Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  I balled my fists until my wrists screamed and forced me to relax them. “There is more to my life than just her. There are other people I care for. Causes that matter.” I drew in a deep breath. “She walks as close to the line of death as Pénélope ever did, and there are times I question why we do this to ourselves. Why we tie our fate so closely to one person that everything we are, everything we do, hangs upon them. It seems a cruel thing that we lose not only the one we love most, but also the opportunity to endure. To finish the things we’ve started.”

  My anger fled, and I suddenly felt bone-weary. “I do not know what her death would do to me, whether I’d have the will to carry on.” I concentrated on the pain in my wrists, trying to focus my thoughts. “I cannot imagine life without her, but at the same time, I hate the thought that what we’ve started in Trollus might go unfinished. It seems such a wretched waste.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long time, the activity of the mines the only sound to break the silence.

  “I’m sorry for the pain my choices caused you,” I said. “But I cannot seem to regret them.” Pushing past him, I started toward the lift.

  “That’s it?” he shouted after me. “You’re just going to wash your hands of what you’ve done and leave my mind to turn as twisted and broken as the rest of me?”

  I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. I was afraid that if I looked at him, I’d lose my nerve, the fragile confidence I had in the truth my own fears had revealed to me.

  “It’s not up to me anymore, Marc,” I said. “If you find reason inside yourself to live, your will and your word might cease to be at odds and your mind once again be whole. Or you can pine away for death and let the madness grow until my father orders you put down. The choice is yours.”

  My feet didn’t want to move, but I made them. Step after step until the stone slab of the lift lay beneath them. And as it started to rise, I prayed to fate and the stars that I hadn’t made another choice that I’d have cause to regret.

  Fourteen

  Cécile

  The carriage jerked and bounced over the ruts in the road, bruising my bottom and making my teeth clack together. Winter was approaching, the ground hard with frost and the air laced with the scent of coming snow. I pulled my cloak tighter around my body as I watched the faces of those we passed, wishing my eyes would light upon the one I sought, even as I knew that I would never be so lucky.

  But then my eyes did catch sight of a familiar face: Esmeralda. She stood with a group of sailors, gesturing angrily, and although there was little chance of her glancing up to see me, I leaned back so that my face was obscured by the curtain. And felt cowardly as I did. I was supposed to have helped Zoé and Élise – all the half-bloods – but there were times when I thought all I’d done was make things worse for them. I’d distracted Tristan and altered his focus, and I knew he’d sacrificed them to save me when I’d been hurt.

  No humans were allowed into Trollus anymore, so Esmeralda had lost her only contact with her nieces. All because of me. There was no apology capable of making up for that – the only thing that could would be breaking the curse and winning the girls’ freedom.

  I sighed, pushing my regrets to the back of my mind. I’d barely been able to sleep last night, my mind so full of the possibilities that one short conversation with La Voisin – Catherine – had opened up for me. The least of which was the chance I might be able to communicate with those in Trollus.

  Tristan had been up to something last night, and his wakefulness had contributed to my own insomnia. It would help so much to be able to talk to him just once. To explain what had happened and what I’d discovered. I bit my lip, thinking about how that conversation would go. Perhaps not as well as I’d like. I knew that he did not support my actions, and given the chance, he’d probably tell me to stop. To give up.

  But I couldn’t.

  I shivered, and then slid the window shut so my mother and Julian would think the chill was finally getting to me. We were on the way to the Regent’s castle for our first rehearsal with the ladies who would be part of the performance; and as she had commissioned the performance, the Regent’s wife, Marie du Chastelier, was certain to be there. Twelve of the most important women in Trianon, and who knew how many others there to keep them entertained.

  It was an incredible and unique opportunity, but my enjoyment was tempered by another thought that had occurred to me last night: this was not a social circle I’d met in the foyer of the opera. These women were a level above me, and it might be possible that Anushka was among them.

  “Have you given any consideration to the list of operas I provided you?” Julian asked. “Given it will be Cécile’s debut as lead soprano, it’s important we make the correct choice. A fresh new act for a fresh new face.”

  He’s still under the effects of the potion. The thought nudged me, sending a trickle of discontent through my veins. I hadn’t spoken to Sabine since I’d confronted her, but I was finding it hard to stay angry with her. What she’d tried to do was wrong, but her actions had a good intention.

  “I’ll keep your suggestions in mind.” There was a trace of sarcasm in my mother’s voice, but Julian didn’t seem to notice.

  “It needs to be something avant-garde, maybe a little scandalous…”

  “And its selection is not our priority,” my mother interrupted. “The masque is.”

  “But we need to stay ahead of our competition!”

  “Drop it, Julian,” I muttered, then tuned them out and stared down at my hands. My chapped fingertips peeked out from blue lace half-gloves, nails bitten down to the quick. When had I started doing that?

  Over the rattle of the carriage, I heard the sound of rushing water. A glance out the window confirmed we were on the bridge leading to the walled castle gates. The Regent’s castle was built on an island in the middle of the Indre River, the thick stone walls rising up from the swift rapids. The only access to the island was the bridges, one to the north bank and one to the south, both with heavily fortified gates. I’d never been inside the walls before, and despite myself, I was eager to see what the castle would be like.

