Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(76)

I blanched. “It’s true?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he said, solemn expression at odds with the amusement I knew he felt.

“You’re horrible,” I grumbled, then thought for a minute. “The stories also say that accepting troll gold will cost you more than you think, and that it can get you into a great deal of trouble.”

“True. If the human is greedy, the trouble is far worse. Anything else?”

I hesitated and his brow crinkled. “Well?”

“Trolls,” I finally said, “are supposed to be ugly.”

He looked away, cheek pressed against the ground and eyes fixed on the wall of a house only a few inches from his face. “I suppose to you humans, many of us are.”

My thoughts turned to Marc, who was always kind to me when no one else was. “They aren’t ugly.” I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. “More like beautiful things that have had the misfortune of being broken.” Tristan turned his face back to me. I saw the sorrow in his eyes and felt it in my heart. “Why are you always so unhappy?” I asked.

“I think it is our nature to believe evil always has an ugly face,” he said, ignoring my question. “Beauty is supposed to be good and kind, and to discover it otherwise is like a betrayal of trust. A violation of the nature of things.”

“Do you think trolls are evil?” I asked.

“Do you?” His eyes searched mine as though he might find the answer there.

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

He exhaled softly, reaching up and stroking my cheek with one hand. “From your lips I can almost believe it’s true.”

My breath came in short little gasps. The desire for him to touch me, to kiss me, was so strong, it felt like another entity had taken over my mind. And maybe it had. Maybe he had. I could feel his need like it was my own. It was my own. Whatever boundaries existed between our minds fell away in that moment, making it impossible to differentiate between my emotions and his. But that didn’t matter, because we both wanted the same thing.

“Cécile,” he whispered, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my face closer. “I…”

“This is indecent behavior, even for you, Tristan. Especially for you,” a dry voice said from behind us.

Tristan’s shock mirrored my own, but while I was busy scrambling to my feet and smoothing my skirts, he merely folded an arm behind his head and crossed his booted ankles. “Afternoon, Your Grace. Cécile, this is the Duke d’Angoulême.”

“I’m not interested in being introduced to your pet, Tristan.” The Duke leaned on his golden-handled cane. “But I am interested to know why you are cavorting with it in the shadows.”

“I had a pet mouse once,” Tristan said. “I kept it in a box in my wardrobe and fed it cheese and bread crusts until one of the maids tattled on me to my mother. Not that she cared, of course, but when my father found out, he took my mouse away. He said to me, ‘Tristan, if you are to ever have a pet anything, it will be a pet of my choosing, and it certainly won’t be a mouse.’” Tristan smiled. “When my father gives me an order, I’ve always found it’s in my best interest to listen.”

“I’m well aware that the decision for you to bond this creature was your father’s,” the Duke said, his voice frigid. “I am also aware that you protested mightily against the union – I was one of the unfortunate few forced to listen to you go on at length.” He smiled. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

A flash of irritation seared through our bond, but Angoulême never would have guessed it. “Dreadfully funny reason, really.” Tristan smirked. “Or it would be, if you had a sense of humor to speak of, Angoulême.”

“Try me.”

“I was walking along, listening to the girl prattle on about something she no doubt considered very important, when out of nowhere she shoved me clear off my feet.”

“Something we’ve all wanted to do,” the Duke said.

Tristan made a face. “What an awful thing to say. Anyway, when I inquired as to her motivation for the unexpected act of violence, I discovered that she was of the mistaken belief that trolls turned to stone when exposed to the sun’s rays.” He pointed at the beam of sunlight that had moved a few inches further away. “Dear thing thought she was saving my life.”

“What reason have you given her to want to do that?”

“I asked myself the very same question,” Tristan said, rising to his feet.

“Did you come to any conclusions?”

Tristan raised both his hands and shrugged. “Tale as old as time, I suppose. Human women throwing themselves at our feet, blinded by beauty, power, wealth. No matter how they are used and abused, they always come back for more. Like loyal dogs.” He smirked. “Did you expect this one to be any different?”

In the past, his words had always been softened by the guilt he felt in saying them, but this time all I felt was vicious animosity. I tried to unravel his words – to see how I was different from those women – but I couldn’t. He did treat me poorly, and what had I just done if not thrown myself at his feet. My skin crawled with the realization of how pathetic that made me, but reason still governed my mind enough to know that I needed to play along; needed to play my part. “Is that what you think I am? A dog? Some poor beast you can pat on the head or kick in the ribs as suits your pleasure?”