The scene ended, and we all danced offstage. I needed to go change my costume, but instead of going with the other girls, I hesitated in the darkness of the wings. My sweating fingers clutched at the basket handle, and I stepped as close to the stage as I dared go without being seen by the audience. The Regent’s colors hung below the railing, as they always did. The box itself was dark, but a single gloved hand rested on the railing. Why were they watching me? What did they intend to do?
Fingers dug into my elbow, pulling me back. “What are you doing?” Sabine hissed. “You need to change.”
I let her lead me backstage.
“You’re sweating like a pig,” she informed me, wrinkling her nose as she unfastened the merchant costume’s buttons.
“Pigs don’t sweat,” I said absently, barely noticing as she rolled her eyes. I needed to see who was in those seats. I was certain it was her, but I needed to be sure. And if it was her, then what? Confront her? No. Whether I was right or wrong about her association with Anushka, that wouldn’t go well for me.
“Did you mean it?”
Sabine was fussing with my skirt, only the top of her head visible. “Pardon?”
“What you said to your mother, did you mean it?”
There was an intensity in her voice that told me it wasn’t an idle question. I bit down on the inside of my cheeks. Had I meant it? Part of me screamed that it didn’t matter – there was the accomplice to a five hundred year-old murderer sitting in the wings watching me. But a bigger part of me refused to let fear rule my actions. “I meant it,” I said, wiping my hands on my skirts. “If she fires you, I’ll quit.”
“But she’s your mother.” I could only see the top of her head, but I knew her well enough to know that she was shaken.
“Only when it’s convenient for her,” I said, catching one of her gold curls with my finger. “And you’ve always been my best friend. I understand why you did what you did, Sabine. But I need you to understand that I need to do this.”
We stood quietly together for a moment before Sabine whispered, “You should go.” She didn’t look up, and I knew she wouldn’t, so I left.
The rest of the performance was an exercise in torture. I made countless little mistakes, and my eyes kept drifting to the box. I felt on display. Vulnerable. But there was no denying the anticipation in my heart. I needed to see who was in those seats. I would have one good opportunity to get a glimpse when we took our bows at the end of the performance, one moment when I could stare out into the audience without reproach.
The wait seemed interminable, but finally the curtain fell with my mother feigning death in Julian’s arms. I stood in the wings, my heart beating faster and faster. The trepidation wasn’t all my own – something was happening to Tristan, but I couldn’t think about him now. I would only have one chance, and I didn’t dare miss it. The other girls were whispering, but I barely heard them. The audience was cheering, shouting my mother’s name. They were on their feet. The other girls of the chorus ran forward, and I went with them. Would it be her I saw? Did I want it to be?
Stopping in my appointed spot, I took the hands of the girls to either side and dropped into a deep curtsey. We rose and stepped back. I looked up.
The Regent’s box was empty. Whoever had been there was gone.
Eighteen
Tristan
The Guerre boards dropped to the ground, and I threw up a shield to block the flying glass. My aunt did the same, attempting to protect my mother, but it was a wasted effort. The magic that had shattered the mirrors was stronger, and the outward force coming from my mother tossed aside my aunt’s magic with ease. Razor-sharp shards cut into my mother’s skin and shredded her clothes, but she barely seemed to notice. Her face was slick with blood and contorted with irrational fury, the like of which I had only seen before on Roland. The comparison terrified me, because it meant that she couldn’t be reasoned with. Only force would stop her.
Motion in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Élise stood in the open doorway, a tray of food lying in disarray at her feet. “Move!” I shouted, but it was too late. My mother had already rounded on her, eyes seeing yet unseeing.
I leapt between the two, the blow directed at the half-blood girl making my shield quake and sending me staggering back. I collided with Élise, and both of us tumbled into the hallway. A second later, another blow impacted the walls, only the thousand years of magic layering them keeping everything from collapsing down on top of us.
I clambered to my feet, hauling Élise up with me. “Run,” I ordered her. “Find my father and tell him what’s happening.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to stop her.”
I grimly wrapped bands of power around the manacles on my wrists, and before I could lose my nerve, jerked them apart. The pain almost drove me to my knees, but with it came relief as my magic surged, no longer limited by the toxic metal. Steeling myself, I stepped back into the room.
The air was thick with dust and smoke, but it was still possible to see the chaos my mother had enacted upon the room. Everything was destroyed, furniture little more than splinters, paintings and tapestries ablaze. The ceiling had partially caved in to reveal the dark cavernous space hanging above the city. I searched the room for my aunt’s light, but there was only the orange glow of fire. My eyes stung, and I coughed on the thickening smoke.
The blow came sharp and sudden, but I was ready for it. Again and again she struck; and through the haze, I caught sight of her coming toward me. My aunt hung limply from her back, and I prayed she was only unconscious, the alternative too terrible to contemplate.
“Mother!” I had to shout over the exploding collisions of our magic. “It’s Tristan.”
