Hidden Huntress

  She turned me to face the mirror, fussing at the lace that dangled from my sleeve. “What is his name?”

  I hesitated, telling myself that the pause would increase the drama. But in reality, I was afraid. The moment I revealed Tristan’s name would be the moment I painted a target on his back for Anushka. But it had to be done.

  “Yes, darling. Who is this young gentleman of whom you speak? And why is it you haven’t mentioned him before?”

  I froze. Very slowly, I looked over my shoulder and met my mother’s piercing gaze. “Mama! Returned so quickly?” Rattled, I turned back to the mirror. I was in a heap of trouble with her, but I couldn’t afford to have her curb my freedom now. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Much.” Her voice was cool. “But don’t keep us in suspense, dearest. Who is this gentleman?”

  My tongue felt dry, and I fussed with the neckline of the dress. But withholding the information now would seem strange. “His name is Tristan de Montigny.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Tristan

  Relying half on Cécile’s vague instructions and half on false confidence, I managed to check in at the Hôtel de Crillon without exposing my complete lack of knowledge about such activities. The first thing I did, once I was ensconced in my rooms, was to shut all the draperies against the brilliant afternoon sun. Then I let my disguise go, the warmth of magic falling away from my face.

  “Trying to set the mood?” Chris asked, examining the tower of teacakes sitting on one of the tables before selecting one for himself and one for the dog.

  “I’m starting to wonder about you, Christophe,” I said, opening one of the chests of gold so that I could look at the gleaming metal the servants – no, the porters had struggled to carry up. All the coins were identical to those created in the Regent’s mint for ease of spending. The mint in Trollus had the capacity to create the coinage of any of the continental kingdoms we traded with, and we paid the merchant and pirate captains in the currency of their choosing. To do otherwise would invite questions, and importing all the food Trollus required without attracting the broader attention of our human neighbors was complicated enough.

  I turned back to my co-conspirator. “You called me pretty three times on the drive back to Trianon. I can’t recall the last time I received so many compliments in such quick succession.”

  “Being called pretty as a girl isn’t a compliment, you know,” Chris said around a mouthful of his third cake.

  “And I’m sure if I had a predilection for strapping farm boys, my heart would be broken by your insults.” I picked up a handful of coins, the motion sending pain lancing up my arm. I’d regained much of the mobility in my hands, but the wounds in my wrists remained black, seeping, and awful. “Here.”

  He stopped chewing and eyed the glittering gold. “You think I’m fool enough to take that? Troll gold got for nothing is bad luck.”

  “It isn’t got for nothing,” I said, dropping the coins on the table. “It’s for helping us.”

  He shook his head and stared at his feet. “I don’t make that in a year, much less in the couple of weeks you say this will take.”

  Stones, but he was honest to the core.

  “The work you’ll be undertaking with me will be more difficult and dangerous, so it’s only fair you be paid more.”

  “This isn’t work,” Chris muttered. “I’m not doing it to get paid – that’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “Trolls don’t like to be in anyone’s debt,” I told him. “So if it isn’t gold, it’s something else. Name it.”

  He shrugged.

  “Teacakes?” I suggested.

  He scowled.

  “Flowers?”

  “I’ve never met anyone as annoying as you.”

  I smiled and batted my eyelashes at him. “Kisses?”

  Chris scooped up the coins and shoved them in his pocket. “Gold will be fine.”

  I laughed and sat down in the chair across from him, but my good humor didn’t last. “We need your help, Chris,” I said. “Cécile and I can’t accomplish this alone, and you and Sabine are the only people in Trianon we can trust.”

  And I did trust him. Which was altogether strange, given that I did not know him well. I remembered the first time we’d met – both of us had been children, and his father had brought him to Trollus for the first time. We’d had a strong relationship with the Girard family for generations, as they’d sold us not only the bulk of their farm’s yield, but were also responsible for procuring grain and produce in the markets in the southern half of the Isle. Christophe stood to inherit the farm and the family business, so his arrival had been expected and planned for.

  There had been a bit of a ceremony when he’d given his oaths, and I’d been the one to take them. They’d been the first set I’d received, although there had been hundreds since. It was the King’s duty to collect them, as it had the added advantage of protecting him from his enemies. But while it was typical for a King to pass the duty off to his heir once he or she was grown, it had been very unusual for my father to pass the duty to his eight year-old son. Yet it had worked out for me in the end, because it was the only reason Chris was free to speak of us outside the confines of Trollus.

  “Aye, well.” Chris took a fourth cake. “Let’s hope our help is enough.” He hesitated. “Do you know what you’ll do when you find her?”

  Would I kill her?

  “I honestly don’t know.” I sighed. “Nearly everyone I care about is in Trollus. It was easy to desire Anushka to live and the curse to endure when I was in there with them. When I could protect them. But I’ve abandoned them to the mercy of a handful of very powerful and dangerous trolls, and knowing I’ve done so eats at my conscience.”

  Chris leaned back in his chair, expression thoughtful. He spoke simply, but anyone who took him for a fool was one themselves. “You’re thinking about going back once you’ve got Cécile clear of your father, aren’t you?”

