Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  He patted me on the shoulder. “Take care of that boy for me, my sweet girl. He needs you.”

  “I will,” I said, but my voice was drowned out by the thunder of magic.

  “Run!”

  I sprinted to the stairs, taking them two at a time. There were stacks of books and papers littered everywhere on the second level, and I leapt over them, staggering as the whole house swayed. Ahead was a window looking out over the neighboring home, and I flung it open. There was a gap between the two structures. I was going to have to jump. Climbing onto the ledge, I clung to the frame and slowly straightened. Stone fell and smashed against the street as the front of the house collapsed. Sucking in a breath, I bent my knees and leapt forward.

  I landed on my feet, but momentum made me stumble into a fall, ripping my dress and scraping my knees. Ignoring the pain, I clambered up and ran to the far side of the roof. Below was a wall. Falling to my hands and knees, I slid over the edge and dropped onto the narrow edge of stone, but before I could go any further, an explosion shook the air.

  Debris and dust sailed through the streets, and if I’d still been on the roof, it would surely have killed me. Screams cut the air, and everyone was running. Slipping off the wall, I joined the ranks of fleeing trolls, running as hard and fast as I could. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see the ruin of Pierre’s home and know that he was dead. That I hadn’t been able to help him.

  My breath tore in my chest as I sprinted up a flight of stairs, and then another, working my way back to where Tristan’s magic waited to pull me away from danger. I’d been living soft for too long, and even fear wasn’t enough to compensate for the exhaustion numbing my legs. My ribs ached where they’d been broken, and rounding a corner, I ground to a halt and bent nearly double, resting my hands on my knees.

  Pierre was dead, and it was my fault. I’d brought them down upon him. Dead for no reason other than that he had not hidden his support for Tristan. Slaughtered for believing the half-bloods deserved a better lot in life. Dead, because I’d been powerless to help him, and because a stupid prophesy had deemed my life worth more than his. I breathed in and out, trying to stay calm, trying to keep my wits about me.

  A smell brushed at my nose, and if I’d been a dog, my hackles would have risen. If I’d been standing in Trianon, where upper and lower class alike tossed night-soil into the streets, such a smell would have caused as much notice as salt from the sea. But if nothing else, Trollus was always clean. My eyes fixed on the pale stone cobbles in front of me, I watched as a crimson rivulet of blood ran by the toe of my boot. And then another. And another. My heart in my throat, I lifted my face.

  The street was painted with so much blood it seemed impossible that it could have come from only one body. I stared, trying to fit the pieces back together into something – someone – recognizable, but my mind couldn’t manage it. Not with Roland kneeling in the middle of the mess, tapping the tip of a knife thoughtfully against one tooth, bright eyes fixed on me.

  He doesn’t know it’s you! But did that matter? It hadn’t for the half-blood who was now only the sum of his pieces. Tristan’s name rippled through my head as I considered whether to call him down. Except I knew that if I did, it would be no less than a battle to the death. I needed to try to find another way out of this.

  “Your Highness.” I curtseyed low, holding the position until my knees ached. Even without magic, I had no hope of outrunning him – he was many times faster than me, even at my best. “Is there some way I might assist you?”

  He huffed out an annoyed breath. “I’d hoped you might run. The rudeness would have been enough excuse.”

  Excuse for what?

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Highness.” My knees were starting to shake.

  “No one understands.” His voice sounded almost sad.

  “Roland!”

  Never in my life would I have dreamed I’d be so happy to see the Duke

  d’Angoulême. He stalked past me toward the murderous prince, four tense-looking guards on his heels. “Stones and sky, boy! What could possibly have provoked you to do this?”

  “He tripped and dropped the new Guerre set Lady Anaïs had made for me. I went all the way to the Artisan’s Row to collect it from Reagan, and now it is ruined.”

  “Why do I suspect his tripping was no accident?” The Duke’s voice was acidic, and I could not help but notice he kept a wary eye on Roland.

