“Maybe they do and maybe they don’t,” Albert responded. “But if you think to get the information by torturing it out of me, you’re wrong. I. Won’t. Tell. I’m a dead man as it is.”
Whether he’d given an oath to the Duke or was that convinced of his own fortitude in the face of torture, he meant what he said. He was as bound to tell the truth as any of them. Part of me wanted to tell them to let him die, but the cost of my earlier cruelty was fresh in my mind. Such a slippery slope it was to become cavalier with life just because the life in question was that of my enemy. It was the attitude of Thibault and Angoulême, and if I was no different, how could I claim to be better?
My hand went to the two remaining perfume bottles in my satchel, and with a sigh, I gave Marc a little nudge with my elbow. “What about for the chance to live?”
The injured troll’s eyes bulged with recognition. “You.” His face contorted with effort. But Albert was not Ana?s or Tristan, and the iron piercing his body kept him in check.
“That’s the offer,” I said. “Tell us where the Duke is hiding, and I’ll save your life.” I’d save it anyway, even if was for only as long as it took for him to go to trial for his actions. “I’ll even heal you first as a token of goodwill.”
Hope flashed across his face and I knew I’d offered the one thing that would cause him to betray the Duke. But my elation lasted only for a second, then he lifted his head and drove it down on the spike beneath it.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, wanting to turn away from the sight but forcing myself to bear witness to this latest victim of my actions.
“Angoulême wouldn’t have taken a traitor into the fold without oaths that ensured his loyalty,” Marc said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “He was a dead man regardless.”
I turned out of his grip and walked some distance away before resting my forehead against a tree, the frozen sap digging into my skin. Chris’s orders to remove the spikes and bury the body in the pit reached my ears but barely registered.
Snow crunched behind me. “Did you know him?” Joss asked.
I gave a slight nod.
“Was he a… friend?”
“No.” I turned my head, watching her squish a little pattern into the snow with the toe of her boot, her cheeks pinched in from where she was biting them with her teeth. “You were the other rider.”
Joss nodded without lifting her head. “They needed someone light who could ride fast, and after we saw what he’d done to Nomeny, everyone else was too afraid.”
Everyone but my little sister. The folk around us were all men and women grown – they should’ve been the ones to take the risk. Not a child. But she wouldn’t like being protected while her friends were in danger any more than I would. “It was well done,” I said.
Her eyes met mine. “Why hasn’t Tristan stopped him? Why isn’t he helping us?”
“He’s protecting Trianon.” My voice cracked as I gave the excuse, and I realized for the first time how terrible it sounded. How worthless it made those not in the capital feel, especially my sister, who had met him. Who was family to him. And pragmatically, I saw how swiftly we were losing our chance to convince the people of the Isle to rally to our cause.
“He can’t,” I whispered, and shivered as a cold wind brushed against my neck. “Is there somewhere safe we can talk?”
“Camp’s got a cabin circled with steel,” she said. “You can ride with me.”
I followed her to where her horse was tethered to a branch. She slipped the bit back in the gelding’s mouth, checked the girth, then fiddled with the buckle of her stirrup. “Cécile?”
My skin prickled. “Yes?”
“Is mother all right?”
Chapter Twenty
Tristan
I shifted one of the pieces on the Guerre board I’d made out of light and illusion, then turned to Fred, who’d insisted on standing and watching while I considered my next move. “Yes?”
“There are refugees outside the gates,” Fred said, his face flushed. “They managed to escape the Duke’s militiamen.”
“Tell them to seek refuge in the mountains.” I shifted several of the Duke’s human players closer to my own.
“They have no supplies. Even if they don’t freeze to death, they’ll surely starve.”
“A certain number of casualties are inevitable.” I took a sip of mulled wine and circled the game, nudging Fred out of my way. He huffed out a breath, one hand balling into a fist.
“What is it that you want?” I asked.
“For you to pay attention to me, for starts,” he snapped.
“I am paying attention to you,” I said. “I’m not so simple-minded that I can’t manage two things at once.” Although it would’ve been my preference that he left so that I could focus on puzzling through our enemy’s strategies, which, in my opinion, was a far better use of my time. I told him as much, and his scowl deepened.
“You need to let them into Trianon.”