CHAPTER 17
TRISTAN
The sharp stab of pain made me jump in surprise, the motion noticeable enough that my father looked up from the reports the Miners’ Guild had delivered that morning. “What?” he demanded, fixing me with a piercing stare. “Cécile?”
I gave a slight nod, and rose to my feet. Judging from Cécile’s mood, the injury did not seem grievous, but I wanted to go make sure. “By your leave…” I started to say, when the door swung in, interrupting me.
“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” The troll bowed low, and I recognized him as one of my father’s men.
My father grunted and leaned forward on his desk, fingers interlocked in front of him. “What has she done this time?”
The troll cleared his throat. “The lady Cécile is currently quarreling with Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême, Your Grace.”
Rubbing one eye, my father glanced my direction. “That’s new. I thought she only quarreled with you.”
I shrugged. “We are all wrong from time to time, Father. Even you.” Looking to the messenger, I asked, “What was the nature of the argument; and importantly, who instigated it?”
“It was regarding Her Grace’s abuse of a servant, my lord. And it is a matter of opinion as to who instigated the confrontation.”
My father leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”
By the time the messenger finished his tale of the events with “…and the Dowager Duchesse requested the Comte open the labyrinth so she could dispose of the servant,” sweat was trickling down my spine. It was made all the worse by the knowledge that Cécile was coming in our direction. Which meant she intended to ask me to thwart the blasted old woman’s plans to dispose of her servant, no doubt entirely unaware that she had been set up. And by falling for the ploy, had set me up.
“Cécile is coming this way,” I said abruptly. There was no point in hiding the knowledge.
My father shook his head wryly. “If she intends to ask me to make an exception, she will be sorely disappointed. I don’t make laws for the purposes of breaking them at the whim of a human girl.” He turned in his chair to look at me. “Unless, perhaps, you are feeling benevolent today.”
I kept my face still. “I don’t make a practice of countering your decrees unnecessarily.” Picking up my glass of water, I stared into its depths and contemplated how best this situation might be resolved. “Did you happen to notice,” I said to the messenger, “the identity of the servant in question?”
The messenger coughed uncomfortably and I instantly knew. “It was Miss Lessa,” he said, voice hoarse.
The desk exploded away from my father, smashing against the far wall. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye. “That bloody manipulative old hag!” he shouted, the air growing hot and the pressure of the room building until my ears popped.
“Get out,” I said to the messenger, and breaking courtesy, he turned and bolted.
I remained still, watching my father storm around the room. Lessa, Lessa, Lessa, I thought. Her mother had been three-quarters troll, making Lessa almost a full-blood. And a powerful one at that – she was reckoned to be the strongest mixed blood alive in Trollus, and she was worth an absolute fortune on the markets. The Dowager Duchesse kept her more as a companion than as a servant. A certain element of prestige came from owning Montigny blood. This was a multi-angled scheme intended to get at not only me, via Cécile, but at my father. Angoulême was growing bold.
“What do you intend to do?” I asked. My father didn’t respond. His eyes were distant, deep in thought. If he protected Lessa, he would be seen as not only willing to circumvent our own laws, but as willing to do it for his own benefit. But if he didn’t protect her, he would be allowing his rival to send one of our blood to her death, and we would be seen as weak. There were no good options.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” my father snarled.
Cécile entered, but to my surprise, she was not alone. Trailing at her heels was the Dowager Duchesse herself, along with Lessa, Marc, and the twins. Cécile’s expression was cross, but despite whatever injury she had sustained, she felt oddly eager. Everyone else was unreadable. Which made me worried.
Her eyes took in the smashed desk and she paled slightly.
“We heard about your exploits,” my father said darkly. “I assume you are here to make a request of me?” His fingers twitched ever so slightly as he anticipated Cécile’s appeal. The Dowager Duchesse was strangely quiet. What was going on here?
She glanced in my direction. Please don’t ask me, I prayed, then cursed my own cowardice. I watched her reach up with one hand and rub her arm, obviously the source of her injury, her eyes fixed on me for a long moment before she turned her attention back to my father. A message.
“You really ought to arrange for the girl to be educated in our laws and customs, Your Majesty,” the Dowager Duchesse said, obviously deciding to take advantage of Cécile’s silence. She glanced Cécile’s direction, and their eyes met for a long moment. Cécile said nothing. Damia looked away first. Interesting.
“Unfortunate circumstances such as those that occurred between us,” Damia gestured at Cécile, “would not happen if she knew better. If Her Highness were aware of the laws governing the relationship between a troll and her servant, she would have known not to interfere. It is my right to treat my servants in any way I see fit. To dispose of them how and when I choose, if I no longer care to keep them in my household.” Her eyes flicked from Cécile, to my father, to me. She was visibly flustered, and the Dowager Duchesse was never flustered.
Cécile said nothing, only scuffed the toe of her shoe against the marble floor.
Sweat broke out on Damia’s brow. “The silly girl went so far as to try to purchase Lessa from me, which everyone knows is against the law because…” She broke off as my father shifted his weight. “If she had only known…” she stammered.