  The Prince climbed to his feet. “He walked behind, so I did not see it happen.” The knife he’d had in his hand was gone, and I wondered where he had hidden it. Not that he needed it.

  “As though that makes all the difference.” Angoulême waved a hand at his guardsmen. “Clean this mess up. And you–” He turned around and pointed a finger at me.

  I froze. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Pick that up and bring it.”

  My eyes flicked to the box lying in the middle of all that gore. The last thing I wanted to do was pick it up and carry it into the heart of the lion’s den.

  “Do it!” Angoulême was visibly upset, and I did not care to think what would happen if I disobeyed. Running forward, I picked my way through the mess of flesh and bone and reached for the box. As I was bending down, I saw Roland’s knife hidden in a fold of fabric, and before I could even think about what I was doing, I hid it in my skirts. Taking hold of the box, I heaved it up, afraid for a moment that I wouldn’t be able to lift it and would give myself away. But I managed to get it up, my fingers slick with troll blood and worse. Heart in my throat, I followed the two toward the Duke’s home, which I knew lay not far up the street.

  The walls surrounding the house were higher than was typical in Trollus – as high as those around the palace, and just as well guarded. Armed full-blooded troll men and women watched the street, their expressions those who expect an attack at any minute. Two of them opened the gates for us, but none paid any attention to me.

  “Where would you have me put this, Your Grace?” I altered my voice to keep it low, but I could not keep the shake from it.

  “In here.” Angoulême flung open the doors to a large room, and ignoring my aching arms, I carried the box over to a table. “Open it, and let us see if the damage warranted such behavior.”

  I did as he asked, flinching when he reached over my shoulder to pluck up one of the little figurines.

  “It’s gold!” He turned and threw the glittering figure at the wall with such force that it smashed through the plaster. Something crashed in the neighboring room, and I heard an exclamation of disgust. Seconds later, the Dowager Duchesse entered, and my heart sank.

  Angoulême rounded on Roland. “Do you have any idea how much that half-blood was worth?”

  Shoving me out of the way, Roland went to the box and began pulling out the little figures. “Oh, they are gold!”

  “Roland.”

  My hands and feet felt like ice, but sweat dribbled down my back. I would rather have lain naked in a pit of vipers than spend another second in this room. But I could not leave without being dismissed, and none of the three were paying me any mind.

  The boy shrugged. “Well, given the fight he put up, I suppose he must have been expensive.” What they were having for dinner probably would have interested him more than the man he’d just murdered in cold blood.

  “How many times do I have to explain to you…” Angoulême broke off, his eyes flicking to me. “You are dismissed.”

  I dropped into curtsies for all three of them, then backed out of the room, keeping my face low. Closing the door behind me, I started toward the front entrance, but then I stopped. If they were about to have a row, wasn’t it better that I listen in on it? They had unwittingly invited their enemy into their midst, and wouldn’t I be a fool not to take advantage of that?

  You’d be a fool to stay, I all but heard Tristan whisper in my ear, but I ignored him. Spying a doorway to an antechamber, I quietly went inside. Pressing my ear
to the wall, I listened.

  “I enjoy doing it. There is no other reason,” Roland snapped, and I could imagine his arms crossed, lovely blood-smeared face petulant.

  “You cannot keep killing out of hand, Your Highness. Your father might still reinstate Tristan as heir, and you would not care for that to happen, would you?”

  The house trembled. “He will not! I will be king!”

  “No one wants that more than I, Your Highness.” Angoulême’s voice was soothing. “But well you know that we must play this tedious game of politics if we are to succeed. Your brother is a sly creature, and he has turned the people’s minds against us.”

  “You were supposed to have him killed.”

  “And I will.” Glass clinked against glass, and I envisioned the Duke pouring himself a drink to calm his irritation. “As much as I despise your brother, he is a Montigny. Felling him is no easy thing, and his human seems to have nine lives’ worth of luck.”

  “I want him to come back.”

