I arranged the piles of pillows around me, waiting for Tristan to speak.
“I come here when I want to be alone,” he finally said. “To think, or to sleep, sometimes. And because it is a good reminder for me.”
Light flared, illuminating the structure and revealing walls carved and painted with scenes of war. Time had faded many of the images, but not enough to completely wash away the pictures of destruction and carnage. I stared at the legions of troll soldiers, men and women, their faces beautiful but cruel. Toppled cities, piles of corpses, humans groveling at the feet of their troll overlords. Humans in chains, bleeding and emaciated, their eyes downcast and devoid of hope.
I shivered, wrapping my velvet cloak tightly around me. “I read those history books you showed me, Tristan. I am not unaware of your dark past, and I realize that you think the curse is the only thing preventing history from revisiting itself on the world.”
“If you know all of this,” he gestured at the walls, “then why does it feel like you are pushing me to find a way to break it. Bloody stones, Cécile, if we are set free, all you will be accomplishing is replacing those faces with those of your friends and family. Is that what you want?”
“Do you think I haven’t considered that possibility?” I snapped, those exact images rising up in my mind. “Do you think it doesn’t terrify me?” I forced my hands to relax from their clenched grip, smoothing my sweating palms against my skirts. “The difference between us, Tristan, is that I don’t see the future as set in stone. It has been hundreds of years! The trolls who committed those crimes are long since dead, and I don’t think those living today should have to continue to pay for their sins.”
“No, you think they should be released to commit their own.”
“Why are you so convinced they will?”
“Do you honestly believe that if the curse was broken tomorrow that my father would be any better than them?” Tristan pressed his fingers against his temples in obvious frustration. “The desire for vengeance might very well make him worse than his predecessors.”
“I know that,” I said, leaning towards him. “That’s why we wait until he’s dead. We wait until you are king. Because I know you wouldn’t do those things.”
Tristan looked away. “You overestimate the power I have over them. I cannot control the actions of every one of my people, and even if I could, I am not immortal. All it would take is one angry troll to slaughter hundreds of humans. Thousands even. And that blood would be on my hands, because I would be the one who unleashed him.”
“But what if you made them all promise not to?” I asked. “A carefully worded oath that would check any chance of violence.”
A sharp laugh was my answer. “And who would they make this promise to?”
“You?”
“Ah.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Do you know what the best way for a troll to get out of a promise is?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “To kill the one you made the promise to. I’d be a walking target – I wouldn’t last a week.”
“Then make them promise not to!”
He shook his head. “Then they would kill you. And if I made them promise not to, one of them would pay a human to do it. Trying to control them that way doesn’t work.”
I winced and stared down at my hands, trying not to let the futility of his words take me over. “Regardless. I think you underestimate them,” I said softly. “I know I haven’t been here a long time, but from what I’ve seen, most trolls do not desire violence and oppression – they’ve seen enough of it and that’s why they are fighting for change now. It wouldn’t just be you keeping the few bad apples in check, it would be everyone.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Tristan made a sharp sound of disgust. “What then? The witch may well have saved humanity with her curse. And in breaking it, we may well be sacrificing it. If the curse is broken, your kind will lose the only power they ever had over mine.”
“But at what cost?” I argued. “There has to be a better solution.”
“The witch found the only solution. I will not undo her work.”
I stared at him, aghast. “You make her sound like she is some sort of saint, but let me assure you, she is not.” I searched his stony expression. “Why do you insist on believing trolls are so evil?” And why did he seem so bent on proving he’d been painted with the same malevolent brush?
Tristan twisted away from my scrutiny, and the lights surrounding us blinked out, leaving only my own to light our passage across the lake. “I think it is in our nature to be selfish, and in our capacity to do a great many evil things,” he eventually said.