And I did not see Thibault showing any mercy against an enemy army – an army that included my very own brother. I swallowed hard at the images running through my head.
But what about after Tristan was king? Then it would be within his power to ensure peace. He wasn’t like his father or like those other kings. And what’s more, with only a few exceptions, the trolls I knew were not evil marauders intent on domination. The half-bloods were fighting against oppression, and I knew there were full-bloods who were like-minded. The past did not have to repeat itself.
Rising, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my skirt, and the grimoire caught my attention. I stared at it, thinking. For all the trolls’ magic and strength, it had been a human who broke the mountain and trapped Trollus for eternity, or at least near enough to it. Humans had magic too, at least some of us. I’d be a fool to not learn what I could about it.