“What is it you want?” he finally asked.
“We want him punished,” Tips said, slamming the bottom of his crutch against the marble floor. The rest of the half-bloods in the room crowed their agreement until my father made some motion to silence them.
“Should I throw him back in prison and leave him there to rot?” my father asked. “Or is that not extreme enough? Should I take off his head and put an end to his traitorous ways once and for all?”
“A sweet revenge for many,” Tips said. “But some of us are less rash. He’s no good to us dead or in prison.”
“How is he good to you at all?” A question to which my father dearly wanted an answer.
I heard Tips swallow hard and I held my breath. This was the moment of reckoning.
“Prince Tristan undid in a night’s work what it took us three months to complete,” Tips said. “If you really want to see Trollus free from its dependence on magic, then you’ll best punish him by making him use his research and plans to fulfill your vision. That is what we want as reparations for the hurt we have suffered. Order Prince Tristan to build the stone tree for us. And make him promise to do it right.”
Stunned silence filled the throne room. No one had expected Tips to demand that. Not the aristocracy or the bourgeoisie, and certainly, certainly, not the half-bloods. My heart thundered in my chest, and sweat coated my palms. Please let it work.
My father began to laugh. At first, only a soft chuckle, but the sound gathered and grew until it filled the long hall. “What a pragmatic request, miner,” he finally said, his voice still shaking with mirth. “I cannot say I expected it.”
He nudged me with one foot and the weight of the magic holding me lifted. “Get up.”
I climbed warily to my feet, not taking my eyes off him for a second. His expression terrified me. He knew I had tricked him, knew that I was plotting against him. But he looked pleased.
Which didn’t make any sense. He had no clear way out of the trap I’d set for him. He knew Tips was working with me, but he didn’t dare out the half-blood for his lies. He knew that commanding me to build the tree was what I wanted, but that if he didn’t, he’d be all but confessing to the thousands of angry half-bloods outside the palace that he’d duped them. The half-bloods he wrongly believed I’d already recruited back to my leadership, when in actuality, they probably all hated me more than they ever hated him.
He’d figure my trick out eventually, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that right here, right now, he believed the majority of the city followed my orders.
Say something. My skin alternated hot and cold. Everyone in the room faded away; the sound of the mob barely a whisper in my ear. All that mattered was my father.
“You will do what the half-blood asks,” he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. A slight smile crept into his eyes. “As… punishment, for your actions.”
Relief filled me, and it was a struggle to keep from showing it. I think I did not quite manage it, because the smile moved to his mouth. I stayed quiet long enough to make our act look real, then nodded. “As you command, so shall it be, Your Majesty.”
“We want his promise!”
I started at Tips’s voice. This wasn’t part of our plan. I turned just in time to see magic that was not my own crush the half-blood against the marble floor.
“Do not make demands of your betters,” my father snapped, his vehemence surprising me. Tips had been making demands this entire time, and my father had not seemed to care. What about me making a promise was different? It was a question that required more thought, but I didn’t have time for it now. After everything that had happened today, the half-bloods were going to need more than a little reassurance that I was to be trusted, and I had every intention of giving it to them.
I cleared my throat. “I, Prince Tristan de Montigny, do so swear that I will build a stone tree for you, which, when it is complete, will protect Trollus from the weight of Forsaken Mountain without the use of magic.”
My father snapped around to face me, his eyes bright with astonishment and anger. “You’re a fool to bind yourself so.” He muttered the words under his breath, and only I was close enough to hear them.
“That remains to be seen,” I said softly, refusing to let myself wonder if he was right.
“Let it be known that His Highness has given his binding word!” he roared. Twisting on his heel, he strode up to the throne and settled down on it hard enough that the massive chair inched backwards. “Get back to your trades,” he snarled at the crowd. “And you.” His eyes settled on Tips. “Get back to the mines. It would be a shame after all of this if you were to miss your quota.”
A not too subtle reminder that he was still King of Trollus, and that we all still lived and died by his word.
* * *