Tired, sore, and more than a little scared, I settled on the floor. My skirts rustled as I arranged them to make myself comfortable. I could probably have picked the lock, but there seemed no point. The closet was darker than the darkest of nights and the room no better. I could not escape without light, and that would be hard to come by in this place.
I needed to get away. Any hope the trolls would let me go had been dashed by the conversation I had just overheard. The King intended to keep me in Trollus indefinitely, and he had expectations of what I would do while I was here. At best, I was an instrument for breaking a curse, and at worst, a broodmare for what they called half-bloods. The very idea made me shiver. It wasn’t Tristan who repulsed me – despite the fact he wasn’t human, he was handsome, and if I were being honest with myself, the strange drink they’d given me had drawn out stirrings of desire I would gladly do without. Clearly the same had not occurred for him. To him, I was little better than a sheep. And the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone who was disgusted by me made me cringe. Because I would never be able to escape it – even standing on far sides of the city, I would still be able to feel it.
I leaned my head against the shelves, exhaustion starting to take hold of me. Only as I started to drift off to sleep did it occur to me: if the trolls had been trying to break the curse for five hundred years, why had Tristan been so happy when we failed?
CHAPTER 8
TRISTAN
“Bloody stones and sky, Marc,” I hissed as he walked through the door, “where have you been?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve been waiting a good hour for you.”
“So sorry, cousin,” he replied, tossing his cloak in the corner and pouring himself a drink. “I am at your beck and call, but it did take a bit of time to reestablish curfew.”
I pushed aside my books and leaned my elbows on the table, only now noticing the drying blood on Marc’s black sleeve. “Casualties?”
“Twelve dead, all miners except for one street worker, but I believe he got caught in the crossfire, such as it was.”
I grimaced. “Perpetrators?”
Marc shrugged. “Hard to prove, but it sounds like guild members. They did not report any injuries.”
“They wouldn’t.” I rubbed my temples, trying to push aside the knot of emotion residing in the back of my skull that most decidedly did not belong to me. The emotions belonging to the girl. Cécile.
“Do we know who instigated?” I asked.
Marc’s expression was grim and told me all I needed to know. Sliding my arms across the table I rested my forehead against the smooth surface and then banged it against the wood twice for good measure. “I can’t think,” I said. “Can you deal with it until I have more time?”
“I suppose.”
Marc sat down in a chair across from me and said nothing else, which allowed me to turn my attention back to the girl. She was fading. I straightened abruptly. “It’s diminishing! The bond, it’s fading away.” The triumphant grin on my face vanished at the sight of Marc’s slowly shaking head.
“She’s sleeping. You’ll notice her a lot less when she’s asleep, unless she dreams – that can get interesting.”
I motioned for him to fill my glass. “It isn’t interesting at all,” I said. “It’s a problem. She’s a problem – one that needs dealing with.”
Marc’s face darkened. “Cécile,” he said, emphasizing her name, “isn’t a problem. She’s an innocent girl who has been dragged into this situation entirely against her will. Your father had her violently kidnapped, dragged through the labyrinth, and then bonded to a troll using a magic that I am certain she didn’t know existed. She is not our problem – we are hers.”
Leaning back in my chair, I watched my orb of light circling above us. “You make a valid point.”
“The poor girl is probably terrified,” Marc added. “How could she not be?”
“Well, she isn’t,” I said. “What she is, is blasted inquisitive. I’d rather the fear – fear doesn’t think, it just reacts.”
Marc snorted. “Tristan, the bond changes everything,” he said. “Whether you like her or not, keeping her safe will become your ultimate priority. The last thing you are going to want is for her to be afraid – especially of you.” He took a sip of wine, watching my face. “For the rest of your lives, you will feel what the other is feeling every waking moment. Sometimes in your dreams.”
I covered my eyes with a hand, a heavy feeling in my chest. I was the one that was afraid.
“Where did you leave her?” Marc asked. “Is she safe?”
“She’s safe enough,” I said, hesitating for a moment before adding, “She’s locked in the closet of my sitting room.”
Marc’s face twisted – which for him, was saying something. “Are you quite serious?”
“It was the only place I could hide her.” I quickly explained the conversation I’d had with my father.
“And you left her there? After she had to listen to that?”
I nodded, starting to feel somewhat ashamed.