Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(92)

“You have to look from the right angle,” Marc said. “Like this.” Bending over, he tilted his head to look upwards. I mimicked him, gasping at what I saw. It looked like a circular window hanging in the air, but it was only visible when viewed directly. Looking through it didn’t show me Trollus – it was a window to somewhere else entirely. I could see part of a rocky cliff, a faint hint of glowing blue dampening it. As I watched, a droplet slowly formed and fell, dropping between our heads to land in the fountain.

“Where is that place?” I wondered aloud.

“The moon.”

I blinked at him.

“What you are looking at is a tear in the fabric of the world.” He straightened upright again. “This liquid is the magic that bonds the moon to the earth. We harness its power to bind the hearts of two trolls. Or a troll and a human.”

Holding out my hand, I caught the next drip as it fell and went to taste it, the memory of its sweetness vivid in my mind. Marc caught my hand. “Only once in a lifetime.” Tilting my hand, he let the drip fall into the pool.

“In the southern half of the labyrinth, there is a small opening where the sky shines through. Very few know of its existence. One night, I stole a vial of élixir de la Lune and the key to the gate from my father – the Comte de Courville has been its guardian for generations – and took Pénélope into the tunnels. She was terrified of the small spaces and afraid a sluag would come upon us, but she came anyway. We bonded under the full moon.”

“I bet you got in a lot of trouble for that.”

A hint of a smile touched his face. “Yes. But there was nothing anyone could do. The bond cannot be undone by any power in this world or the next.”

He was quiet for a long time, and I dared not break the silence.

“We were together for sixty-three glorious days. Then she miscarried. The child died. Pénélope died.”

Tears streamed down my face, but Marc’s eyes stayed dry. He had long since run out of tears for his pain, I thought. Pain I could well imagine because I’d felt it myself. “How did you survive it?”

“I didn’t want to live. I wanted to throw myself from the highest precipice. Cut my heart out with a knife. Dash my brains against the rocks. Anything. I didn’t think I could live without her.”

“So how did you?” I remembered how easily I had knelt down before the guillotine, ready to die rather than to live without Tristan. And ours was a new love, not one built over a lifetime.

“Tristan was there with me when she died. The instant her heart stopped, he tied me up with magic so I couldn’t move. I fought him with everything I had, but even at fifteen, he was one of the strongest living. In the few moments he took to sleep, it required both the twins to hold me. He kept me tied up for weeks, forcing me to eat and to drink when I tried to starve myself. When I’d finally calmed down enough, he made me swear that I would live. Said I was his best friend, and his family and he needed me alive.”

We were quiet for a long time, Marc remembering and me trying to take in what he had just told me.

“Does it get better?” I finally asked. “The pain? The feeling that a part of you is missing?”

Marc shook his head. “You just learn to live with it.”

Fresh tears flooded my eyes and dripped down to stain the silk of my skirts. He had known she would die and the pain it would cause him, but he had bonded her anyway. It was the most incredibly brave and selfless thing I had ever heard – a love story such as songs were written about.

“Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?”

He smiled, eyes growing distant. “In a heartbeat.”

We sat in silence for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“Cécile, you asked me if I dreamed of the outside.”

I nodded.

“Everything I have known and loved has been in Trollus. All my memories are of here. I belong here, in the dark. But you…” He took my hand. “You don’t belong here, Cécile. This place is no good for you – you belong in the sun. And so does he.”

Coming around the fountain, Marc gently kissed my forehead. “You must find a way.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to struggle with a burden that seemed to grow heavier by the hour.

“How much of that did you hear?” I asked, once Marc was out of earshot.

Tristan stepped out from around a glass fir tree. “A fair bit,” he admitted.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I know.” He walked over to the fountain and looked through the window to the moon. “You were afraid before.”

“Angoulême paid me a visit.” I turned my back on the fountain and smoothed my skirts down. “Mostly, I think he wanted to boast about the trouble he had caused. It seems he has known for some time that our behavior was an act.”

“That vile malignant pustule!” Tristan hissed. “He’s a craven, dog-breathed, interfering weasel of a man!”

I waited for him to finish cursing before asking, “So, do we carry on as before? Is there any point?”

“I don’t know.” Tristan rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can go back to it, though.”

I nodded, feeling much the same way. “Another strategy then?”