  “That is the last thing you should want, Highness.”

  “I want him to be as he was before her.”

  I was fairly certain her was me, and if Roland blamed me for his brother’s changed behavior, that would explain the intensity of his dislike.

  “You know he was only pretending to be that way before,” Angoulême said. “He deceived everyone.”

  Roland did not reply, and I wished desperately that I could see his face. There was something about his tone of voice when he spoke about wanting Tristan’s return, something that made me think he actually cared for him in some fashion. It made me realize that I knew very little about the relationship, such as it was, between the two brothers. It made me wonder if there was something worth salvaging in that monster of a boy after all.

  “Anaïs is upstairs,” Angoulême finally said. “Why don’t you bring the game to her? I’m sure it would please her greatly to play with you.”

  “It would be the kind thing to do?” Roland asked, as though he really was not certain what was kindness and what was not.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Most kind indeed.”

  No one said anything, but moments later a door opened and closed, and I heard the patter of small feet running up a flight of stairs.

  “You said you had him under control,” the Dowager Duchesse snapped. “Blasted creature is a menace to all!”

  “I do have him under control.” Glass clinked again. “It isn’t as though I can go ordering him about by name in the middle of the street.”

  “What choice do you have?” Her voice was bitter. “Roland is as mad as any I’ve encountered – a Montigny mind and power utterly corrupted by iron. If he were anyone other than who he is, Thibault would have had him put down years ago. He feels nothing – cares nothing for anything but his own black pleasures, and while he may not be so clever as his brother, he’s wily enough to find ways around your weak controls.”

  “We need him for there to be any chance of taking the throne.”

  Both were silent for a long time, making me believe that Damia was in agreement. But then she spoke.

  “He has outplayed you, my son.” Her voice dripped with mockery, and I felt a moment’s pity for him having her as a mother. “Thibault has been playing a longer game than anyone believed, I think. And if Tristan succeeds in breaking the curse, the Montignys will rule in a way that has not been seen since the time of the great kings and queens of old.”

  “What is it you would have me do?”

  “Send Roland to kill his father now. With the boy on the throne, we control Trollus and its gold. With that, it is only a matter of sending every greedy cutthroat at our disposal after Cécile. She is their weakness in every possible way, and she will die for it. And once they are dead, we will play our long-held trump card and the world will bend its knee to us.”

  I’d heard enough. Rising to my feet, I started to turn when the sensation of power froze me in my tracks.

  “And they say there are no rats in Trollus,” said a young woman’s voice from behind me. “It would appear they’re wrong. Hello, Cécile.”

  Forty-Five

  Cécile

  Anaïs stood behind me, arms crossed and expression much like a cat who has cornered a mouse. Only it wasn’t the girl I’d known, but an impostor. It was Lessa.

  “Does my brother know you’re here?” she asked. “Seems a bit reckless for him.”

  “He’s here,” I whispered, stepping back and colliding with the wall. “Closer than you think.”

  Lessa chuckled. “Not close enough.”

  Her hand shot out and caught me by the throat. I tried to scream, but I could hardly breathe. She lifted me off the ground in front of her, smiling as I kicked and struggled. Panic flooded through me, and I clawed at her arms, but the scratches disappeared in an instant. She was going to kill me.

  Then I remembered Roland’s knife hidden in my pocket. Catching hold of the small handle, I jerked it out and sliced it across her forearm.

  Lessa hissed in pain and dropped me, but I only had a second to suck in a breath before she lunged at me again. Digging deep for the magic I needed, I choked out the words, “Bind the light.”

  She stopped in her tracks, false face full of astonishment. But it wouldn’t last – she knew what I’d done. And when she dove at me, I held the knife out, my arms shuddering with the impact as it slid between her ribs. She screamed, curling around herself and clutching at the knife. But I knew I hadn’t killed her – I needed to run.

  The door to the antechamber flung open, the Duke appearing with his mother just behind him.

