Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  My father knew everyone’s weaknesses. And Pénélope was Marc’s. No one knew that better than me.

  We’d all known her life would be a short one. I’d been furious when he’d bonded to her, no part of me understanding why he’d tied himself to someone who lived at death’s door. I’d thought it was a selfish act on both their parts, and while I’d said nothing to Marc, Pénélope hadn’t been so fortunate. It had been the last conversation we’d had.

  She hadn’t died swiftly, but rather after days of ceaseless bleeding that had diminished her, drained her, until not even her fey nature could delay the inevitable any longer, and her light had gone out. I’d lurked in the corner, and even now, I could hear the loud thud of my heart in my ears, beating with dreadful anticipation as I’d planned how to keep my cousin alive after she died.

  I’d kept him bound for what seemed an eternity, each day hoping that he’d come to his senses, but it never happened. So I forced him to promise that he’d live. When Marc had told Cécile about that promise, he’d made it sound as though I’d done some grand thing. In reality, it was one of the worst decisions of my life. That he’d trusted me long ago with his true name was the only reason I’d been able to salvage the situation, because using it gave me not only the power to control what he did, it allowed me to control what he thought. What he felt. What he remembered…

  “I…” I started to say, but Vincent was already hurrying down the tunnel. Marc had his head lowered, face hidden by his hood.

  “I’ll get it all back,” I blurted out. My father had stolen everything Marc had left of the girl he loved, and my cousin hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t complained once. And I hadn’t asked.

  “It doesn’t matter, Tristan,” he said. “They’re just things. They aren’t her.”

  “It does matter,” I argued. “It’s because of me that he took them, so I’ll get them back.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” I was angry now. “It is in no way fine that I never asked what he did to you. I didn’t even think…” I ground my teeth together. “I’ve been selfish. Lately. Always, maybe. That needs to change.”

  “Then change,” he said, walking faster to catch up with Vincent. “But don’t concern yourself about Pénélope’s things. There are other matters more pressing.”

  The conversation was over. Marc did not like to talk about Pénélope. Even when she’d been alive, he’d been close-lipped about her, as though what was between them was private and precious, not to be shared. The only person I’d ever seen him willingly discuss her with had been Cécile. She had a way of getting people to talk that I didn’t. She was empathetic. I was… judgmental.

  Breaking into a trot, I hurried to catch up with my friends.

  * * *

  It didn’t take as long to reach Tips and his gang as I thought it would. From the way Cécile had described it to me, they worked a couple of hours’ walk from the lifts, but no more than a half hour had passed when we reached them.

  Tips must have felt our power, because he was watching our direction rather than where his crew was working.

  “Vincent,” he said with a nod. Vincent didn’t reply, only went over to where the half-bloods were rooting around in piles of blasted rock.

  “My Lord Comte.” Tips bowed low to Marc. Then he turned to me. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  His fist flew forward, catching me hard in the cheek. I staggered back, more out of surprise than pain. With one hand, I touched my face and my fingers came away bloody. Tips’s fingers glinted with metal, and for a swift, angry moment, I thought he wore iron. Then I felt the itch of my flesh healing and realized it was only silver.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he said, a cocky grin smeared across his face.

  “Satisfied?” I demanded, my voice colder than I intended. You deserved that and more.

  “Not even close.”

  We glared at each other, seemingly at an impasse before we even started.

  “This passage is supposed to be closed,” Marc said, breaking the standoff. “It’s dangerous.”

  Tips’s eyes flicked his direction. “Was,” he corrected. “Lord Vincent’s got the knack for shoring things up.”

  I didn’t really hear the last bit. All that registered in my head was that the rock overhead was unstable. Sweat trickling down my cheek, I searched the ceiling above us for cracks, my magic manifesting, ready to form a shield in an instant. Whatever Tips and Marc were arguing about went unheard, my ears peeled for the sound of moving rock.