  The carriage stopped, and moments later, a guard looked in the window at us. My mother lifted a hand in greeting, and he waved us forward. I caught a quick flash of the walls as we passed through the gates. They were dull grey with a faint hint of green lichen in the mortar cracks, but the impression they gave me was of strength and practicality. The castle had been built with defense, not beauty, in mind, although to the best of my knowledge, it had never been attacked.

  My eyes flicked over the outbuildings as we slowly passed by, all of them squat and sturdy. I wanted to get out and go look at them – to see what sort of activities went on within the confines of the walls. But the ground was wet and the delicate shoes my mother had insisted I wear were unsuited for traipsing through stables and smithies.

  The carriage drew to a halt; and seconds later, a liveried footman opened the door, holding out an arm to help me descend. Lifting my skirts up with one hand, I slowly turned in a circle, trying to take in everything I could while Julian helped my mother out of the carriage. The castle itself was little more impressive than the outbuildings, ugly and low to the ground, with the exception of two towers rising up above the whole. Everything was a dull grey, the only flashes of color the two flags flapping in the cold breeze coming off the sea.

  “Come along, Cécile.” My mother caught Julian’s arm before he could walk away, and they started up the steps to the entrance. I followed, my heels clicking against steps worn smooth by years of traffic and weather. Two uniformed guards swung open the doors, which were thick oak banded with pieces of steel. I noticed steel-bracketed holes in the stone, and looking up, I saw the pointed spikes of a portcullis that could be lowered to further protect the entrance.

  The inside of the castle seemed as barren and grey as the exterior, the narrow hallway we walked down dark despite the multitude of lamps. There wer
e no windows that I could see, making the place seem tight and close as a coffin. Impenetrable. It should’ve felt safe, but all I felt was cold.

  After walking for what seemed like an eternity through a maze of passages, the servant leading us stopped at a closed door, knocked, then stepped inside to announce us. A wall of warmth and light hit me as I stepped into the room, making me blink. A massive fireplace burned against one wall, but the light came from two ornate candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Thick carpets covered the floors, and tapestries concealed the ugly grey walls.

  The room had the same narrow windows I’d seen from outside, but these had panes of beautiful stained glass that spilled a rainbow of color across the two dozen women filling the room. Not that any of them needed it – every one of them was dressed in a different hue, their gowns elaborate contraptions of silk, satin, and velvet. My eyes passed over them swiftly, but none had red hair or bore the haughty chiseled features of Anushka.

  Though I had never seen her before, I immediately picked out the Regent’s wife, the Lady Marie du Chastelier. Her aubergine gown was no more elaborate than many of the others, but if my time with the trolls had taught me nothing else, it had taught me to recognize the gravitas that so often came with rank. Young or old, every woman in the room was keenly aware of her, all of them waiting for her to recognize us before acting themselves.

  Lady Marie rose and came toward us. I kept my face lowered, watching her through my eyelashes. She was somewhat older than my own mother, her brown hair silver at the temples, and while not beautiful, she was attractive in a stately sort of way. She wore a strange necklace made of wood, and a sprig of crimson berries pinned in her hair. They looked real rather than wax, but I couldn’t imagine where they had come from at this time of year.

  My mother dropped into a deep curtsey at her approach. “My lady.”

  “Genevieve.” There was no inflection in her voice, but I sensed immediately that Lady Marie did not much like my mother as she walked by her without stopping. A flicker of annoyance passed over my mother’s face as she straightened.

  Julian bowed and I dropped into a smooth curtsey as the most powerful woman in Trianon approached us. She went to him first, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “You must be Julian.”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

  “You have a great many admirers here,” Lady Marie said, a warm smile crossing her face. “Try not to break too many hearts.”

  Julian ducked his head. “I think it is my heart that will be at risk, my lady.” The words were too smooth, making them sound disingenuous. Rehearsed.

  “How charming,” Lady Marie said, but there was the faintest hint of sarcasm in her voice. Then she turned to me.

  My knees ached from holding a curtsey, but I did not rise until I felt her fingers catch the bottom of my chin. “Cécile de Troyes,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful. “I’ve seen you perform before, and I confess, you seem much taller onstage.” Her smile was gone. “But you’re only a little doll, aren’t you?”

  She wasn’t the first to say so, but it was still difficult to keep my dislike of the comparison off my face. Dolls had no minds – they were pretty things to be played with, and I’d had quite enough of that in my life. “Appearances can be deceiving, my lady,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “The heels I wear onstage are quite high.”

  One of her eyebrows rose, and for a moment, I feared I had overstepped. But then she chuckled. “Indeed they can be.”

  Our conversation ended with the arrival of the masque composer, Monsieur Johnson, who amused the ladies with his foreign accent and dress as he herded them down the hall. Julian and I were left to trail after everyone as we went to where the stage was under construction. Other hangers-on swelled their ranks, and my eyes flicked over their faces, searching, searching for that sly gaze.

  And found nothing. Finding her here on display had been a foolish hope.

