The Broken Ones

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “But of course! What sort of father would I be to deprive you of your passion?”

  The sort of father who’d have his daughter murdered.

  “Go, look. Please! Your grandmother made the selections herself, and I assure you, she spared no expense.”

  I lurched in the direction of the chests, my feet feeling heavy as bricks. Half expecting to be incinerated, I cautiously touched one of them, but the wood was smooth and cool beneath my fingers.

  “Perhaps you might play for us on this joyous occasion, my lady.”

  My father’s words made no sense to me, but when I turned my head, I realized they’d been directed at Marc’s mother.

  “Not today,” the Comtesse replied. Her voice was steady, but the trembling orb of light above her betrayed her fear.

  “Shame.” My father’s smile was all teeth. “I well remember the days when you used to entertain at parties, though it seems a lifetime ago. Such a beautiful thing to possess.” His eyes shifted to Marc’s father. “The gift of music.”

  The Comte’s face gleamed with fury, because that wasn’t at all what my father had meant. But as Duke, my father outranked him, so the Comte could say nothing. How many lives have my family raked their claws across? I wondered. How many have suffered, how many have died, because of us?

  “Aren’t you going to look, Pénélope?”

  His attention had shifted back to me, and I let my hair fall into my face as I reached for the latch on the chest, unwilling to let him see my fear. Half expecting snakes or worse to leap out at me, I flipped the lid, the contents within glittering in a rainbow of colors beneath my light.

  Jewels.

  All new. All worth a small fortune, and all suitable for the head of a household, not a teenage girl. I picked up a pair of diamond earrings that would reach nearly to my shoulders, the gems winking as though they were laughing. The next three chests were full of gowns made of costly imported fabrics, many marked by the names of famous human designers. Then one full of undergarments quite unlike anything I’d previously worn. The last was full of small jars of pigment. Picking up one, I stared at the label, knowing that this chest of rare, brilliant hues was worth more than all the rest combined.

  “It is important to pursue one’s passions.” He’d come up close without me realizing, his breath smelling faintly of mint. I shivered, placing the jar back with the rest with a tiny clink.

  “Do you think all of this will undo the fact you tried to have me killed?” I whispered. “Do you believe my forgiveness can be purchased?”

  “No,” he replied. “I don’t. Sometimes, one’s emotions get the better of them. But it would’ve been a tragedy and a mistake if Lessa had taken your light from us.”

  “Lessa?” I was shaking, the jars of precious color rattling under my hand. “Does she do anything you don’t want her to?”

  He chuckled softly. “Does anyone?”

  And there it was. As though a trousseau full of items that would have taken weeks, if not longer, to procure were not enough, the statement was all but an admission that Marc and me bonding was no act of defiance. At least, not toward my father. He’d wanted us to do it. Lessa trying to kill me had been nothing but a ruse intended to make us desperate enough to take that leap, and the realization carved out my insides as thoroughly as a knife.

  The door to the parlor slammed open.

  Marc stood in the doorway, breathing hard. “Get away from her.”

  As if Marc hadn’t spoken, my father said, “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.” Flipping the lid of the chest closed, he strolled over to Marc, his cane making soft thuds against the floor. Marc’s hand lifted as though he might strike, and I lunged at them, desperate to stop the altercation before it began. But my father only clapped a hand against Marc’s shoulder.

  “I must commend you,” he said. “Honor is a rare thing in our kind, but you, young man, possess it in a quantity beyond my wildest dreams. Most in your position would have left my poor daughter alone to bear an illegitimate child, but you…”

  With his cane, he gestured at the Comte. “What a son you’ve raised, my lord. What incredible bravery he must possess to take such a risk for the girl he loves.”

  “I have always been proud of my son,” the Comte said. “That will never change.”

  “To be sure.” My father sighed, then reached out to cup my cheek as though I were the most precious of things, then inclined his head to Marc. “I really must thank you. I confess, my behavior of late has not been particularly… fatherly, but you’ve done everything in your power to protect my little girl.”

  The sincerity in his tone was sickening, and I stepped out of his grip.

  “Yesterday was… If I had lost her like that, I’m not sure I could ever have forgiven the mistake.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a card embossed with red and gold and handed it to Marc. “Consider this a display of my eternal gratitude for the brave and noble choice you made.”

  Then he left without another word.

  No one spoke, but the room smelled faintly sour with too much magic and even more trepidation. My knees shook as I took them in: the young man I loved and his family, who were nothing but kind to me. To everyone. And as payment, I had put them in my father’s sights. Put, I was certain, their very lives in danger.

  “I’m so sorry.” My knees failed me and I dropped to the carpet. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

  It was a mistake that could not be undone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marc

  The Duke’s celebration was a week later, the intervening days passing in a blur. I had what I’d always dreamed of: Pénélope as my wife. Every night, she slept in my arms, and I spent every waking minute where I wasn’t occupied with my duties to the crown in her company. Though I would have been happy enough to dine with her alone, she insisted on eating with my family, her interest in my mother’s music and my father’s work genuine, her delight at the mundane gossip that we discussed making the meals more engaging than they had ever been before. My father had the servants rearrange the solar for her use, and I spent hours watching her work, brow furrowed in concentration and errant paint smeared across her cheek as she brought those in our life alive on canvas and parchment.

