ARC: Stolen Songbird

  I saw Marc by the gate to the labyrinth, the key glittering in his hand.

  “Come with us, come with us,” I mumbled, trying to grab hold of him, but he seemed so far.

  “Hush now, Cécile,” Marc said. “You know my place is here.”

  “But I don’t want to leave you behind,” I sobbed. I didn’t want to leave anyone. The lights of Trollus gleamed in swirling blurs as I tried and failed to focus my eyes. Then the city was gone and we were running through the labyrinth, Marc’s last words chasing behind us: “Goodbye, Princess.”

  The twins were with us, Victoria ahead, Vincent behind. I half-listened to them talking as they navigated the dark tunnels and narrow crawlspaces, Tristan’s magic clutching me tight against him with every step he took. Then I dreamed of above. Above, above, with Tristan.

  “It will be warm,” I whispered. “I’ll teach you to ride a horse and we will travel anywhere we like, you and I. No more monsters, nothing to separate us. We will be together forever.”

  His lips brushed my forehead. “Hush, love. You know you must be quiet here.”

  I fell asleep, and when I awoke, we were alone. “Where are Victoria and Vincent?” I asked. I tried to look around, but it hurt to move.

  “They’re buying us time,” Tristan said.

  “Surely they’ll come with us,” I said. “They’d like to go hunting and to travel about telling their jests to everyone.”

  “Perhaps they’ll come later,” Tristan said.

  I dreamed again, only this time it was of a place of such brilliance that my eyes stung if I gazed at any one thing for too long. The green of the grass beneath my feet, the red of the roses on the bush, the blue of the sky above. The colors were familiar, but somehow more vibrant than anything I’d seen before. The air was sweet on my lips, the faint breeze smelling of summer and spice. All around me danced folk with a beauty and grace beyond reason, their curious eyes glowing like jewels. Hair and skin of every color of the rainbow, their lithe bodies were dressed in mists that swirled with them as they danced circles around me.

  “Who is she, who is she?” they sang with voices so sweet they brought tears to my eyes.

  “A mortal dreamer,” one whispered, her fingers catching in my hair and yanking hard. They laughed and descended on me, sharp nails raking across my skin and driving me to my knees. I screamed, but when I tried to run, I found myself dancing instead.

  “Dance with us, mortal,” they laughed. “Dance for eternity.”

  “Stop.”

  A voice thundered through the meadow, and all the creatures around me fell to their knees. I turned and flung a hand up to block the brilliant golden light radiating from the man standing in front of me. Through my fingers, I saw a woman at his side, her skin pale, hair an inky black and eyes the color of verdelite.

  “She is consort to the mortal prince,” the man said, and the meadow filled with whispers. “Why are you here?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I can’t remember.”

  The woman at his side laughed, her voice cruel. “Come to beg a favor, but forgot what it is?”

  The creatures in the meadow echoed her laughter. The golden man did not. “Is it a favor when our purposes are aligned, wife?” he asked softly.

  “Yes.” I cringed at the harshness of her voice. “A favor given is a favor owed.”

  “But I don’t even know what I need,” I said.

  The man smiled and I fell to my knees at his feet. “What you seek is the name of that which you most desire.” He tilted his head in a way that was oddly familiar to me. “If you choose to use it, then you will be in my debt.” He bent down, the warmth of his breath like a summer wind against my cheek, and he whispered a single word in my ear.

  “Cécile, wake up!”

  Tristan was leaning over me, his eyes wide and wild.

  “We’re here.”

  I blinked at him. “I was dreaming. Of a place of endless summer…” I trailed off, taking in our surroundings through bleary eyes. It was the entrance to the labyrinth that Luc had brought me through what seemed a lifetime ago. Water lapped against the rocks, but it was much lower than before, the heat of summer drying up the pond, making the cavern seem huge. Tristan sat at the edge with me cradled in his lap, my little light following his larger one around the rocky ceiling like a lost puppy.

  “What are we waiting for?” I asked.

  “Dawn,” he replied. “Look.”

  Faint light was glowing in the water, growing in strength with each passing moment. The lip of the cave wall was only barely submerged. I could see that now. During times of drought, it might even be possible to enter the cave without getting one’s feet wet. I thought I could hear the sound of voices; the loud whinny of a horse.

  “Is it time, then?”

  “Yes.” But he didn’t move, only held me tighter, his face buried in my hair.

  “Tristan?”

  He turned his face to me, and it was streaked with tears. I wanted to wipe them away, tell him that everything would be all right, but my body was locked stiff with pain.

  “Promise me you’ll get better,” he whispered. “Tell me you’ll grow strong again. That you’ll gallop on horseback through summer meadows. Dance in spring rains and let snowflakes melt on your tongue in winter. That you’ll travel wherever the wind takes you. That you’ll live.” He stroked my hair. “Promise me.”

  Confusion crept over me. “You’ll be with me, though. You’ll do those things too?”

  He kissed my lips, silencing my questions. “Promise me.”

  “No,” I said, struggling against him. “No, you said you were coming with me. You said. You promised.” He had to be coming with me – he said he was, and Tristan couldn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie.

  He got to his feet and stepped into the water. I tried to struggle, but he was too strong. “Tristan, no, no, no!” I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I tried to hold on to him, but my fingers wouldn’t work. The cold of the water bit into my skin and I sobbed, terrified. “You said you would never leave me!”