  Leaning against a wall, I watched the ladies swarm around, their questions – about the costumes, music, and dance steps – filling the air. Even though the set was only in the beginning stages, I could tell it would be magnificent. Both of them, for Monsieur Johnson was explaining that there would be a change during the break between acts. The darkness of Vice – my mother’s role – was what they were constructing now, and I watched her move amongst the giggling ladies as she explained their parts. Julian walked with her, his face more relaxed as he adopted the persona of the devil meant to tempt them.

  “You watch them as I do.”

  I jumped, Lady Marie’s sudden appearance at my elbow startling me out of my thoughts. “Pardon?”

  She chuckled, and to my astonishment, leaned her own shoulders against the papered walls. “You’re watching the girls like you’re looking for something within them, but you’re uncertain what. I often find myself doing the same.”

  It was her I was watching now. Was I so obvious, or did she know more about me than she was letting on? “I’m curious to see how they will perform,” I said, watching her face for any sort of reaction. “I hope my scrutiny has not upset any of them – it is merely habit.”

  The corner of her mouth turned up, but she kept her eyes on the scene in front of us. “I doubt it. They are all used to scrutiny. More so, I think, than you are.” Her eyes went to mine and away again. She knew I was lying.

  I swallowed. “Why do you watch them, my lady? What is it you are looking for?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her smile fell away, and she shook her head once. “That’s a lie. I do know what I’m looking for, or, rather, whom.”

  Though I desperately wanted to press her, I knew it was not my place.

  “My son, Aiden,” she eventually said. “It is near time he was wed, but he stubbornly refuses to consider any option put to him.” She sighed. “One day, he will be the ruler of all the Isle, and he will need a strong and intelligent woman by his side in order to do it. That is the purpose of this masque – to put all his options on display for him. He needs to choose well, for the woman will carry a greater burden than anyone realizes.”

  It sounded so crass when said that way – as though all these young women were animals on an auction block. Although in fairness, it was certainly no worse than how I’d been selected. At least they were willing.

  “My brother is under his command,” I offered timidly, uncertain why she was revealing this information to me. “He speaks very highly of Lord Aiden.”

  “He would.” There was heat in her voice. “His command is all that he attends to now – it is as though he has no time for anything other than military pursuits.” As abruptly as her anger arrived, it vanished. “Though that was not always the case. At one time, it seemed his entertainments would consume him. But this last year he’s changed – become melancholy and brooding, prone to disappearing for days at time. I hardly know him.” She huffed out a breath, and waved her hand as though to dispel the tension of her words. “Young men, Cécile – they are impossible.”

  I ventured a smile. “Perhaps during our performance, he’ll realize that the one he’s looking for has been here the entire time.”

  “Perhaps.” She straightened and stepped away from the wall. “Sometimes what we are looking for is right in front of us, but more often, I think, one must look long and hard, for she will not reveal herself so easily.”

  Her words echoed in my ears, and I bit my tongue to keep from reacting.

  “Your mother is performing for us tomorrow night, as she has done so many times over the years,” she said, her eyes searching mine. “Although I understand you will soon be taking up her torch, and it will be your voice gracing our dinner parties.”

  “I can’t find it in myself to believe she truly intends to retire,” I said, tension rising up my spine as it dawned on me that this woman was far more familiar with me than I was with her. Fred had said that contact with La Voisin would bring the attention of those in power down upon me, but what if it already was? Lady Marie du Chastelier had
no reason to care who I was, no reason to seek out my attention. No reason, unless she knew I had a darker purpose for being in Trianon beyond performing onstage.

  “Believe it,” Lady Marie said. “Genevieve’s time on the stage is over, but I’ve no doubt you’ll make a wonderful successor. Your talents, it would seem, are endless.”

  “I’ll do my best.” My words sounded breathy, and a bead of sweat ran down the back of my leg. She was not talking about my voice…

  “Are you quite well, dear?” She touched my arm, and every muscle in my body twitched. She frowned.

  Get control of yourself!

  “Sorry!” I took a deep breath, trying to control my pounding heart, but it did no good. “My apologies, my lady. I’m overwhelmed – I didn’t expect this.”

  Lady Marie’s frown melted away, but that did nothing to ease the tension singing through my veins. “Such an innocent little thing you are. Hard to believe, given whom you’ve been spending time with…”

  “Please excuse the interruption, my lady, but Monsieur Johnson is asking for my daughter.”

  My mother had appeared out of nowhere, and was now standing next to me. She knows about the trolls, my mind screamed, but I forced a smile onto my face.

  “By all means, take her,” Lady Marie replied, eyes fixed on Genevieve’s, expression flinty. “After all, that is why she is here.” Her gaze went to me. “We’ll be watching every move you make, Cécile. Be sure of it.”

  I bobbed a shaky curtsey, allowing my mother to lead me away. A droning like that of a swarm of flies filled my ears, and I could all but feel her eyes burning into my back.

  “What did she want?” My mother’s breath brushed against my ear, her voice low. “What did she say?”

  “That she might like for me to perform for them in the future.” My tongue felt almost too numb to form the words correctly.