Both Sabine and Fred were staring at me. “Well?” I said. “Go prepare yourselves for my signal.”
Turning my back on them, I rested one hand in the narrow arrow slit. I needed to capture at least one alive to ascertain how they had passed my wards. Though why I was bothering with the wards at all was a mystery to me. They were a drain on my magic, and their sole purpose was to protect the humans in Trianon.
Which was no longer important. So I let the wards drop, raising them up around the castle walls instead.
The city was silent, the river muffled by the heavy sheet of ice resting on its surface. The haze of troll-light came closer without spreading out, almost like a procession through the street. A peculiar tactic, and not one I’d expect from my father. He was a strategic master, but it had been a long time since I’d played against him so directly.
A very long time.
I’d been ten years old, and it had been a timed game of Guerre played before most of our court. Though the hourglass had only allowed us a minute per move, we’d been at the game for hours and I’d been bored. Partially because losing to my father was inevitable, and partially because I’d intended to go swimming in the lake with my friends.
Ana?s sat in the first row behind my father and, despite my best efforts, my gaze kept tracking to her. Her grandmother, the Dowager Duchesse, had forced her to wear a dress, and Ana?s was twitching irritably, casting the occasional sideways glance at her sister, who was deep in conversation with Marc. The twins had been forbidden from the throne room after the last prank they’d played, but I knew they’d be waiting for us at the boat. Ana?s caught my gaze and then crossed her eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from grinning.
“Tristan.”
My attention snapped back to my father, then to the timer, the last few grains of sand falling to the tiny white peak below. I shoved a piece onto a different square, my stomach clenching a second later as I saw the error. My skin prickled as my father’s magic manifested with his anger, but I kept my eyes on the board, too afraid to look up.
In one swift move, he snatched up my piece and hurled it across the throne room where it shattered against the wall. “Everyone out,” he bellowed, and the court fled, Ana?s the only one brave enough to hesitate, but even then, it was only for a second.
The doors to the throne room slammed shut, and my father backhanded the Guerre boards, sending pieces tumbling across the floor. “You said he was improving,” he demanded of my aunt, whose hand rested on my shoulder.
“He is,” she replied. “It’s not a matter of his intelligence or aptitude, Thibault, it’s a matter of interest. His heart is not in the game.”
I felt his eyes burning into me, but I refused to look up. “And how,” he asked, “do you expect to rule without these skills?”
“It’s just a stupid game,” I muttered. “It’s not real.”
My aunt’s grip tightened, not that I needed her signal to know that I was pushing my luck.
“‘Just a stupid game,’” my father repeated, then, “It’s not a game, you fool; it’s a tool. A way to train the mind and develop focus, and to be King of Trollus, you must master it. You must be the best at it.”
I fought the urge to take my mother’s hand. With her here, his temper would remain in check. “If you’re the best–” I lifted my face “–then why aren’t you teaching me?”
His jaw worked from side to side, and for the first and only time, he looked away before I did. It was a stupid question, I told myself. He doesn’t have time for you.
“Because,” he finally replied, “how will you ever beat me if I know all of your moves?”
My heart sank, and though it was childish, I reached for my mother’s hand, squeezing it tightly.
“He needs motivation to play the game, Thibault,” my aunt said over my head. “And you must be the one to provide it.”
I listened to him sigh, wishing I wasn’t such a disappointment to him. Wishing he had time for me as he once had. But he only turned and walked out of the room, never once looking back.
Blinking, I pulled myself from the memory and focused on the troll-lights filtering through Trianon. Why was I doing this? Defending these humans, fighting this thankless battle, and for what? What did I have to gain?
Nothing.
It was all a waste of my time – time that should be spent solving my conundrum with Winter, because until I did, I was trapped.
The procession stopped, two figures breaking away from the pack and walking onto the bridge. The girl’s grey hood swept back to reveal long dark hair, and the man walked with the aid of a wooden crutch. “Let them in,” I called out, and trotted down the steps to await Zoé and Tips.
The portcullis creaked upwards, the half-bloods ducking underneath and approaching me. “Stones and sky, but it’s good to see you.” A grin spread across Tips’s face. “You did it, you and Cécile.” He lifted his face to the sky. “Never believed–”