Cécile coughed and Damia’s face twitched. “The law does not account for your refusal to sell Lessa to Lady Victoria.” She lifted her chin, meeting my father’s gaze. “The Lady Damia’s assault against her servant was malicious and unjust, and an obvious abuse of the power granted her by Your Majesty’s laws.”
My father cocked one eyebrow.
“I was rash,” Damia blurted out. “Lessa did not deserve punishment, and I find that I have reconsidered my request that Lord Marc arrange for her disposal. She is a favored servant, and Her Highness’s interference has prevented a loss I most undoubtedly would have regretted.”
Cécile inclined her head. “I am glad to have been of assistance.”
Damia’s lips tightened with suppressed fury. “Then we can consider the matter closed.”
“I can’t see why not.”
Damia curtseyed deeply. “By your leave, Your Majesty?”
I cleared my throat. “One question before you leave, Damia.” Rising from my chair, I walked towards Cécile, took her by the wrist, and pushed up her sleeve. Her forearm was marred with an angry red welt. Fury surged through me, and it was an effort to keep from showing it on my face.
“I don’t suppose you would know anything about this… Your Grace?” I asked.
“It was not intentional,” she snapped. “The fool of a girl got between Lessa and me. The blow was not intended for her.”
“I’m quite certain I don’t give a damn about your intentions,” I said quietly, raising Cécile’s arm so my father could see the mark.
“It seems you are the one needing an education in our laws, Lady Damia,” he said, settling his bulk down on a chair. “Allow me to bring you up to date. Following my decision to bond my dearest son and heir to this fragile human girl, I decreed that anyone found to have directly or indirectly harmed her in any way would be subject to severe punishment.”
Damia looked ill. “It was not my intention to harm her,” she repeated.
My father leaned forward, his eyes glittering. “Intentions mean little when the results
are the same. Your actions jeopardized the welfare of my heir and, as such, they cannot go unpunished.”
The Dowager Duchesse dropped to her knees. “Mercy, Your Majesty. I am but an old woman.”
My father snorted at her pitiful display and opened his mouth to say something, when Cécile interrupted. “Your Majesty, if I may?”
I winced, but my father only nodded, brow curling with curiosity. I wasn’t curious – I was nervous. Cécile had managed to keep control of this entire exchange through silence, but she clearly intended to have her say.
“I do not care to see any more violence – I have had my fill today,” she said, turning to Lessa who had remained kneeling on the floor this entire time. “If you insist on punishing the Lady Damia for her actions, I would prefer that it came in the form of compensation.”
My father rested an elbow on the arm of his chair and propped his chin up. “I’m listening.”
“I have been led to believe that the laws prohibit the purchase of one’s own relations, regardless of whether they are related by blood or marriage. Is that correct?”
I grew very still. She was treading on dangerous territory.
“You are correct.”
“Illegal to purchase, but what about to own? Say, if one received the individual as a gift?”
A faint smile rose on my father’s lips. “A loophole, I believe. Is that what you want then?”
Cécile nodded.
My father rose to his feet. “There you have it Damia. You will give us Lessa.” He paused, tilting his head in thought. “Or you will give us your head. Your choice.”
The Dowager Duchesse made no attempt to hide her fury. She had gambled heavily and lost. To a human. I smiled inwardly.
“I’ll have her papers delivered in the morning,” she hissed, then stormed out of the room.
Lessa straightened, turning to watch her former mistress leave. She did not, I noticed, look particularly pleased with this turn of events. Cécile may have thought she was doing her a favor, but Lessa seemed to think otherwise.
My father flicked his fingers in Cécile’s direction. “You can go.” She hurried out, Marc and the twins trailing after her. I started to follow them, but my father held up his hand. “You stay.”
I waited silently as my father contemplated Lessa, but as to what he was thinking, I could not say. Sighing deeply, he raised a hand and a dark sphere encircled her, blocking off both sight and sound.
“I’ve always hated that manipulative old bat,” he muttered. “It was high time one of her plots turned back around to bite her on the ass. Although I didn’t expect Cécile to be the one doing the biting.”
I made a non-committal sound.
“I hate that whole bloody family,” he continued, pouring a glass of wine.
“Then why did you foster Roland with them?” The words were out before I could think.
A glass floated my direction and I snatched it out of the air, drinking deeply.
“You know why,” he said. “I didn’t want your aunt whispering in his ear like she did to you.”
“But why them?” I persisted. “Why a family that has been our enemy for centuries? Our most powerful enemy.”
“Ah.” He stared into the depths of his glass. “It was because they are our enemies.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted the girl Anaïs for you – she had all the makings of a good queen, and uniting the two of you would have done much to reduce tension between the houses. Angoulême was of an accord, with the exception of one aspect of the contract: he would not allow her to be bonded. And I could not risk such a union – there would be too much chance that she’d stab you in your sleep.”
I nodded slowly. Those of that family did not bond – they considered it a weakness. Anaïs’s mother had died mysteriously a few years ago, and there were whispers that her husband had murdered her. It was to his advantage – he had only two daughters, one of them now dead – and a new young wife gave him another chance at a son. Though in my opinion, anyone who married him was a fool.
