Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “I would speak with you alone,” I said softly enough that only he and Marc could hear.

  Tips wiped the sweat off his brow. “No…” he replied, the word sounding like he’d torn it out of his chest. “Anything that needs saying can be said in front of my crew. I trust them.”

  With his life? Because if what I suspected was true, his life would be very much in jeopardy. I’d have to speak to him about it later.

  “I accepted your criticism of my previous actions. Of my… duplicity,” I said instead, leaning heavily on the word. “And have since dealt with you honestly and in good faith. I would have the same from you, should we agree to conspire together against my father.”

  “A fair demand.” Tips closed his eyes for a long moment, and I watched his throat move as he swallowed hard. “We’ll need a moment.”

  I nodded. Tips crutched over to where his crew stood, said a few words to Vincent, who started in our direction. Then one of the half-bloods erected a flimsy shield and they all began to talk in earnest.

  “Why did you do it?” The words all but exploded out of Marc’s lips.

  “Without free will there can be no equality, and while I held the power of your names, your will was always within my control.”

  “But at what cost?” he demanded.

  There was a wild tension about him, and I could feel the heat of magic ebbing and flowing through the tunnel. “How much it cost me?” I asked, then paused, realizing the true source of his anger. “Or how much it cost you?”

  Marc spun away from us and slumped against the tunnel wall, his face entirely hidden by shadows. “It is all undone.” I had not heard such despair in his voice in a very long time. Not since the days following Pénélope’s death.

  Vincent caught hold of my arm, concern making him squeeze hard enough that it hurt. “What’s happening to him?”

  I’d never considered this consequence. No troll I’d ever heard of had given up the power of another’s name, so I’d undertaken the task without complete understanding of the ramifications. And they’d been far greater than I’d anticipated. I hadn’t only given up the power to command them in the future, I’d undone the power of any commands uttered in the past. And there was no one that affected more than my cousin.

  “We’ve decided.” Tips’s voice drifted down the tunnel toward us.

  “Cursed timing,” I swore, exchanging a panicked look with Vincent.

  Tentatively, I reached out and rested a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I said under my breath. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

  He didn’t respond, but the rock he was gripping with one hand began to crumble.

  “Your Highness?” There was heat in Tips’s tone. “Lost interest in us already?”

  I ignored him. Marc was more important. “Does your word still hold?” I hissed.

  His hood jerked up and down once, and a modicum of relief flooded through me. “Can you hold yourself together while I finish this? After, I’ll think of something.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Marc!” I clenched his shoulder. “Answer me.”

  Slowly, he turned his head so that I could see one eye. It was coated with a thin layer of blood, the vessels breaking under pressure and reforming in an instant. I wanted to recoil away from that gaze, but I didn’t let myself.

  “You chose,” he said, his voice thick with animosity. “Do not squander what you have gained.”

  His words were a punch to the gut, driving away my breath. Was this always to be my destiny? Hurting those who mattered most with my failed efforts to make the right choices? “I’m sorry.”

  “Get on with it.”

  I turned numbly back to the half-bloods, only a lifetime of practice allowing me to wipe away all traces of what I was feeling. Tips and his crew were watching us with interest, aware that something had occurred during their discussions, but uncertain what.

  “What is your decision?” I asked, finding it hard to care with my cousin rapidly losing his mind behind me.

  Tips didn’t hesitate. “We’re with you.” He gestured at his crew. “All of us.” They nodded in agreement. “But as for the rest of the half-bloods… That will take time. They aren’t the most trusting these days.”

  My relief at his words felt small and inconsequential. “Until we know more about my father’s plans, we dare not act,” I said. “We’ve got time. Best we keep this between us until we think of a strategy.”

  Tips nodded. “Now that we’ve got that settled, you should make yourself scarce. Our cooperation means nothing if we don’t make quota.”

  “Until then.” I nodded at the half-bloods, and a few of them bowed awkwardly. Tips did not. He, at least, would take our equality seriously. And frankly, I had bigger concerns.

  “Get him out of here,” Vincent said quietly. “And think of a solution.”

  “I will,” I muttered. Marc was already facing down the tunnel, but the air was thick with magic that coiled unguided, brushing against me, the walls, the ceiling. I touched the manacle on my left wrist, ignoring the stab of pain while I cursed the steely handicap. Was the punishment worth taking them off? I might end up with more than just the two in my wrists. What good would I be to anyone then?

  “Let’s go.” Marc’s voice sounded strange and unfamiliar. Angry. Dangerous.

  I’d be punished for taking the manacles off, but if I left them on, there was a real chance I might not get out of these tunnels alive.

  Twelve

  Cécile

  “You’re out late.”

  I jumped, my mother’s voice acidic in my ears. She stood next to the roaring fire, face cast in shadows, a glass of brandy in her hand. “Feeling a bit dramatic this evening?” I asked, hanging my cloak on a hook. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be dining with Julian?”

  She took a sip of her drink. “He was otherwise occupied.”

  “At least he’s recovered from your announcement,” I said, flopping into a chair. “I was more than a little concerned he’d quit the company for spite.”

