The snow spun and danced on the wind, the tiny white flakes mesmerizing. She was in there. I knew it.
“Cécile!” Chris shouted my name. Disorientation made me dizzy, and I shook my head, trying to clear it.
“Get away from the gate!” someone shouted. I looked up and saw a soldier in one of the guard posts pointing at us. Though I had no memory of moving, I was now most of the way across the bridge, the guards in plain sight. Fleur shied toward the edge of the bridge, and I clung to her frozen mane, afraid if I lost my seat I’d topple into the icy waters below.
Then Chris was next to me, hands reaching for the reins of my spooked horse.
“Sorry,” he shouted. “She’s drunk. I’ll take her home. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Get away from the gates or I’ll have you both thrown in the stocks for the night.” He and one of his fellows started toward us.
“Stars and heavens,” I swore, snatching up the frozen reins and digging my heels in. This was the last thing I needed. “Come on,” I shouted at Chris over the wind, and together we cantered through the city, our horses’ hooves sliding on the slick cobbles. When we reached my mother’s street, I pulled my horse to a stop. Her ears were pinned, and she sidled uneasily beneath me, snorting out puffs of mist.
“What happened to you? You looked as though you were in a trance.”
I tucked one numb hand into the pocket of my dress, trying to warm my fingers enough to use them. “I’m not sure. I was so certain she was within the walls, and then…” I broke off. “The promise took hold of me.”
Sliding out of the saddle, I handed Chris the reins. “Are you certain you’re all right to be alone?” he asked. “What if it happens again?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said quickly, wishing I felt half as confident as I sounded. “I need to get back before my mother realizes I’m gone.”
Wrapping my cloak tightly around me, I started walking down the street.
“Cécile!”
I turned back.
“Be careful. If she was willing to kill all those women, then…” I knew what he’d left unsaid. What’s to stop her from killing you?
What was stopping her from killing me?
I nodded, and broke into a quick trot down the road to my home as Chris went off in the opposite direction. These dead women, whoever they were, had some connection with Anushka. And if I wasn’t missing the mark, I bet it had something to do with how she was achieving immortality. If I could only figure out the connection between them all.
Despite my exhaustion, I broke into a run. It wasn’t just the cold driving me along – I sensed someone was watching me. My skin prickled, my eyes searching the street ahead and behind, but the darkness and the thick snow made it hard for me to see more than a few yards in any direction. Letting go of my cloak, I fumbled in my pocket for the small knife I kept, clutching it tight.
It was no small amount of relief when I reached home. Fumbling for the key, I had to try three times to get it in the lock, my hands were shaking so badly. I kept waiting for someone to come up and grab me, right when I thought I was safe. When the door finally swung open, I staggered in and slammed it hard behind me.
“Where have you been?”
My heart froze in my chest. Slowly, I turned around to face my mother. “What are you doing home so early?” I asked weakly.
“Answer my question,” she barked.
I stared at the floor, my mind racing. I had said I was staying home all evening, but even if I hadn’t, I had no good reason to be out past midnight in a blizzard. “Frédéric,” I started to say, but she interrupted.
“Your brother is on duty at the palace. I saw him myself, so don’t even try to say otherwise.” She loomed over me. “And you certainly weren’t out with your fellows in the company, no!” she scoffed. “No, that would be far too out of character for me to believe. Your lies are what is in character.”
I stepped back as she flung her hands up. “For weeks you’ve been sneaking off, never telling me the truth about where you go. You deceitful, ungrateful little…”
“What do you care?” I shouted. “You’ve never cared before where I went, so why now? What difference does it make if I’m out with Christophe instead of with Julian?”
Her face darkened, blue eyes narrowing. “So that’s it then?” She made a face. “I smell the horses on you now. A little roll in the hay with the stable boy?” Her face twisted and she spun away from me. “You’re going to ruin your life, Cécile. What was the point of you ever leaving Goshawk’s Hollow if you let a farmer get you with child?”
I flushed a dark red. Did I let what she was thinking stand? It was better than her finding out I was practicing blood magic in her kitchen and roaming the many city cemeteries in the dark of night, wasn’t it? Better than her finding out that I was trying to release legions of mythological creatures who were currently cursed to their underground city. “What’s wrong with Chris?” I demanded, pushing my way past her and into the great room.
“He’s a farmer. He hasn’t got any money.”
I rounded on her. “Father was a farmer.”
“Exactly,” she snapped. “And look how well that worked out for me. Being forced to choose between my family and my career. I’m warning you, darling, don’t go down the same path. Choose someone who won’t force you to make sacrifices.”
I stared coldly at her. I knew all this, of course, but hearing it out of her mouth was still astonishing. “Like the Marquis?” I said. “If rich is what counts, mother, you chose well.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The Marquis is my patron, girl. He pays for all this, supports the company, keeps us in favor with the Regent. And in exchange, all he asks is that I entertain him and his friends.”
“Of course, Mother,” I said. “Everyone knows that all he’s interested in is your…” I drew the pause out, “… voice.”