“I gave them your brother to sweeten the pot, so to speak. The Duke agreed, and the contract was finalized.” He drank deeply. “Later, of course, we discovered that Anaïs and her sister were afflicted, and I broke off the engagement. She was unfit – something your cousin did a fine job of demonstrating when he made the mistake of bonding Pénélope.”
I was glad Marc was gone – he did not consider Pénélope a mistake.
“I did not know there was a contract,” I said.
“I know,” he said, regarding me with an unreadable expression. “Despite what you might think, there are a great many things you do not yet know.”
I shrugged. “Then enlighten me: why not take Roland back? It would be in your right.”
“And do what with him?” He drained his glass. “Your brother is a bloody menace, and the Duke’s family is the only one other than us with the mettle to control him. And I can’t very well bring Roland to the palace with Cécile wandering about. He’d slaughter her on sight. And that,” he inclined his head to me, “would be most unfortunate.”
That was an understatement.
“Anaïs knew about the contract,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “I’ve always been surprised she didn’t tell you.”
I wasn’t surprised – my friend did not suffer shame well. “Anaïs is loyal to me,” I said, “not to her father.”
“As you say,” my father replied, waving away the conversation. His eyes settled on the swirling black orb obscuring Lessa from view. “Go,” he said abruptly. “I need to deal with this.”
I quickly removed myself from his presence, sensing his mood was about to take a turn for the worse. Part of me wondered what he intended to say to Lessa – I had no fear he would harm her – but, oh, to be a fly on that wall. Having been hidden away under Damia’s wing most of her life, Lessa was something of an unknown commodity. I didn’t know anything about what she was like, only that she was powerful. And, I suspected, loyal to Angoulême.
Walking blindly through the corridors, I pushed the matter of Lessa to the back of my mind and turned instead to my father’s behavior. It was not like him to be forthcoming. And why, after all these years, bring up that I had been contracted to Anaïs? I chewed the inside of my lip as I considered what he would gain from telling me the information. Not, certainly, to provide more proof that the Duke was a deceptive bastard – that was obvious. This was to do with Anaïs – the fact she had known about the contract, but never told me. An attempt, then, to undercut my faith in her loyalty? To drive a wedge between us? It seemed counterproductive given that our friendship promised to do much in smoothing over the discord between our families.
Not friends, lovers.
“Ah,” I muttered, everything becoming clear. He must believe that it was at least partially Anaïs’s doing that I continually avoided or fought with Cécile. He was trying to drive me away from Anaïs and towards my human wife.
Pushing open a door, I trotted down a set of steps, then froze, realizing I stood at the entrance to the glass gardens. The sound of Cécile’s voice was thick in my ears, a fiercely defiant song of a warrior woman in some distant civilization. Apparently my meandering through the halls had had more purpose than I thought.
It was almost habit now for me to seek her out whenever I heard her singing – her voice was my only respite. The one moment in the day when I allowed myself to forget the growing pressures of my life. The one moment when I allowed myself to forget who I was.
Extinguishing my light, I started into the garden towards her voice, but not before pausing to break a single rose from the glass bushes lining the gates.
CHAPTER 18
CéCILE
There was only one way to lure Tristan into my company, and that was to sing. As often as I could, I would go out into the glass gardens and do battle with the thunder of the waterfall, my voice echoing through the cavernous hall of Trollus, knowing that no matter where Tristan was in the
city or what he was doing, he would come to listen.
He never said anything to me in those moments, always keeping his distance. Sometimes he stood on the edge of the gardens or sat on one of the many benches, staring at his feet. If I walked while I sang, he’d trail after me, careful to keep a glass hedgerow between us. I always pretended not to see him, even though I was keenly aware of his presence. And even more keenly aware of the gap between us that he would not breach.
Today was no different. I sang. He listened. And when my voice grew too tired to carry on, he hesitated in the silence for only a heartbeat before departing. But today, I decided I could not leave it at that. Holding up skirts stained with Lessa’s blood, I strode through the winding pathways, taking the steps into the palace two at a time. Servants bowed and curtseyed as I passed, but I hardly noticed, my attention all for tracking Tristan’s progress through the palace. He was heading towards our rooms, but I knew he wouldn’t linger. He never did. It took every ounce of control I had not to run – running garnered attention, and I needed some time alone to speak with him.
Our rooms were dark and empty when I finally reached them. But I sensed he was here. Holding up my light, I walked from room to room, searching. Then I noticed one of the doors to the courtyard was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, I stepped outside and shone my light down the stairs. In the center of the space stood a black piano, my light gleaming off its shiny surface.
Closing the door behind me, I made my way down the stairs and over to the instrument. The wood felt strangely warm to my touch, but perhaps that was only because I spent my days surrounded by glass and stone. I pressed a finger against one key, and then another, listening to notes ring out. Then my eyes caught sight of a single glass rose resting against the music rack. Tentatively, I reached out to pick it up. At my touch, it blossomed with a warm pink glow.
ARC: Stolen Songbird Page 17