But she didn’t seem to hear or recognize me, her mind wholly concerned with inflicting wrath and ruin. The mere act of protecting myself from her assault was exhausting, and I did not see how it would be possible for me to cut her off from her magic. She was too strong, and she was wasting no power on trying to protect herself, forcing me to deflect the collapsing rubble away from both of us. All she cared about was destroying me, and that she might lose her own life in the process didn’t seem to matter.
I needed my father’s help, and I needed it soon – or she was going to pull the entire palace down. And without the walls to contain her, there was the very real chance she might damage the magic of the tree and put all of Trollus in danger. If she did, then I’d be forced to hurt her to stop her, and that I didn’t want to do.
Holding her back was akin to containing a storm. Magic ceaselessly buffeted and slammed up against me, employing no strategy, only mindless force. Smoke and heat blew into my face, rubble piling up beneath my feet and threatening to trip me up. I didn’t know how to stop her. If it had been a duel, I could have killed her easily, but stopping her without hurting her seemed impossible. If I hit her too hard, I might harm her, but if I didn’t hit her hard enough, it would only infuriate her more. All I could think of was keeping her focus on trying to hurt me and minimizing what collateral damage I could.
Please hurry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d desired my father’s presence, but I needed him now. He’d know what to do.
The walls of the adjoining rooms fell in around us, and the floor beneath my feet began to shake. The whole wing of the palace was going to collapse.
“Matilde!”
My mother’s head jerked up at the sound of my father’s voice, and as abruptly as it had begun, it was over. She looked around in bewilderment, seemingly unable to comprehend that she had been the cause of the destruction. “What has happened?”
“Move.” My father shoved me aside, striding through the rubble. With the sleeve of his coat, he wiped the blood off her face, his expression surprisingly anxious. “Are you hurt, darling?”
She shook her head, tears turning pink as they ran down her cheeks. “I was so angry. So angry.” She pressed one hand to her forehead, and m
y heart ached watching her struggle to remember, her shoulders beginning to shake as the little pieces fit themselves together. “Tristan?” She choked out my name.
“He’s fine.” My father turned his head to look at me as though to prove to himself that I was unharmed. “He’s fine,” he repeated again, pulling her close. “Sylvie?”
“I was looking to redecorate anyway,” my aunt replied. Her words might have been blasé, but not even my mother missed the tremble in her voice.
She broke into racking sobs, and collapsed against my father’s chest. A shimmer of magic appeared around my aunt as she walled herself off from them. I should have left or done the same, but instead I sat down in the rubble and dust, watching my parents.
“I’m sorry, love. This was not your fault – it was mine.” He picked bits of broken rock out of her hair, tried fruitlessly to smooth away the dust, before resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m so sorry to have put you through this. I will make everything right.”
And he was sorry, I realized. He was always kind to my mother, but never before had I seen any proof that he might actually care for her. That he might even love her, and that maybe I wasn’t entirely the product of politics and social maneuvering. I held my breath, afraid that even that tiny motion might draw attention to me and disrupt what I was witnessing. I didn’t want it to end, because seeing proof that he cared for my mother meant there was a chance he cared something for me.
Metal clinked against metal. Turning my head, I saw that my ruined manacles had risen from the rubble and even now hovered in the air. Heat radiated from them, magic melting and reforming the metal until they were whole again. They settled on the ground, and when I looked up, he was staring at me, silver eyes unreadable. “The next time I see you, those had better be back on or I’ll put four more in their place.” Without another word, he took my mother’s arm and helped her through the debris and out of sight.
False, black, painful hope.
I rested my forehead on my knees, trying to shove away the old hurts behind their stone walls.
“Your Highness?” It was Élise’s voice, quiet and tentative. I didn’t move – it seemed like more effort than I could manage.
“Tristan?” A hand touched my shoulder.
Part of me wanted to shrug it off, to tell Élise, all the half-bloods, and everyone else in this cursed city to deal with their own problems. Except that what I’d told my aunt had been true – there was no one but me who could credibly oppose my father. And not just my father, but Angoulême.
I considered the clues my aunt had provided. The black-hearted Duke had control over my younger brother – had somehow managed to trick Roland into revealing his true name to him. Now that the idea was in my head, it seemed so obvious. He won’t do anything I don’t want him to. The words Angoulême had said to me at the auction repeated in my head, as well as those that had gone unspoken: He will do everything I tell him to do. If my father died tomorrow, Roland might be the one crowned king, but it would be Angoulême who ruled.
Whether I willed it or not, I had to play this game.
“What happened to anger Her Majesty?” Élise’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“To her? Nothing.” I lifted my head to meet her gaze. “That was my father’s rage you witnessed, so the question we need to ask is what angered him? Or who?”
“We?” She pulled her hand away from my shoulder. I didn’t say anything, seeing in her distant expression that she’d addressed the question not to me, but to herself. She was quiet for a long time before speaking. “I felt what you did. You can’t tell me what to do any longer.”
“Yes, I can,” I said. “Only now it’s your choice whether or not to listen. Will you?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I will.”