  “Quitting isn’t an option for him.”

  There was enough venom in her voice to make me re-evaluate the severity of the situation. I’d long known that Julian was enamored with her, but surely the emotions were not reciprocated? He was the same age as my brother. “Did he say something to you?”

  She took another swift drink. “He said a good many things.”

  I grimaced, knowing that if he’d repeated what he’d said to me to her, she would not have taken it well.

  “Enough of Julian.” Setting down her glass, she drifted across the carpets, coming to a stop in front of me. “Where were you this evening?”

  “Here and there.” She had never cared where I was before, other than to suggest I spend more time entertaining subscribers after performances.

  “Here and there,” she parroted my words back, and I knew I was in trouble. “Perhaps I need to be more specific, Cécile. Why were you in Pigalle?”

  I gaped at her, my mind scrambling for a lie even as it raced for a possible explanation of how she knew.

  “Don’t bother trying to squirm your way out of it, my dear,” she snapped. “Your brother was here, which would have been a shock in and of itself, but he insisted on giving me an earful about letting you run wild through the slums. What could possibly even interest you in that trash heap they call a quarter?”

  I had no good answer. There was nothing in Pigalle that should appeal to a girl like the one I was supposed to be. But if I didn’t give her an answer, she’d go hunting for one, and the absolute last thing I needed was Fred telling her the whole truth because he was angry with me. “I…”

  “You…?” Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol and anger. Why, tonight of all nights, did she have to start taking an interest in where I spent my time?

  “I was getting my fortune told.” The words came out in a tangled rush. “Some of the girls were talking about it, and I wanted to see
what my future held.”

  She straightened, her head tilting slightly as though considering whether I might possibly be so foolish as to lie. “No one can see the future.”

  “I know,” I blurted out, getting to my feet because I couldn’t sit still. “It was all nonsense. I’m sorry I went. It won’t happen again.” I wanted to go upstairs to my room, to hide and let this day be over, but she stepped into my path.

  “These next few weeks are going to be very important for you, you know.”

  Important, yes, but not in the ways she imagined.

  “I need you to understand that I’m setting you up so that you will have a grand future.” Her eyes delved deeply into mine, but I wasn’t sure what they were looking for. “I need you to be ready to take over my role, my place, my position.”

  “You’re being dramatic.” Did she really mean to retire? “It isn’t as though you are dying.”

  Something flicked across her gaze, but was gone again in an instant. “Of course not. But the young inherit. That is how it has always been, and it is how it will always be. I need…” She broke off, then huffed out a breath of air. “I need you to go to your room. And every night you aren’t performing, I expect you to be back in this house before dark. Am I clear, or must I go over the terms of your continued presence in Trianon once again?”

  “Perfectly clear.” Agreeing with her was easier than arguing. She was never at home at night anyway, so it would be easy to sneak out when and if I needed to. Twisting past her, I trotted toward the stairs.

  “You’ll be accompanying Julian and me to the castle in the morning to meet with Lady Marie and the rest of the ladies who will be performing in the masque. I want you dressed in your finest and on your best behavior.”

  “But…” I’d had every intention of going back to Pigalle in the morning to speak with La Voisin.

  “No buts.” Her voice was sharp. “You will do as I say, or you will find yourself back on the farm.”

  Gooseflesh prickled across my skin, and the idea of disobeying her abruptly felt like an especially bad idea. She did not make idle threats. “I’ll be ready.”

  The chill didn’t abandon me until I was up in my room, ensconced in front of the fire and a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I stared into the flames, trying to put my thoughts in order.

  The moment felt surreal, which was strange, given that sitting on the floor of my bedroom wrapped up in my own thoughts was the most normal thing I’d done in recent days. I’d ridden out into the dark of night with a stranger. Made a bargain with the king of the trolls. Tracked down a witch in the most dangerous quarter of Trianon. Confronted the city guard. In all of those moments, I’d felt so present and alive, but now, sitting alone in front of the fire, I barely felt like myself.

  Maybe because I wasn’t. Maybe because I’d changed.

  Covering my eyes with my hands, I mumbled, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “You are Cécile de Troyes, star of the opera stage and Trianon’s new favorite ingénue.”

  Every muscle in my body jerked at the sarcastic voice. It was one thing talking to myself, quite another to have myself answer back. Spreading my fingers ever so slightly, I peered through the narrow cracks between them. Eyes stared out at me from the flames.

  Squeaking, I fell backwards, tangling in my blanket.

  “Oh, stop that.”

  The voice was familiar. Cautiously, I crawled on hands and knees back toward the fire, my body tense and ready to bound away again at the slightest hint of a threat. “La Voisin? Is that you?”

  “Please call me Catherine.” Disembodied though it was, her voice seemed calm.

  I was anything but. I’d seen so many incredible things, but this… If she could do this spell, that meant I could learn to as well. A thousand possibilities blossomed in my mind of the ways I could make use of it. Maybe it meant I could talk to some of my half-blood friends in Trollus. Maybe it meant I could see Tristan. “How is this possible?”

