I had no escort back to my rooms, although I was as much in danger as I had ever been. It would take time for Tips to disperse the truth behind what had happened this morning, and despite knowing I worked for their freedom, many would resent being used once again. Even now, after this victory against my father, I still had so few allies. Only Tips, his crew, and élise. Marc was still an unknown, holed up in his home and refusing any visitors, and the twins were limited by their banishment to the mines. I needed to find a way to help my friends, but as yet, I didn’t know how.
The smell of food tickled my nose as I stepped into my rooms, a laden and steaming tray revealing itself as I expanded my pool of light. A note written on my aunt’s stationery sat on the corner of the tray.
* * *
Because you are still dear to me.
S.
* * *
P.S. I had élise bring this for you, and as such, I cannot vouch for what it might contain.
* * *
My pulse accelerated. Sitting down at my desk, I scanned the contents of the tray, searching for a hidden message from élise. Nothing. No note, no symbols, no clever arrangement of food. “Bloody stones,” I muttered, and started eating, because if nothing else, I was starving. Shoving half a roll into my mouth, I started on the bowl of soup, spooning the thick liquid into my mouth as fast as I could swallow it. Tipping the bowl with magic, I started to scoop up the last mouthful when my eyes caught sight of one word scored into the bottom of the dish.
élise’s mission had been to discover who or what had provoked my father into such a fury that my mother had nearly torn the palace down and cost me my life. And she’d done it.
Ana?s.
Twenty-Three
Cécile
“Under no circumstances is she to leave the house today, do you understand? She has no rehearsals or performances or appointments, so don’t believe any lies she might spin.”
“Yes, Madame.”
My mother repeated her instructions to the cook and maid, albeit with different phrasing. But the message was the same: short of the house burning down – and perhaps not even then – I was not to cross the threshold. Scowling, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the canopy of my bed.
It wasn’t as though I couldn’t sneak out. It would be easy enough to compel both women not to interfere, but both of them would lose their jobs if my mother discovered they’d let me go without a fight. Better to use a non-magical route. I was an experienced tree climber, and the sturdy trellis running down the house would not trouble me in the least.
But not getting caught was quite another matter. I’d ignored my mother’s orders and today’s internment was my punishment. But if I did it again, I knew she would and could do much worse to me. Chain my feet together, or hire guards to stand outside my door, or drug me to sleep every night. Her creativity knew no bounds.
The maid had been in a quarter-hour past to bring me a tray of breakfast, and sunlight beamed in between the drapes she had tossed open. The food was slowly growing cold, but the smell of it made my stomach roil, and the thought of eating was more than I could bear. My head throbbed unbearably and my whole body ached from riding around in the freezing cold. I felt like I was falling sick, but I knew better. Even without the message left on my mirror, I would have felt the urgency. Something had happened. Something had changed. The troll king was no longer content to wait. If he ever had been.
Tick, tock, Princess.
Rolling over, I buried my face in the pillow. When I’d first seen the red writing, I’d thought it was blood. It had turned out to be only my own lip stain. But while the medium of the message was more innocuous than I’d originally thought, its meaning was no less nefarious. Not only was I running out of time, the placement of the message and the casual use of my own cosmetics slapped me in the face with the knowledge that the King could reach me anytime and anywhere. I might be free of Trollus, but I was not free from danger. I wondered if anywhere was safe.
My thoughts swiftly returned to the results of my spell the prior night. And the spell itself. It had been so easy – no worrying about whether the nature and balance of the ingredients was correct, or if I was using the elements best suited to the task. No fear the power that manifested would be insufficient.
And it had felt good.
I shivered, worming my way deeper under the covers. Certainly, it had been hard to kill the chicken, but more than that, I remembered the euphoric influx of power. Power that had lingered in me long enough to shout my mother into submission when I’d returned home, hours after casting the spell. It had been a revolting act. But it had also been intoxicating. Addicting. Digging my bitten fingernails ineffectually into my palms, I mumbled, “Don’t think about it.”