“Whispers and rumors led me to find her in my father’s bedchamber. She was his lover, and had been for some time. It had all been a plot to put me in my place, Vivienne only playing a part, every one of her words a lie. And he laughed in my face, and told me I was a fool for putting my faith in something so weak. And he did not mean just her.”
Hatred that was more than a memory filled his eyes, and I wondered if that was how I looked when I spoke of him.
“When I was done, the only way they were able to identify them was by their absence.” His jaw tightened. “After that, I turned my back on my foolish dreams, and Trollus learned to fear a new king.”
Lies or no lies, Lessa’s mother would’ve had little choice in her actions. When you were property, and especially when you were the property of a king, “no” was not part of your vocabulary, if you valued your life. But I said nothing, because he knew that as well as I, half a lifetime of regret and guilt lining his face in this rare moment of honesty.
“There was no going back after that,” he said, meeting my gaze. “At least, not for me. But I knew early where your sympathies resided, and so began over a decade of planning. I would be the people’s tyrant so that you could become their savior. Their liberator.”
I swayed on my feet, the scratch of my fingernails on the desk barely registering in my ears. “What do you mean?”
A massive concussion shattered the air, and the ground shook, both of us staggering. Righting himself, my father swore. “Stay here.”
I caught his sleeve. “Wait, you have to tell me what you meant.”
He shoved me back into the office, the door slamming shut, locked in place with magic. “Father, wait,” I screamed, but it was to no avail. I knew what that concussion had been: Roland. Too late I remembered Cécile’s repeated words of Angoulême’s strategy; too late I understood why they planned to go first after my father, who had the might of Trollus at his disposal, rather than me. Because the Duke had seen what I had not: my father would defend my life to the bitter end, whereas I’d stand back and watch him die. I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to hear more, needed to understand why he’d done what he’d done.
Picking up a chair, I slammed it against the door, wood splintering and breaking, but the magic holding strong. “Help! Someone open the door.”
Nothing.
I spun in a circle, desperate for a way out. But I knew this room well, and there were no windows. No doors. The walls were solid stone and without magic, I wasn’t strong enough to break through them. I looked up. The ceiling was polished wood, and that, that I could break.
Ignoring the pain in my body, I snatched up a piece of the broken chair. Leaping onto the desk, I slammed it against the panels until one of them broke, then I used it as a lever to pull free enough boards for me to fit through. Splinters catching and tearing at my clothes, I climbed into the narrow space, wriggling on my belly until I was certain the hallway was beneath me.
Breaking through, I dropped into the ground and started running. “The King?” I shouted at the first troll I came across. “Which way did he go?”
The troll stared at me in astonishment, and I grabbed his shirt, slamming him against the wall. “Which way?”
He pointed, and I took off in that direction.
The halls of the palace were a familiar maze, and I soon guessed his path. Even deprived of my own, I could still feel the weight of his magic, and I pursued it, catching sight of him right as he slammed open the doors to the gardens. “Father!”
He turned at my voice. “Go back.”
Instead I pressed forward, grabbing hold of the front of his coat. “Roland’s come to kill you.”
His eyes bored into mine, then he looked away. “What does it matter? Without magic, they won’t follow you. All that I’ve done…” He shook his head. “It was for nothing.”
“It wasn’t.” I tried and failed to pull him back into the hallway. “If you would just listen.”
Then he stiffened, eyes going wide with shock. Fear. Pain. “Tristan–” he gasped, then he collapsed to the floor at my feet.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cécile
I sank to my heels, bracing a hand against the slick rock of the tunnel. Deprived of my magic… It had been the Winter Queen who’d taken it. Who else could accomplish such a feat? And in all likelihood, it was my fault for putting myself in danger. Why else would he step outside the safety of the castle walls?
But why, knowing I was all right, had he continued into Trollus? Was he here to make an alliance with his father? To surrender? Or another reason all together?
I couldn’t see Martin’s face in the darkness, but his breathing was loud enough for me to reach out and pull him close. “You need to go to the twins,” I whispered. “Tell them where to find the Duke – they might be able to defeat him.” I swiftly gave instructions to the camp and the signals to use so they’d know he was no foe.
“What about you?”
I gave him a gentle shove down the road. “I’m going after Tristan.”
* * *