  But it came at a cost, and that cost put a pall on my dream, as reality often does.

  Tristan hadn’t spoken to me once since the night Pénélope and I had bonded. He took great pains to avoid me, which was fine at first, because I was angry with him. But it was only days before his absence began to prey upon me, the loss of his companionship leaving a void that grew harder and harder to ignore, though I did my best. Pénélope, however, was not fooled.

  “Keep trying,” she said, stoppering a vial of paint. “He’ll come around. He needs you more than you need him, I think.”

  “And Anaïs?” I asked, thinking of the cold politeness my friend directed at me whenever she came to visit her sister. “Will she?”

  To that, Pénélope made only a noncommittal sound, though the flash of sorrow I felt from her was answer enough. No.

  It felt like everyone was angry with me.

  Except, perhaps, the Duke d’Angoulême.

  He’d spared no expense proving just how pleased he was with me. With us.

  Every aristocrat in Trollus had been invited to the celebration, as well as higher-ranking commoners and guild masters, the gates to the Angoulême manor thrown wide, the grounds lit so brilliantly I half wondered if the glow seeped through the rock above. Music filled the air, drowning out the falls, and the Artisans’ Guild filled the sky with vivid displays of color that shifted and changed with every passing minute.

  I hated all of it.

  Pénélope and I stood outside the front doors, greeting every well-wisher and pretending not to see the pity on nearly every face that passed through. Though the pity was better than the poorly disguised glee on the faces of others.

  The Duke was worst of all, working his w
ay through the crowd, all laughter and charm, his mother on his arm.

  “Why?” Pénélope muttered. “Why is he so happy about this? What does he think he can gain?”

  It was a conversation we’d had countless times over the past week. Yes, there was a rift between me and my cousin, but no one had any reason to believe that was permanent. This was by no means our first argument, and we’d always resolved our differences before. It certainly wasn’t enough to justify the Duke’s glee.

  “If he believes I’m going to betray your confidence, he’s sorely mistaken,” she said under her breath. “He no longer has that right. No longer has that power.”

  There was heat in her voice. Certainty. But I knew she was reluctant to leave the house unless in the company of me or my parents lest her father or one of his minions should catch her alone and try to force damning information from her lips. I personally thought such a move unlikely, but fear was not always rational.

  And there was always the chance she was right.

  “I wish you’d let me promise to hold my tongue,” she said, after kissing the cheek of one of her cousins and sending him off in search of a wine her father had brought in at great expense.

  I shook my head. Promises were binding and could not be undone. The last thing I wanted was her in a position where she could save herself and our child through some small admission and finding herself unable to.

  Trumpets abruptly blared, and everyone outside the manor dropped into deep bows and curtsies, the King and Queen appearing at the gates. His expression was sour, but Queen Matilde lifted a hand in greeting to her subjects, then smiled brightly at me before turning slightly so Aunt Sylvie could peruse the crowd. My attention was not for them, however, but rather on whether anyone followed behind.

  Then Tristan appeared.

  His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, expression sullen, yet I couldn’t help but feel relief that at least he’d come.

  “Your Majesties!” The Duke had appeared at my elbow out of nowhere, bowing far lower than was necessary as the King and Queen approached. “You humble me with your presence at my home.”

  “If humbleness was what you sought, I’d have been happy to arrange for it years ago,” the King said, plucking a flute of sparkling wine from a distant tray and downing the contents. Then he eyed me and Pénélope. “You look lovely, my lady. Red suits you.”

  The gown of crimson and gold had been sent over by the Duke. Angoulême colors.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Pénélope responded without missing a beat. “We are honored by your presence.”

  He grunted, eyes drifting over the crowd. “Where is Roland?”

  “Watching the jugglers, I believe,” the Duke responded, but he made no move to escort the King to his son, as he should have. Because his true mark stood a few paces beyond, watching the proceedings with indifference as his father departed through the crowd. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

  “Is it?” Tristan scowled at him.

  “Édouard!”

  The Duke twitched at the use of his given name, my Aunt Sylvie’s voice loud enough to cut through the noise of the party. The Queen instinctively turned so that her sister could have her say. The Duke’s expression soured ever so slightly, but then his smile returned with gusto. “Your Grace.”

  “Skip the formalities and start walking,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I want to see this atrium that you’re always bragging about.”

  The Duke coughed. “Unfortunately it suffered some damage recently that the guild has not yet had time to adequately repair. Perhaps a tour could be arranged at a later date.”

  “Now, Édouard,” she said. “And damaged how? I’m sure that’s a fascinating story that I’m dying to hear.”

  “Oh yes,” the Queen said. “I would like to see.”

  The Duke’s jaw worked back and forth, but he could hardly refuse a request from the Queen herself. The trio departed, but not before my aunt gave me a sly wink.