  Reluctantly, I nodded. “I’ve thought about it. But if I did go back, I’d have to kill my father, which might well kill my mother and my aunt. I’d have to kill my brother. And only then would I be in power, but for how long? Everyone would know that I held the freedom of my people in my grasp and threw it away. They’d hate me for it, and how long until one of them found a way to put a knife in my back? Then it would be a war for the throne, and who can say how many would die. The beginning of the end was five centuries ago when Anushka entombed us in rock, but this I think would see her act through to completion.”

  “Or you could set them free.”

  “And entertain an entirely different set of costs,” I replied, full well knowing that I’d thought of that option as much as the one of which I’d just spoken.

  “Stuck between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you?”

  I laughed, wishing it didn’t sound so bitter. “Every day of my life.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Chris rose to his feet. “That will be Sabine, I expect.”

  The blonde girl strode in, kissed Chris on the cheek, then took the seat furthest from me. “I’ve come from tea with Cécile. She’s put your plan in motion, so I suppose we’ll soon see if it works.” Pouring tea into a delicate china cup, she blew gently on the contents. “Genevieve’s returned – she dropped in on Cécile’s fitting with the dressmaker.”

  Chris made a sympathetic noise. “Cécile got a bit of a tongue-lashing, I reckon?”

  “Oddly enough, no.” Sabine took a mouthful of tea. “She said Genevieve seemed out of sorts and was perhaps not yet recovered from her affliction. She stayed only long enough to see the dresses she’d commissioned for Cécile, and then she left.”

  “That’s a stroke of luck,” Chris muttered. “Not like that woman to let a grievance go.”

  “I doubt she has,” Sabine said. “I’m sure she’s only waiting for a prime moment to dole out punishment.”

  “Any sign of Aiden or of Cécile’s brother?” I asked. Cécile be
lieved there was little risk of a repeat attempt at kidnapping her, but I was still wary of her walking around the city alone.

  “I asked at the barracks, and Fred is on duty at the castle. Neither of them have approached Cécile.” Her eyes flicked around the room, eventually landing on me. “I see you’ve exchanged one palace for another.”

  “I’m here for a purpose, not for my own comfort.”

  She sniffed and set her cup on the table. “Oh yes, because I’m sure if left to your own devices you would have settled for second-class accommodations.”

  “Sabine.” There was an edge to Chris’s voice. “Don’t start.”

  “Why not?” Her words were clipped. “I’m told you trolls value the truth, so shouldn’t that be what you want from me?”

  She watched me as though I were some dangerous creature, unpredictable and likely to bite at any moment. Not afraid, no. But wary. And angry. I silently nodded.

  Sabine dragged in a breath. “You kidnapped my best friend. Forced her to marry you against her will. Kept her prisoner, and very nearly got her killed.” Her fingers dug into the upholstered arms of the chair, white from the pressure. “You ruined her life, and because of this bonding” – she spat out the word – “she’ll never be free of you. And I hate you for it.”

  “You’re acting like a blasted lunatic.” Chris stepped between us. “It wasn’t his fault, Sabine. He didn’t have any more choice in what happened than she did.”

  “Oh, shut up!” Sabine was on her feet. “He dresses you in fancy clothes, feeds you cakes, and now you’re defending him? I can hear coins jingling in your pockets that weren’t there before. You should be ashamed of yourself, Christophe Girard!”

  He glared over his shoulder at me. “I told you that gold was bad luck.”

  “I think this has more to do with you calling her a lunatic than the gold,” I said. “But I suppose time will tell.”

  Sabine shoved past him. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Goshawk’s Hollow raises women with steel for spines.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not interested in your compliments.”

  “I was merely making an observation.”

  I created an orb of magic, staring into its depths as I thought. Not using my power was like trying not to use my left leg – possible, but at the same time, no small challenge. Using it now was a small comfort as I remembered the pages of reports I’d read about her riding through woods and fields day in and day out in search of Cécile, all the while blaming herself for her friend’s disappearance. It had been an impressive display of love and loyalty, and I’d be a fool to be surprised that such intensity would fuel hate when faced with one of the creatures who had stolen her friend away.

  How well would I forgive if it were me who stood in her shoes? Not well. Not at all. Pénélope had died believing I despised her for having bonded Marc, because I had believed her death inevitable, and his loss very nearly so. I let my magic wink out.

  “I have nothing to say in my defense.”

  “Nothing?”

  I rose to my feet, resting my arms behind my back so that she would not feel threatened. “I could spend the next several hours explaining to you how I fought against bringing Cécile to Trollus. How my father gave me no real choice in bonding her. How if I hadn’t, he’d have sooner killed her than let her go free. But all of that sounds rather hollow, doesn’t it? Because explanations cannot undo what was done. They cannot wash away the hurt that was caused to Cécile, to her family, to you – their only purpose is to help me cast aside all culpability, which would be cowardly behavior on my part.”

  I paused, watching her expression. “There are no words I can offer that will earn your forgiveness, Sabine, but perhaps my actions going forward might prove my worth.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she slowly shook her head. “You are too perfect. In the way you look, in the things you say. It does not make me like you, and it certainly does not make me trust you.”