I expelled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Apparently her allegiance mattered more to me than I had realized. We’d known each other a long time, and there was a reason I’d chosen her and Zoé to watch over Cécile. They were loyal and brave to a fault.
As if reading my mind, she asked, “How is she?”
“Well enough, for now.” I stared at the holes in my wrists, the blood running freely. “But she made a promise to my father to do whatever was necessary to find Anushka, and we all got a little demonstration just now of how thin his patience is running.”
“Then she’s in danger?”
I nodded. “We’re all in danger. Cécile, you, me. Everyone. And I’d bet all the gold left in Forsaken Mountain that it’s going to get much worse before it gets better.”
“Will it get better?” Her head drooped, and a lock of dark hair fell across her face. “There are times when it all seems so hopeless.”
How well did I know that feeling.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s possible that no matter how hard we fight that we will still lose. But…” I stared out at the city through the broken walls of my home, the jagged pieces of marble rising up like some great monster’s teeth. “I do know that if we do nothing, our defeat won’t be just a possibility, it will be a certainty.”
Élise lifted her chin and pushed back her hair. “Then we fight.”
“We fight,” I echoed, my eyes picking up the movements of those who had crept back to see what sort of damage my mother had inflicted. This conversation could not go on much longer.
“What about Cécile?” Élise lowered her voice, having noticed our watchers as well.
“She’s far from powerless, and if anyone can discover a way to find Anushka, it will be her.” My stomach clenched at the words, and I desperately wished keeping her safe were a possibility. Only I knew that even if it were, Cécile would never stand for being kept out of danger while her friends were in the thick of it. “We have to trust that she will hold up her end, and focus on holding up ours.”
“Let her fight the human problem while we combat ours?”
I gave her a tight smile. “Exactly.”
A half-dozen of my father’s guards were coming through the rubble, their expressions grim. Élise saw them too. “The King was already on his way to find your mother when I encountered him, but I’m certain he was coming from his study.”
“We need to find out who he was with,” I murmured.
“Or if he received a letter. He does not usually allow anyone in his private chambers.”
“A valid point.” We were running out of time. “Can you do it?”
“I can try.” She started to rise, wisely deciding she should be away before the guards were upon us.
“Will you do something for me, Élise?” I asked before she could go. At her nod, I reached down to pick up the still warm manacles lying in the rubble. I gave her a forced smile. “You can consider it revenge for what I did to you and your sister.”
She recoiled back a pace. “Even if I desired revenge upon you, this wouldn’t be it.”
“A favor, then?” My bare hands began to itch where they touched the metal, and it took a concerted effort not to drop them. “Because if you don’t do it, one of them will. And I daresay, they won’t be half as gentle about it.”
Élise clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. “Fine. I already know what I want from you in exchange.”
“Anything.”
“When you are king, I want you to change the laws so that half-bloods can be bonded. To… to anyone they choose.”
Such a small request, in the scheme of things, but when one had lived a life enslaved, even small victories mattered. “If I make it that far, I will see it done.”
“Thank you.” She took the manacles from my hands. “Are you ready?”
I laughed. “No.” But I held out my arms anyway. My father had made his move, and soon, I would make mine.
Let the games begin.
Nineteen
Cécile
Fleur’s hooves made little crunching sounds as they punched through the ice-coated puddles of the muddy streets. I’d sneaked silently out
of the house at dawn, running all the way to the stables to meet Chris.
Now, I was glad that I’d let him convince me go by horse to see Catherine that morning. Pigalle was always dangerous, but it felt even more so now that I was caught between opposing forces, both of whom were watching me closely via their agents. The King’s messenger, I knew, would be keeping tabs on my progress; but now that I was nearly certain that Marie was in league with Anushka, I expected her to try to stymie me at every turn. Which begged the question: Why hadn’t she tried to kill me yet? Unfortunately, even a night of lying awake thinking had yielded no answers.
Sliding off Fleur’s back once we reached Catherine’s shop, I looked up at Chris. “You’ll be back in an hour?”
He nodded. “Don’t even think of leaving without me.” Wheeling the mare around, he started down the street at a brisk canter. I watched him ride out of sight, then I knocked once and entered.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Reaching past me, Catherine turned the bolt. “Let’s not have a repeat of last time.”
I followed after her, careful not to step on the little dog who insisted on sniffing the hem of my skirt. “You’re much quieter this time,” I said to him, patting his head.
“He only barks at strangers.” Catherine moved silently through her shop, collecting bits of herb, bark, and bone in a plain cooking pot. Holding a bit of kindling to the fire, she carried all the materials to the front of the shop. Sitting on the floor with the pot on her knees, Catherine closed her eyes, mouthing a series of words. Then she dropped the flaming bit of wood into the mixture. Green fire flared up into the air, and she repeated the words one last time.
“What was that spell?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Something to repel. Anyone who comes near will believe he smells something unbearably repugnant – the bone was from a skunk. It won’t drive away anyone very determined, but neither will it raise the suspicion of magic.”
Hidden Huntress Page 14
