Stolen Songbird (The Malediction Trilogy, #1)(98)

But I was who I was, and I could not let go completely. Could not trust her the way my heart wanted to, because I could see the way it would go. I would give her everything I had, love her with every breath of my being. I would have months, perhaps even a year of happiness before my other plans came to fruition. Then I would be bound by my own promise to let her go, and she would leave. Closing my eyes, I watched a specter of her future self walking down River Road and out onto the beach, never looking back. The pain was worse than a spike of iron through the heart.

My mind, always attuned to where Cécile was, sensed that she was on the move. The dull throb of her misery – misery that I had caused – was a beacon allowing me to trace her progress from the palace down into the city. I didn’t like her out and about like this – the people had mixed feelings about her. Abandoning the tree, I hurried down several flights of stairs and across a bridge into the merchant district. Though she was shorter than everyone around, I caught glimpses of red hair as she walked slowly through the crowd, her guards following a few paces behind. She didn’t seem to realize that I was following. I could think of countless instances when she’d been so lost in thought that I could have walked up and tapped her on the shoulder before she’d notice me. How many times had I followed her through the glass gardens listening to her sing? How many times, and never once did she seem to sense I was there.

Or maybe she just didn’t care.

Turning down an alley, I rounded a corner to get a better view of the market and froze. Cécile was talking to Jér?me Girard’s son, Christophe. Almost without thinking, I ordered my magic to dim, letting the shadows wrap round me like a cloak.

So you can better spy on your wife.

Christophe handed her a peach, and I watched her bite into it, the yellow juices trickling down her slender fingers. She was at ease with him in a way she wasn’t with me, and it was obvious that he fancied her from the way he twitched about, the color on his cheeks, and the way he peeked down the bodice of her dress when she wasn’t looking. I felt a scowl rise to my face. He was good enough looking, I supposed. Shorter than I was, but broader, with the thick muscles all the farmers seemed to have. His hair was the color of the hay his mule was munching on, and brilliant blue eyes shone out of his tanned face. Normally he was the smiling sort, which always put me on edge – anyone who smiled all the time clearly suffered from a mental imbalance – but today his mouth was set straight in a frown. Whatever he was telling Cécile had upset her – I could feel her anguish thick on my mind – and I watched her drop the peach then bury her face in her hands. What had he said? I’d have heard about it if something had happened outside, so it wasn’t to do with her family. He was probably making up some lie about me or Trollus – something that would turn her against us.

I fought the urge to go to her side, to tell Christophe to bugger off while I comforted my wife. My Cécile. Mine.

For now. Until she leaves you to rot in the dark.

I shuddered, suppressing the thought. They were arguing now, but I couldn’t hear their words. If I used magic to amplify them, everyone near the alley would hear them as well. What he was telling her was eliciting surprise and bewilderment, which meant more lies. Cécile closed her eyes, and I saw her lips form my name. Tristan isn’t… I couldn’t make out the rest. I wasn’t what? What lies was he telling about me? Or worse, what truths?

My hands balled into fists of frustration as I watched the human boy reach down and take her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. I could see plainly on his face that he wanted to do more. And she didn’t pull away. She was conflicted. My chest felt hollow and I could feel my breath coming in short little gasps. He was going to take her away from me. Fury like nothing I had felt before filled the space where emptiness had once been, and I strode out into the market.

Cécile’s guards started in surprise as I pushed past them. “Don’t interfere,” I hissed. “In fact, make yourselves scarce. I’ll handle this one.”





CHAPTER 30





CéCILE





Christophe handed me a peach from a basket in the cart and I bit into it, relishing the sweet juices that filled my mouth and trickled down my fingers. “Summer is nearly gone then?” I asked, eyeing the cart full of produce.



“Aye. Harvests have already begun.” He frowned, his tanned skin crinkling a bit around eyes as blue as my own. “Just one endless season down here, I reckon.”

I shrugged. Snagging another peach from the cart, I sat down on the fountain edge and bit into it. Chris moved over to sit next to me, but the dark glares on my guards’ faces made him lean against the wagon instead.

“Have you seen my family? Are they well?” It was information I probably could have gotten from the trolls’ many spies, but it was better coming from Chris, who knew me. Knew my family.

“I saw Fred in the Trianon markets a week ago,” Chris said, picking at one of his fingernails. “He’s not been back to the farm much, I don’t think, though he says your father and gran are well. I think he…”

“You think he?” I prompted, curious.

Chris sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I think he blames himself for not being in Goshawk’s Hollow – thinks if he’d been riding with you, nothing would have happened. And it’s been so long now. No sign of bones, but also no word from you, so everyone thinks that you’re…”