I clenched my teeth to keep the threatening sobs from betraying me. Dropping to my knees, I looked up through the flame and saw her face. Her painfully familiar face, and around her throat, the necklace that marked those destined to die. The necklace I should have been wearing.
My mother is Anushka, my mother is Anushka. The words repeated in my head, but even seeing proof with my eyes, it was hard to believe. Shaking, I watched as she picked up a cruel beaked mask that I recognized from when Sabine and I had watched Catherine’s memory in my washbasin, tying it to her face with a black ribbon.
“It is time.”
The witch’s eyes turned to the flame. I ducked under the table before she could see me, releasing the magic and vanquishing the spell. And then I sat shaking on the floor.
It had been hard enough learning that Anushka was my ancestor, but knowing that she was my mother– that she’d borne me for the sole purpose of sacrificing me to her immortality. That the woman I’d all but worshipped my whole life was a killer. The thought of it made the contents of my stomach rise, and twisting onto my hands and knees, I heaved them onto the carpet, my muscles straining painfully as though they might rid me of everything I’d seen.
I was the target. I was the one who was supposed to die tonight, and Tristan along with me. And with that power, my friends in Trollus had no hope. I had to warn him. “Tristanthysium,” I whispered, and then broke off. If I told him Genevieve was Anushka, he’d kill her. And the thought of her lying as dead as Esmeralda had elicited a reaction in me that I could not have predicted: sorrow. She was the enemy, but though I knew I was a fool for it, I still loved her as I always had. Perhaps if we caught her, she could be reasoned with. Perhaps, there was another way…
Staggering to my feet, I ran to the door. Regardless of my sentiments, Tristan needed to be warned. He was expecting to protect Genevieve – our entire plan was predicated on keeping her safe – the last thing he’d expect would be for her to turn on him. I had to find a way to get to him, explain to him the circumstances. Convince him to at least try to find another way.
The handle turned under my grip, but the door wouldn’t open. I slammed a shoulder against it, but to no avail. It was bolted from outside. I sucked in a deep breath, planning to scream until someone came, and then I clacked my teeth together. Marie and Anushka would have planned for that. Planned for me to resist. If I screamed, only people under their control would come, and then they’d drag me off and all hope of warning Tristan would be lost. I had to be smarter than that.
Anushka didn’t know I’d discovered her true identity, and I needed to keep it that way. The only way to do that was to play along until a chance revealed itself. “Tristanthysium,” I repeated, knowing I needed to say something. “Be wary. One of our friends is foe. Trust no one.”
The bolt slid, and I broke off the thought. The door opened to reveal Monsieur Johnson, resplendent with a sprig of rowanberries on his collar. “Ah, Cécile, you look marvelous!” he said, beaming from between the two guards who flanked him. “You must come with me; we are about to begin. Are you ready?”
I nodded, though I wouldn’t be ready if I had a thousand years to prepare. This would be the performance of my lifetime.
Fifty-Three
Tristan
Tristanthysium… My name twisted through my mind, and I tensed, waiting for the answer my people had sought for centuries. But Cécile said nothing more. Which made me very worried.
“Tristan?”
I refocused, realizing Fred had spoken to me. “Pardon?”
“Someone will realize I’m not him.” Fred rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, then tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed coat.
“Unlikely,” I said, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand. Something had happened to Cécile – something that had shocked and horrified her, and only the knowledge that she was physically unharmed kept me from running her direction. She’d called my name, but given me nothing more. “No one knows such a thing is possible, so why would they suspect anything?”
Fred nodded, but his Aiden-mask betrayed his doubt.
“Make sure the castle is locked down,” I said, repeating the plan we’d discussed this afternoon. “The gates closed. No one enters and no one leaves. And above all, keep Marie from interfering.”
“All right.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t care much about what happens to Genevieve, but promise you’ll keep my sister safe.”
I needed to get back to the ballroom, but I felt the need to understand the nature of the conflict between Genevieve and her son. “What did she do to you to make you hate her so?”
Fred went very still, then he quietly replied, “It’s not so much what she did as who she is.”