She slapped me so hard that I staggered backwards. “You know nothing,” she shrieked, then lunged at me.
I shoved her backwards. “Leave me alone!” I was angry – too angry – and the dark power of death still flickered inside of me, adding weight to my words.
She stumbled backwards, her eyes glazing over. “It’s my life,” I said, clenching my fist. “Not yours.”
Snatching up my skirts, I bolted upstairs to my room. Flinging the door open, I was confronted with a wall of cold air. The window was open, snow blowing in and dusting the carpets with white. Hurrying over, I slammed the glass shut. Then I stopped in my tracks, goose bumps rising up on my flesh. I hadn’t left the window open before I left. Slowly, I turned around.
A single candle burned on my desk, and on the mirror above it – written in smears of red – were three words: Tick, tock, Princess.
Twenty-Two
Tristan
The sounds of a mob growing began to permeate the walls of the palace not long after curfew broke at shift change, though from the sounds of things, none of the day crew had gone down into the mines. It was a sure sign of their fury that they’d dare risk not meeting quotas. Despite knowing this would happen, having this much anger directed at me still made me uneasy. I’d been wrong to think that being ignored was the most horrible sort of punishment. This was far worse.
Someone hammered on the door to my rooms, and I jumped, for a moment thinking that the mob had somehow breached the palace gates and was even now coming for my head. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Guillaume stepped through, a smile plastered across his face. I hadn’t seen him since Cécile left Trollus, and I would have preferred to keep it that way. “His Majesty has ordered your presence in the throne room. Now.”
I followed him out into the corridor, where I found six more guards waiting. “This isn’t necessary,” I said. “I’ll go voluntarily.”
“Excellent,” Guillaume replied. “But we’re still going with you. Not to make sure you go, but to make sure you get there alive.”
I blinked. “I hardly
need protection.”
“His Majesty thinks otherwise. There are half-bloods aplenty within the palace, and all are seeking your blood.”
“As you like.”
They marched arrayed in a circle, their magic creating a shimmering dome that pressed in around me. I’d never needed guards to protect me before; but then, until recently, neither had my father. Dark times indeed that we were worried about an outright attack.
We marched through the vaulted marble halls toward the throne room, the din from outside growing worse with every step I took. The doors to the great chamber swung open, but no one bothered to announce me. Pushing past Guillaume, I stepped inside, taking in the countless figures on either side of the path leading to the throne. My father held audiences early, and the throne room was packed with those wishing to air their grievances and those who were keen to watch.
The hall grew silent as I was noticed, everyone turning to watch me as I walked swiftly toward the throne. The half-bloods’ faces were all enraged, the aristocracy seemed curious, and everyone else appeared… worried. My father sat on the throne, the golden crown perched on his head, his expression unreadable. I met his gaze for a second, then bowed low. “Your Majesty.”
“Tristan.” My father shifted and stretched one leg out in front of him. “A grievous charge has been laid against you.”
“Is that so?” I glanced over my shoulder, and smiled at the gathered group of half-bloods. The move was mostly to see if Tips was in the crowd, but it wouldn’t hurt to stir them up. “I’ll have to add it to my already impressive list of accomplishments.”
It worked. They all began shouting, tossing insults and threats in my direction, until my father held up his hand to silence them. He was not so easily baited. “I’ve been told that sometime during the night all the work completed on the stone tree was destroyed, the foundations pulled apart and scattered throughout the city. Blame has been laid at your feet. What say you to the charges?”
“That I’m guilty,” I said. “I took apart their precious bit of work, and I confess, I took no small amount of satisfaction in doing so.”
The hall exploded with noise, a few booted feet taking off out of the room, no doubt to spread the word that I was guilty as charged. It wouldn’t be long before everyone in the city knew with surety that it was me who had undone nearly three months of hard labor. Had undone the only hope they had for removing their reliance on the aristocracy. I was more than certain that we’d be able to hear their reaction from here.
But it wasn’t their reaction I was interested in, it was my father’s.
“Punish him!” someone shouted. “He needs to pay for what he’s done!”
“Silence.” He didn’t shout. A king didn’t need to.
The throne room grew quiet, which only made the escalation of noise outside the palace all the more noticeable. A guard skirted up the edge of the room, hurrying over to my father’s arm when he was noticed. I heard bits of his whispered report. “They’re threatening his life… hate him… will try to tear him apart if he leaves the palace… still praising your name.” My father sighed and waved him away as though his report were of no more concern than a backed-up sewer drain. But I didn’t miss the twitch in his fingers where they rested on the arm of the throne.
My heart skipped.
“I would have thought you’d be pleased to see your dream becoming a reality.” His voice was mocking.
“What they were building out there did not much resemble my dream,” I said. “Those were not my plans.”
I vaguely heard the whispered speculation about what my words meant, but none would guess I was being literal. My father’s fingers twitched again, then he pressed his palm hard against the gold arm of the throne. Now, now, now, I silently screamed.