  “Bloody stones, what do you think you’re doing!” Tips’s voice caught my attention.

  “Is this passage stable?” I demanded, hating the way my voice sounded.

  “Stable enough.” Tips cocked his head, and then he started laughing. “You’re scared. You, the most powerful troll alive, scared to be in the mines.”

  “I’m not…” I broke off with a scowl. “I don’t like it down here.”

  “Poor pretty prince.” He rubbed the corner of his eye like he was wiping away a tear. “You realize that makes no sense. You’ve lived your whole life under a mountain of rock. I’ve seen you go into the labyrinth, which is a far worse place than here, and come out looking like you’ve just been for tea with your mother. It’s ridiculous for you to be afraid.”

  “It’s actually perfectly logical,” I retorted, hating everything that was coming out of his mouth.

  “A rock on the head is a rock on the head.” There was laughter in his voice, and he leaned on his crutch, looking at me like I was the most amusing thing he’d seen all year.

  “I can hold up the rocks in the labyrinth and those above the city,” I snarled at him. “But this is too much. Even for me.”

  Everyone and everything went silent. Swearing, I swung a fist into the wall and instantly regretted it when dust rained down on my head and pain lanced through my arm. Why had Marc said anything about the passage being unstable? He had to have known it would throw me off, make me say things I’d regret.

  “Well, I suppose that does make a bit of sense.” Tips’s voice broke the silence.

  I only scowled, refusing to say anything that would implicate me further.

  “Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Tips continued. “You have to be in control of everyone around you, so it makes sense that you’d want control of everything.”

  Was that so wrong? It was. I knew it was. I heard the thud of Tips’s wooden leg retreating back toward his crew and knew I needed to say something. Why had I come down here? Because I didn’t want to squander the only good that had come from the choices that I’d made? Or was it to make amends for those choices? Both, I decided. It’s both. “Wait.”

  Tips stopped walking.

  “I’m sorry for what I did,” I said, stumbling over the words. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, but I had to…”

  Tips whirled around and limped back toward me. “You didn’t just deceive us, boy,” he snarled, jabbing a finger into my chest.

  “I…”

  “Shut up and listen.”

  The only person who’d ever spoken to me this way was my father.

  “You didn’t just deceive us, you blackmailed us, you used us, and you killed us.” Flecks of spit landed on my face. “And the worst part? We would have helped you if you’d only asked. That girl saved my life when my leg got crushed. And she saved the lives of countless others when she went up against that menace you call a brother.” His finger dug deeper into my chest. “Me and everyone else? We would have given our lives to save her, if you’d only trusted us enough to help. But you couldn’t let us give our lives, you had to take them.”

  What could I say? Everything he said was true, but I could so easily remember the deep, numbing terror I’d felt knowing that Cécile would die if I didn’t take the right actions to save her. “I had to be sure,” I said. “I couldn’t risk doing it any other way.”

  “You mean you had to
be in control.”

  “I…” I wanted to argue with him, to justify and explain the necessity of what I’d done. I wanted to point to the fact that my actions had worked – that Cécile had escaped Trollus, and that she was alive and well. I wanted to make him see that not trusting anyone – other than myself to do what needed to be done – was different than needing to be in control. But mostly I hated that word. Control. Controlling. It made me think of my father and how everything had to be his way. How everyone needed to think and act exactly as he did.

  If the shoe fits…

  Reluctantly, I nodded.

  “Good boy.” He patted my cheek, and I found myself too astonished at his audacity to move out of the way. But my astonishment swiftly turned to anger. What did he want from me? I’d apologized for what I’d done. I’d conceded my own personal failings. I’d let him say what he needed to say with no fear of consequence, and for that, he treated me like a spoiled child? Ignoring the burning sting of the iron in my wrists, I drew on my power, intent on putting him back in his place.

  * * *

  He knows his place, you idiot. Grinding my teeth, I listened to the warning little voice in my head. He knows you can crush him like a fly, but he doesn’t care. All attacking him would do is prove his point.