  “Magic, obviously.” The eyes in the flames blinked at me. “You’ve very distinctive hair, and you lost a few strands in my shop today. You should be careful about leaving behind pieces of yourself – they can be used.”

  The eyes disappeared and reappeared with an eerie blink.

  “You did me a good turn today, getting me out of that spot of trouble with the guard,” she continued, not waiting for me to answer. “Come by the shop tomorrow, and I’ll help you as best I can.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the flames flared up high, and as suddenly as they had arrived, the witch’s eyes were gone.

  Thirteen

  Tristan

  I left the manacles on. Not because I was afraid of the punishment for removing them, though I was. And not because I was cocky enough to believe I could easily best him. The reason I left them on was that I refused to believe that even in these dark hours I had any need to defend myself from my cousin. Which perhaps made me a fool, because just as only my father’s death would release Cécile from her promise, only my death would set Marc free.

  I followed him through the mines, every blast of the miners’ magic making me jump as I struggled to come up with a solution for what I had done. For the unintended consequences.

  But there was none.

  Before long, Marc’s swift walk turned into a run, and even though his crooked legs made his stride uneven and strange, it still took everything I had to keep up with him. He was taller and faster, and the distance between us began to grow. Scenario after scenario ran through my head, each worse than the last. I’d only seen him like this once, and I’d fixed him before I’d had the chance to see how far madness would drive him. I didn’t know Marc like this. I could not guess what he was capable of.

  “Marc, stop!” I shouted between gulps of breath.

  He ran faster.

  “Marc! Marc, listen to me!”

  I might as well have been howling into the wind. We were very nearly at the base of the shaft where the lift would be waiting to take us up. I had to stop him, speak to him, try to contain him, because fixing him was no longer within my power. Desperate, I flung out a rope of magic, catching him around the ankle seconds before he rounded a bend. I heard a thud and a string of curses, then silence. Sliding to a halt, I walked cautiously around the bend.

  Marc stood in the middle of the tunnel, sword drawn. “What makes you think I want to listen to a word you say?”

  I stopped, keeping a wary eye on his sword. My fingers itched to draw my own blade, but my gut stayed my hand.

  “Why did you do it?” he demanded.

  “As a show of trust,” I said. “And to put everyone on equal footing.”

  “As if any of us could ever be your equals.” He spat the words, the tip of his sword shaking. “And you know that isn’t what I meant.”

  “I know.” I inhaled deeply, trying to find some measure of calm. This had little to do with my choice to relinquish power over names and everything to do with the choices I’d made two years ago. “There is no grand explanation. I didn’t want Pénélope’s death to kill you. So I did the only thing I could think of to keep it from happening.” I pressed a weary hand to my face, blocking out the light of the girders lining the walls and remembering the black day when Pénélope had died.

  “Whether I lived or died wasn’t your choice to make.” He lifted his sword, tensing as he readied to strike. “It wasn’t your choice!” His voice echoed, repeating over and over as though the tunnels themselves desired to have their point made. He looked feral, eyes red and muscles pulling his deformed face into the mask of madness that I remembered so well because I had been its instigator. Forcing a promise from him that set his mind to battling itself, half desperate to die and the other compelled to live.

  “I know,” I said. “I didn’t understand then what forcing you to make the promise to live would do.”

  At least not until it was too late. And then it had been a wild scramble to correct wh
at I’d done, ordering him by name not to think of his loss, of his pain, or his misery. It took days to carefully craft the layers of commands needed to maintain his sanity without being so cruel as to eliminate Pénélope from his thoughts entirely. Orders that had remained in place until I’d relinquished control over the names of him and the half-bloods. And now all that remained was that ill-thought promise that could not be undone by anything but death and a mind once again at war with itself.

  “I do not know myself.” He flung his sword against the ground and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, squeezing hard. “Two years I’ve lived under your control. Two years I’ve been not who I am, but who you wanted me to be. I should have died with her. I should have died with her.” He kept repeating himself, and his words made me shake with sudden fury.

  Heedless of the spikes skewering my wrists, I swung hard, catching him in the jaw. He stumbled back, and I bent double, swearing as blood splattered the floor. “Why should you have died?” I shouted through the pain. “To prove that you loved her? Because you thought you’d betray her by living? Because you thought that was what she wanted?” I straightened slowly, the stench of blood and iron thick in the air. “She wanted you to survive her death – I know that, because she told me herself!”

  “I have no reason to live without her.”

  I spat on the floor. “Nothing to live for? What of your family? Your friends? Your cause? Does none of that matter to you anymore?” I stormed forward until we were eye to eye, inches apart. “Before Anaïs. Before the twins. Before the half-bloods, there existed an idea between you and me about how we could change our world for the better. This has always been as much your cause as mine.”

  He looked away first. “Don’t stand there and pretend you’d be any better if Cécile died. I watched you throw away everything to save her.”

  “Because she could be saved! I’ll not claim that what I did was right, but at least it had purpose. Your death has none. It won’t bring Pénélope back. And if Cécile were to die and I survived long enough to listen, I’d hope you’d say the same thing to me.”