  I lowered my head so that we were eye to eye. “If you think I’m perfect, then you’ve really not been paying attention.”

  A knock sounded firmly on the door, and I gave Chris a pointed look.

  “I’m already tired of this,” he muttered, but made his way over, stepping out into the corridor.

  Sabine and I stood listening to him argue with whoever was in the hall. “He’s resting… Won’t appreciate you walking in on him… Just give the blasted things to me!” There was a kerfuffle, and a moment later, Chris came back into the room. “Nosy bastard,” he said. “Here.”

  I took the stack of cards he proffered, opened them and flipped through the invitations. “They’re all for tonight, but I don’t know who any of these people are,” I said, frowning at the names.

  “Because you’re oh-so-familiar with the inhabitants of Trianon?” Sabine asked sweetly.

  “More so than you might think,” I said. “The important ones, at any rate.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Read me the names.” I did so, watching as she shook her head or nodded at them. “None titled, but that’s to be expected given that you’re a relative nobody.”

  Chris laughed around another cake. Between him and Souris, they were very nearly all gone.

  “It isn’t as though the minor nobility won’t come calling,” she said. “But it’s rather early for them to show interest without looking desperate.”

  “How does a girl from a small country village know all of these things?” I asked. I didn’t think she was lying, but I was curious why she spoke so confidently about a society of which she was not part.

  “My parents own the only inn for miles, and people talk when they’re deep in their cups,” she said. “And I’ve been in Trianon for months now – none of this is secret, it’s free for the knowing to those who bother to listen.”

  “A well-made point,” I murmured, impressed. “So whose invitation should I accept?”

  “Monsieur Bouchard’s,” Sabine said without hesitation. “He’s a banker – not the wealthiest, but he has six daughters. And,” she continued, “it isn’t just a dinner invitation – it’s a party. One that’s been months in the planning. There will be any number of important people there.”

  I was only vaguely familiar with banking as a profession, but I had no intention of admitting it. “Done.” Going over to the massive desk, I carefully penned my reply to Monsieur Bouchard and my regrets to the others. “Have these sent off,” I said, handing them to Chris, assuming he would know how that was to be accomplished. “And have them send up something else to eat – I’m famished. And you–” I rounded on Sabine. “I need you to tell me everything you know.”

  Forty

  Tristan

  Our hired hansom cab whisked us swiftly through the lamp-lit streets, the air chill and sparkling with frozen crystals. Chris sat across from me, both of us polished within an inch of our lives and twitching with nerves. Our plan was for me to spend the next several nights immersing myself in Trianon society, and then to begin my pursuit of Cécile. Until then, I wouldn’t see her at all, and I hated that.

  “How will I know what I’m supposed to do?” Chris asked for the seventh time. “What if I make a mistake?”

  “As long as you don’t say anything you shouldn’t, you’ll be fine,” I replied for the seventh time. “Do whatever all the other men are doing, which is likely nothing that resembles work. Be sociable, but not so much that you draw undue attention to yourself. We’ve gone through our backstory, so all you need to do is stick with that.” The advice was as much for me as it was for him.

  “I’m going to make a mistake,” Chris groaned. “Sabine would have been better for this.”

  “Indeed she would have,” I said, refraining from mentioning that I’d asked her to do exactly that. “But I’m bound by your peculiar human social conventions in this, so I have to settle for you. People would talk if I showed up with a ladyservant.”

  “What’s that supposed t
o mean?” Chris retorted.

  “It means in Trollus, it wouldn’t matter. We don’t have separate rules for men and women. Power and blood are all that matters.”

  Chris examined the polish of his boots, mind momentarily taken off his nerves. “What about the oath we take then – that no human man can touch a troll woman. Why isn’t it just that no human can touch a troll?”

  “For physiological reasons.”

  Chris blinked.

  I sighed. “If a human man consorts with a troll woman, he can leave without taking responsibility for the consequences. If a human woman cavorts with a troll man and becomes pregnant, she will be physically incapable of leaving Trollus until the child is born. For the most part, that’s motivation enough for them to turn aside any advances. But frankly,” I said, “it’s not a rule that’s particularly well enforced. Half-bloods have always been a valuable commodity, and a blind eye is often turned to the introduction of new blood.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Imagine that.” It was a relief when the carriage ground to a halt. “I think we’re here.”

  As the footman approached to open the door, I examined the home we’d stopped in front of. It was a relatively large, square, two-story affair made of brick, the windows bright with a yellow glow that far outshone that of the half moon above. Music trickled out to greet me as I stepped onto the walkway lining the street.

  “Monsieur de Montigny?” The footman inquired.

  “Yes.” It was strange to be called such.

  “Monsieur Bouchard is expecting you.”

  I followed the man up to the entrance of the house, my skin prickling with slight pain as I passed through the gate of the wrought iron fence encircling the property. I wondered if they remembered why such fences had come into existence – to keep the immortal fey away. Unfortunately for humanity, it did little to protect them from trolls. Mortality had come with some advantages, not the least of which was a better tolerance of the metal.