  Tips must have felt the flux of magic, because the condescension fled from his face and he took a half step back. “I don’t suppose it matters much to you, though,” he said. “Cécile’s away from Trollus, and she’s safe. In the end, that’s all you really wanted.”

  Inclining his head slightly, he started to back away, the conversation over in his mind. But it wasn’t over in mine. I’d faced my dislike of the mines for reason, even if it was only now coming together in my mind.

  “Cécile isn’t anywhere near safe.”

  Tips froze, and his crew quit pretending to work, their eyes fixing on me.

  A few months ago, bloody stones, maybe even an hour ago, I would have told them only what they needed to know. Only what was necessary to secure their support. But things had changed. I had to change. I was no longer heir to the throne of Trollus. I was no longer the leader of a revolution. I was prince of nothing.

  But I had a new weapon, one that I’d never used much before: the truth.

  “My father,” I said, “coerced Cécile into making him a promise she is unlikely to be able to fulfill. He’s leaning on her mind, and if I don’t find a way to stop him, he’s going to either kill her or drive her mad.”

  Tips winced, but I wasn’t through. With painstaking detail, I explained exactly what had happened at the mouth of the River Road.

  Tips’s face was grim by the time I finished. “Maybe she’ll succeed and deliver Anushka,” he said, but the doubt in his voice hung between us. The half-bloods knew as well as anyone how thoroughly the witch had evaded capture.

  “Maybe.” My eyes flicked to Marc, but his face was unreadable. “But I can’t count on it.”

  Tips leaned on his crutch, his gaze distant and unfocused as he considered everything I’d told him, and I searched his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. “I hate to hear of anything bad happening to the girl,” he finally said. “But I don’t entirely understand what you expect us to do about it.”

  I exhaled softly. “Other than catching Anushka, there are only two ways Cécile can be freed of the burden of her promise. The first is that my father no longer desires or cares if she fulfills it, which is something entirely unlikely to occur. The second is…”

  “He dies.”

  “He dies,” I agreed.

  Tips absently rubbed one shoulder, his eyes on the floor. The muscles in his jaw moved beneath his skin, tightening and relaxing as he thought. After a long moment, he looked over his shoulder at his friends. They were silent, but made no effort to hide their apprehension.

  Not good.

  “I hate your father,” Tips said, the words harsh and clipped. “I hate him to the very depths of whatever soul I have. We all do. But…”

  “But…” I pressed, even though I knew what he was going to say.

  His shoulders lifted and fell with an apologetic slump. “He’s given us everything we asked for. Better treatment. The plans for the stone tree and the gold to build it.” Tips lifted his face, meeting my gaze with steady eyes. “He’s delivered everything you offered us, everything you failed to give. We’d be mad to side with you against him.” The corner of his mouth turned up and he snorted angrily. “It makes me sick to say it, but it’s the truth.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks. I’d expected this, but that didn’t make me any less angry. Every which way I turned, my father had schemes designed to make me and everyone else dance to his tune. Even this… he’d known I’d see that the structure the half-bloods were building was doomed to fail. He’d known that I’d feel compelled to do something about it. I was walking down a path he’d laid for me with no idea of where I’d end up. Part of me wanted to keep the information between Marc and me until I’d figured out what my father was up to, but that strategy had served me poorly in the recent past.

  “He’s given you nothing,” I said. “The plans my father provided are not mine – they are false. Even if he allows you to complete the structure, it won’t hold for more than an instant. Take away the magic, and Forsaken Mountain will finish the destruction it started five hundred years past.”

  Tips’s mouth dropped open, and his crew exchanged horrified glances.

  The dullness fled from Vincent’s eyes. “That bastard!” he swore, voice loud enough to make dust rain down. “He’s a blasted sly old fox.”

  I could think of a few more choice words to describe my father than that, but now wasn’t the time.