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Pénélope said, and I turned to find Tristan standing in front of me. He waved a hand, and the half-blood Élise came forward with a large vase full of living flowers of a myriad of colors. “These are for you, my lady.”

  Pénélope’s eyes widened and the first genuine smile I’d seen on her face all night appeared. “They are so lovely. Thank you, Your Highness.” Then she glanced at me and added, “I want to make certain these are properly cared for. If you’d excuse me.”

  She drifted away with Élise in tow, leaving me and my cousin alone together.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” I finally said.

  He shrugged, staring at his boots. “Yes, well.”

  The silence was so awkward it made my teeth ache.

  “Come on,” he finally said. “I’ve always wanted to have a look inside this place.”

  We went into the manor, Tristan leading the way through the corridors, opening and closing doors as he went with little regard for privacy or decorum. “It’s nice,” he grudgingly admitted.

  “Did you expect it to be otherwise?”

  “No.” Opening the door to a sitting room, he looked around and then took a seat on one of the sofas. “Am I to assume Pénélope knows everything?”

  My heart skipped. “You told me to keep her in the dark.”

  “You’ll excuse me for questioning whether you listened.”

  I leaned back in my chair and glared at him until he looked away. I hated abusing his trust in me, but I was afraid of how he’d react. Afraid he wouldn’t understand why I’d needed honesty between Pénélope and me. Afraid that he’d use it as an excuse to cut me out completely.

  Not that it ended up mattering.

  He said, “I need you to set up a meeting with Tips. It’s time he and the rest learned about me.”

  Gripping the door handle with magic, I swung it shut. “You sure this is the place for a discussion like this?”

  “I thought we were all about taking unnecessary risks these days,” he snapped, then scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s as good a place as any, especially since our aunt is keeping the Duke occupied.”

  I sat across from him, then immediately rose because I couldn’t stand to be still. “You’re certain that’s a wise plan?”

  “We are.”

  “We?”

  “Me, Anaïs, and the twins.”

  So they had been meeting without me. I’d suspected as much, but the confirmation hurt. “I would’ve liked to have been included in those conversations, especially given that I’m the one who knows the half-bloods. The one who’s been meeting with them the past year.”

  Tristan opened a drawer in the table before him, examined the contents, then closed it again. “I thought you wanted to spend your time with Pénélope.”

  “I did. I do. But…” I gave my head a sharp shake.

  “But?”

  “You’re followed all the time. How exactly do you plan to meet with them without getting caught?”

  Putting his boots on the table, he leaned back. “I’m going to take Anaïs up on her plan. She’s already made arrangements to purchase the building next to the tavern through an agent – not that everyone doesn’t know it was her doing the buying. We’ll put in a tunnel between the two buildings so that I can go between without anyone noticing.”

  “Tristan…”

  “We’ve already had two rendezvous there, put on a bit of a show for those who followed us. Another few times, and they’ll start to lose interest. Then I can start meeting with the sympathizers. Once they know it’s me–”

  “Tristan,” I interrupted. “It’s not the right time. It’s too soon. If you get caught now, we’re in no position to make a move and win.”

  He stared at me. “Do you think I don’t know that? But what other damnable choice do I have?”

  “I could–”

  “You could what?” he snapped. “You’re the one forcing my han
d on this, Marc. You’re the one who put us in this position.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Yes, you did.” He was on his feet. “You chose her. Now the rest of us must make sacrifices to accommodate that choice.”

  “It’s not like I’m dead,” I said, all the arguments I’d prepared for this moment abandoning me. “I’m still more than capable of leading. The half-bloods trust me. The humans trust me. Can you say the same?”

  “No, I can’t. Which is exactly why we need to make the transition while you’re able to facilitate it. Because if we wait until the worst happens, it will go badly. It could set me back years. Stones and sky, it could end everything I’ve worked for.”

  Everything we’d worked for. And I was being cut out of the decision-making completely. No longer reliable enough to lead, and how long until I was no longer reliable enough to be included at all? This had been as much my dream as his, and he was taking it away because he was angry with me for doing something without his blasted permission. A frantic sort of desperation took hold of my mind with the realization that I was about to become irrelevant. Extraneous. So I played my trump card. “Have you stopped to think that this is exactly what the Duke wants you to do?”

  Tristan went deathly still, and for a heartbeat I thought I’d raised a point that he hadn’t considered. That I’d won my way back into the fold. As though such a thing were even possible.

  “Yes,” he said. “Every time I see his smug face I think that we’re playing into his hand. That he’s going to take us down, and that thousands of lives will be lost along with our dream. And you’re–” he jabbed me in the chest “–the one who allowed it to happen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Marc

  It took over a month to arrange the meeting with Tips, half a dozen attempts forestalled by suspected leaks of information or concern that the Duke and his minions had infiltrated our ranks. Tips and I spent countless hours closeted away in the Dregs debating how best to proceed, and though he accepted I would not reveal the name of the revolution’s true leader until I was ready, the sense of anticipation the miner exuded was as agitating to me as ceaseless questioning would’ve been.