“He did it out of spite, Your Majesty.” Tips’s voice echoed up into the dark and cavernous heights of the hall. “Tried to turn us against you again, and when we rejected him, this was his revenge.”
One of my father’s eyebrows rose, but there was a glimmer of uncertainty in his gaze. “Back to your old tricks so soon, my son?”
I said nothing, remaining still and motionless.
“You.” He jerked his chin in Tips’s direction. “Come forward.”
The half-blood’s wooden leg made sharp thuds as he strode toward the throne. I drew sharply on my magic, pulling in every ounce I had at my call as though I intended to silence Tips before he could speak some damning words. To make everyone believe the half-blood was enough of a threat that I’d kill him in front of my father rather than let him speak.
The throne room filled with screams as the spectators sensed the swell of magic, and everyone bolted, stumbling over each other in a mad rush to reach the exit.
My father’s power hit me like a tidal wave, slamming me to the floor and containing the surge of heat and pressure. I struggled against him, fighting as hard as I could. But the iron did its duty.
A boot slammed down between my shoulder blades, and I grunted, struggling to breathe beneath its weight.
My father grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head far enough back to hurt. “Killing him will not absolve you of your guilt.”
“Neither will letting him live.” My tone was flat.
My father let go of my hair, but the boot stayed put, his weight and power holding me motionless against the floor. “Get back here, you cowards!” he bellowed, and if I could have sucked in enough breath, I would’ve sighed with relief. I needed an audience.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched those who had run slink back in, aristocracy at the forefront. Despite their fear, they moved smoothly, flowing in an oddly coordinated mass, all eyes fixed on the two of us. With them came the clunk of Tips’s leg, his pace reluctant as he played his part.
“Tell me of the conversation that passed between you and His Highness,” my father ordered, once everyone had settled in.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tips’s voice was hoarse with all-too real nerves. “He came down into the mines not two nights after you released him from prison. Tracked down me and my crew and set to telling us that we’d been duped. That the plans you’d given us for the stone tree weren’t what he designed, and that even if we completed them, that the structure would never hold. Said you’d knowingly given us false plans.”
Whispers broke out through the throne room, too many and too quiet to clearly make out.
The weight between my shoulders shifted. This is what he’d thought I’d do – reveal that the plans he’d given the half-bloods were false and not of my making. He was ready for that move, but not, I thought, for the half-bloods turning against me for it.
“The lady you know as Anaïs d’Angoulême gave me those documents herself,” my father said. “She swore they were the plans for a stone structure drafted by Tristan, entrusted to her for safekeeping. You all” – he gestured at the surrounding aristocracy – “were witness to that conversation.”
There were murmurs of agreement, but I barely heard them. In one fell swoop, I had the confirmation I needed that he was in league with Lessa and that he was using her ability to lie to his advantage.
“And we’ve no cause to doubt her, Your Majesty,” Tips replied. “But well we know His Highness’ ability to twist words. We trusted him before, and all that gained us were the deaths of friends and family. I told him it wasn’t happening again, and that we’d learned our lesson about turning traitor.”
The truth, if not all of it.
“I’m pleased to hear it.” The irony in my father’s voice was unmistakable. “Tristan, do you deny this conversation took place?”
“No.” I forced the word out loud enough for everyone to hear.
“But Your Majesty, there’s more,” Tips said, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the growing noise from outside. “He wouldn’t let it be. He sought me out again yesterday, and tried to convince me to turn against you and accept his leadership. Made all sorts of promises of what he’d
give us if we helped tear you off the throne and make him king. I told him that we wanted nothing more to do with him, and that we’d all go to the grave before seeing him on the throne.”
The lie.
“Tristan, do you deny this second conversation took place as well?”
I hesitated, breathing in shallowly, once, twice, three times before I spoke. “That is what the half-blood said.” Which he had. That he’d been lying through his teeth when he’d said it did not change the fact the words had come from his lips. No one in the room would doubt that I’d confirmed Tips’s tale except my father, who had used the same ruse a time or two himself.
My father froze, his weight so steady on my back that I wondered if he was even breathing. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew the wheels were turning. He knew Tips was lying for me, and that I’d put him up to it. And if Tips was lying for me, how many others were?
Something exploded outside and my father flinched, losing his balance enough that he stepped off my back. I desperately wanted to turn my head to see the look on his face as the belief I’d brought every half-blood in the city back to my cause settled into his mind. That all of them were actually oblivious to my machinations and really did want me dead didn’t matter in that moment. All that mattered was that he thought they followed me. That he, in discovering that I knew the half-bloods’ ability to lie, had become so wrapped up in his own web of duplicity that the probable became improbable, the truth a lie.
He was silent, and I could all but feel his mind working as he considered how to proceed. Calling Tips out for lying was out of the question. Not only would it bring to light that he’d known of the half-bloods’ ability and kept it from his people, it would strip away a tool he’d long used to his advantage. His only choice was to play along, acting as though he believed Tips’s words as much as anyone else in the room.
“What is it you want?” he finally asked.
Hidden Huntress Page 17