  “But…” Tips’s mouth moved, forming words, but no sound came out. “They’re detailed,” he finally blurted out. “They’ve got calculations… lists of materials. They’re in your hand!”

  I shrugged. “I’ve no doubt he was meticulous in ensuring that the plans he gave you appeared authentic. But I assure you, they are not.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve seen them – they replicate the magic structure perfectly.”

  “Which is precisely the problem. Stone and steel aren’t strong enough,” I replied, trying to think of a way to explain it to them. Spying a large boulder in a pile of rubble, I gestured for Vincent to retrieve it, then I created a narrow column of magic. “Balance the rock on the column.” He did so, and everyone stared at the combination without comprehension. I sighed. “Now balance it on Tip’s crutch.”

  Vincent picked up the rock, then hesitated. “It’ll break.”

  “Indeed it will,” I agreed. “But what if you had three crutches, and arrayed them so that the weight would be evenly dispersed?”

  “That would work.” Vincent chuckled and nodded. “Now I see. Magic is a stronger material.”

  “And more flexible,” I added, pleased to see the understanding on everyone’s faces. And their growing anger.

  “We’re a blasted bunch of idiots,” Tips snarled. “Fools, snatching the low-hanging fruit without worrying that it dangled from our enemy’s hand. He’ll pay for this, mark my words.”

  I could not deny my elation. I had the half-bloods – at least some of them – back on my side. I held up a cautionary hand. “We cannot act in haste.”

  Tips’s brow furrowed, and the rest of his crew made angry exclamations demanding instant action.

  “He’ll have predicted that this conversation would occur,” I said. “He’ll know I’m down here by now, and he will be expecting us to take certain actions.”

  “Which actions?”

  “I don’t know.” I sucked in a deep breath. “But I do know he will have planned for all contingencies.”

  Tips crossed his arms. “So what do we do?”

  I cast my gaze around the tunnel, meeting the eyes of every one of the young men and women. “We need to figure out his endgame, and we need to sabotage it.”


  The mine echoed with shouts of agreement, but Tips was quiet. “I’m hearing a lot of ‘us’ and ‘we’ coming from you, Tristan, but what makes you think we want you as our leader again? You betrayed us once to suit your purposes, how are we to know you won’t do it again?”

  The tunnel grew deathly quiet.

  “You don’t,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Which is why I’m not asking to be your leader – I’m asking for you to let me help us accomplish this coup as comrades. As equals. And…” I hesitated, the cynical, logical part of my brain screaming that what I was about to do was absolute lunacy. That I would have cause to regret this action countless times in the future. But I needed their trust. No… I needed to prove that I could be trusted.

  “I…” My throat felt tight, as though my very nature was trying to strangle the words forming in my mind. “I, Tristan of the Royal House of Montigny, do swear that I will never again use or speak the true name of a half-blood, or” – I glanced at Marc – “full-blooded troll for the rest of my days.”

  My vision blurred, and I could feel myself lose control of the power of their names. It was still there, like a sword lying motionless behind an impenetrable shield of glass, forever out of my reach. I felt rather than saw a shudder run through Marc, Vincent, and the mining crew as my power over them was relinquished. Only Tips seemed unaffected, which was strange. Very strange indeed.

  “A grand gesture,” he muttered, seeming to sense my scrutiny. “One we all appreciate.”

  I leaned back on my heels, not taking my eyes off him. “Some more than others, perhaps.” A bead of sweat trickled down his face. He licked his lips, looking anywhere but at me. A dark and ugly suspicion grew inside me, an inkling of an idea that, if proven true, would rattle Trollus to its very core. Not possible, not possible!

  I flicked my attention to the other half-bloods, but they showed no signs of Tips’s nerves. Perhaps they didn’t know? He was more human than any of them – it was possible the talent was unique to him, and if so, bringing it out into the open could be his undoing. And I needed him.