  “Prince Roland attacked Lady Anaïs,” I screamed, then shoved between them as though in a fit of terror. Which was not far from the truth. I had seconds. Sprinting to the entrance, I flung it open and dashed toward the gates. “Prince Roland is on a rampage!” I screamed. “He stabbed Lady Anaïs, and now he’s gone after the Duke!”

  I saw the fear rise in their eyes, but to their credit, every one of them ran toward the house, giving me the few precious seconds I needed to escape. My throat burned where Lessa’s fingers had dug in, but I did not dare stop. There were no gaps between properties for me to hide in, no alleyways or passages to turn down. I had to make it to the staircase leading up to the last row of houses before the perimeter or I was a dead woman.

  Shouts echoed in the streets behind me, and I heard my name on the air. They knew it was me. They were coming.

  Magic wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet and dropping me on the other side of a wall before I could speak.

  “Be silent.” Élise shoved me back against the wall, her hand against my mouth.

  * * *

  Half a dozen sets of feet ran by us, and both of us held our breath until they passed. Then I flung my arms around her neck. When the sound of the waterfall disappeared and I knew our voices were shielded, I whispered. “Thank you. How did you know I was here?”

  “I saw you go into Pierre’s,” she said. “Your eye and skin color was altered, but I’d recognize the faces you make anywhere.” She squeezed my shoulders. “Is Tristan here?”

  With one shaking hand, I pointed up at the moon hole. “He’s waiting to lift me out – I need to reach the perimeter, but I don’t know how I’m going to get by everyone who’s looking for me.”

  Élise looked up at the roof, her face filled with a mix of emotion too complex to pick apart. “I’ll distract them. Give me your cloak.”

  “You can’t! If they think you’re me, they’ll kill you.”

  She shook her head. “The Duke will want to catch you first – and once they realize it’s me, they’ll let me go. I belong to the Queen and the Duchesse – no one will dare harm me.”

  I didn’t want her to do it. I’d already lost Pierre today, and the thought of risking another friend’s life made me grit my teeth. But her logic was sound, and there was no other choice.

  “We need to get you out of here alive,” she whispered. �
��Your husband owes me a favor, and I can’t collect on it if he’s dead.”

  Reluctantly, I slid off my cloak and handed it to her. “Please be careful.”

  “You too.” There were questions in her eyes – things I knew she wanted to ask. But we had no time. Pulling the hood up so that it obscured her face, she hugged me hard. “Go through this property – there is a gate at the rear.”

  Then she was gone.

  I stood frozen, part of me unwilling to leave her to our enemies. But that part of me was a fool, because Élise had given me the only chance I had. So I began to pick my way through the dark garden, moving as silently as I could to avoid detection from whatever trolls lived within. The gate in the wall was barely visible in the ambient light of the house and street lamps, and I was closing my fingers on the latch when I heard screams tear through the air. “Élise!” Her name forced its way through my lips, but I didn’t turn back.

  Flinging open the gate, I ran. Ahead was the narrow pathway leading up to the perimeter, and I sprinted toward it, my boots slapping hard against the stones of the street. They were coming. I could hear them coming. The pathway seemed endless, the rocks marking the boundary of Trollus impossibly far away.

  Then I was there. Skidding on the tiny fallen pebbles, I ran next to the stacked boulders of rock, my eyes fixed on the faint glow of the ropes of magic waiting for me.

  “There she is!”

  Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw two of the Duke’s guards come out of the pathway. It would take them a bit of time to cover the distance on foot, but I knew their magic would span the distance in seconds. Flinging myself forward, I closed my hand around the glowing ropes. Tristanthysium, get me out!

  Magic closed around me like a cage, lifting me up off the ground and into the sky. Blows slammed against the shield protecting me, silver light exploding all around in sparks. Gone was slowness and stealth, and my stomach lurched as I was jerked across the cavern, the force holding me against the floor of my invisible bubble so that I couldn’t move. I was helpless and in full view of countless trolls who wanted to see me dead.