We spent the rest of that day in mourning, first delivering the news to Vincent, who took it badly, and then later, when the mining shifts changed, to Victoria, who took it worse.
In quiet voices, Marc and I debated who could be impersonating Ana?s. The list was short. For one, Ana?s had been one of the most powerful trolls living, and there were only a few women with enough raw power to fool those close to her. Two, the troll would need to have known Ana?s well enough to imitate her voice and mannerisms. And three, it had to be someone who could go absent for days at a time without it being noticed.
“Her grandmother?” Marc suggested. “Damia’s always been something of a recluse.”
I frowned, bending my mind around the idea of the Dowager Duchesse posing as her granddaughter. “If anyone could manage it, it would be her. But…” It didn’t feel right. Whoever it was, she was in collusion with my father, and those two hated each other. “I don’t see how she or Angoulême could profit from this sort of deception.” I shook my head once. “I don’t think it’s her.”
“Then who? Who could it possibly be?”
I tilted my head from side to side, listening to my neck crack. “I have no idea.” Not only that, I had no idea how she was doing it. Creating the illusion was easy enough, but keeping it in place day and night, never letting it slip. That was no mean feat. It wasn’t only a matter of walking around and looking like Ana?s, it was a matter of becoming her. A fragile act that could be destroyed with one direct question: are you really Ana?s? Because no troll could say yes.
The door swung open, and our voices cut off as Vincent stepped inside, his face drawn and exhausted, his hair coated with grey dust so that he looked twenty years older than he was.
Vincent coughed once. “Took some convincing, but he agreed.”
My blood started to race, and I stood up, feeling the need to act. “When?”
“Tonight.” Vincent met my gaze. “But he had one condition.”
“Anything.” The word was out before I thought through what meeting Tips tonight would actually entail.
Despite his exhaustion, Vincent must have noticed my slip, because he winced. “His condition was that the conversation take place in his territory.”
I forced myself to nod, the movement jerky. “Fine. I’m in no position to argue.”
But bloody stones and skies did I want to, because Tips’s territory was the one place in Trollus that I never went. The one place that I hated above all others.
The mines.
Eight
Cécile
“Don’t you have a bed?” A sharp poke in the ribs pulled me out of my dreams, and I opened one bleary eye to regard my brother. His face was only inches from mine, full of a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Your breath stinks,” he informed me.
“Shut up.” I tried to bury my face in the settee, but the fabric was stiff and unyielding, and all the action accomplished was making my nose hurt.
Why was I asleep on the sofa? Memory of the night before came crashing down on me, from the events at the mouth of the River Road, to my mother stumbling in drunk, to her tearful justification of her abandonment of us. And then…
I sat upright, the motion making me dizzy. When the stars cleared, my eyes fixed on the empty teacup on the table. “She drugged me!”
One of Fred’s eyebrows rose.
“Mother,” I muttered, arranging my nightclothes so that I was decent.
My brother laughed, but he didn’t sound all that amused. “Sounds about right. She probably got tired of pretending to be a parent.”
I grunted in agreement, but Fred wasn’t through. “I’m fairly certain that’s where my predisposition for strong drink came from – that she fed me whisky as a babe to stop the squalling.”
“Don’t start.” I shivered. The fire had all but gone cold, and the great room was freezing. “I really don’t understand why you hate her so much. You might not agree with the choices she’s made, but it isn’t as though she’s harmed you.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Fred’s face darkened, and he tossed two letters on my lap. “One for you from father. Another for Sabine from her parents that you’ll need to read for her.” He turned and walked toward the door. “She’s far from harmless, Cécile, but maybe the only way you’ll learn is the hard way.”
“Wait!” I called after him, but he kept walking. Stumbling off the sofa, I scuttled around so that I was between him and the door. “I’m sorry. Stay for breakfast.”
He glared at me.
“Please?” I pantomimed a sad face. “I hardly see you.”
“I have work to do.” He picked me up and set me to one side, but this was a well-worn routine of ours. “Please!” I mock-pleaded.
“Don’t got time for you.”
I flung myself at his knees, wrapping my arms around one leg so that he dragged me forward with every step. “Please!”
“Let go. What sort of reputable lady acts this way? You’re behaving like a child off the streets of Pigalle.”
I clung tighter.