  He stopped, the weight of his sorrow greater than any mountain. “And if I had the choice, I never would. I love you, Cécile. I will love you until the day I take my last breath and that is the truth.” He kissed me hard. “Forgive me.”

  Tristan shoved me under the water. I came up on the other side, gasping for breath, sunlight stinging my eyes. The weight of my skirts pulled me towards the bottom and I didn’t fight it. I drifted down, my eyes searching for the opening, for the way back, but there was only rock. I pounded my fist against the illusion, but it would not yield. I let my body go limp, let it sink until my feet brushed the bottom. He could see me – would know what I was trying to do. He’d have to drop the illusion of rock and let me come back or watch me drown.

  Then an arm closed under my arms, pulled me upward. My head broke the surface and I choked on water and blood.

  “I’ve got her!” It was Christophe’s voice.

  “No!” I coughed. “I have to go back, I have to go back.” But my words were silent. I couldn’t breathe.

  “It’s all right, Cécile.” He was pulling me to shore, away from Tristan. I felt more hands grab hold of me, lifting me out of the water. I heard Jérôme’s voice. He was trying to soothe me, but the words meant nothing. I had to go back. Tristan was trapped. He was in danger. Once someone washed the blood off the King, his power would return and Tristan would be at his mercy. I had to go back.

  “Tristan.” My lips formed his name and I reached out towards the rocks. I could feel him there, waiting.

  “We need to get her home,” Chris said. “She hasn’t got much time.”

  Hands lifted me into the air, the sound of a horse whickering beneath me faint in my ears. Then I was moving, faster and further away.

  CHAPTER 38

  CéCILE

  Burning light pierced through my eyelids, and I groaned, turning my face to the side. Rough homespun sheets rasped against my
cheek, and the smell of smoke assaulted my nostrils. “Something’s burning.” My voice sounded slurred, even to my own ears.

  “She’s awake.”

  A familiar voice. “Gran?”

  “It’s your gran, dear. You’re home safe now.” The mattress sunk beneath her weight as she sat next to me. “Do you remember what happened?”

  My memories came crashing back: Tristan carrying me through the labyrinth, begging me to forgive him, and then doing the unforgivable. A sob tore from my throat.

  “Joss, go warm up some of that broth for your sister.”

  The door opened and shut.

  “When Christophe and Jérôme brought you here, you were almost beyond my power to save. You’ve been unconscious nigh on three days now.”

  Three days! My heart leapt. The King had been far from dead when we left him, and there was nowhere in Trollus safe from his wrath. My breath came in short little gasps. I couldn’t feel him. Tristan wasn’t there. My mind was empty.

  “Cécile, calm down. You’re safe now.”

  Gran’s words barely registered as I fumbled with the blankets, my eyes stinging and watering in the sunlight. Finally I got my hand free of the sheets, my gaze latching onto the silver lacework gleaming across my knuckles. “Thank God,” I whispered and collapsed back against the sheets. As my panic receded, I realized I could feel Tristan in my mind, just faintly. He was miserable though, and in pain.

  “Cécile, where have you been? We searched everywhere for you; for weeks, months! We thought you were dead!” Gran said.

  “I… I…” I didn’t know what to say. “Can you please close the drapes?”

  She did as I asked and, in the dimmer light, I could see my grandmother had aged. Deep lines creased her face and her normally upright shoulders were slumped. “Christophe told me they found you on their front porch and brought you straight here,” she said softly. “But your dress was soaked through.” Her eyes met mine. “It hasn’t rained in more than a week. And you hadn’t any shoes, but your feet were clean.” A shudder ran through her and she turned away. I’d never seen her cry before.

  “Luc took me,” I said softly. “He caught me on my way home from town.”

  Gran spun around. “You’ve been in Trianon this whole time?”

  “No,” I said. “He sold me.”

  Her eyes widened. “But who…” Whirling around, she crossed my room and flung open the chest of drawers. Rifling around, she extracted something from a leather purse and examined it closely. Her breath hissed through her lips and a coin bounced against the floorboards. “Troll gold. I know it by the weight.”

  “Yes.” I awkwardly pushed myself into a seated position, my ribs stiff and sore.

  “They’re monsters.” Her voice trembled with fear.

  “Some of them,” I agreed, swinging my legs around. “But most of them are rather charming.”

  Gran stared at me in horror. “What did they want with you?”

  The door swung open and Joss stuck her head in. “Girards are here.”

  “You should go down and greet them,” I said. “I’ll dress and be down shortly.”

  “You shouldn’t be up,” Gran said. “You need to rest.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

  I waited until they were down the steps and then pulled on one of my old dresses, my body stiff and uncooperative. There was a long scar running down my rib cage, pink and fresh. Magic had been used to heal me. My grandmother’s magic, if what the King had said was true. But I had no time to think about that now. Stepping quietly across the floor, I made my way down the hall and into my father’s room. I pushed open the window, climbed out onto the shed and jumped to the ground. My knees buckled and I tumbled into a heap, breathing hard. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to get back to Trollus now. Tristan was hurt because of me. I had to help him.

  Sneaking around to the front of the house, I eased the reins of Chris’s horse loose from the post and swung into the saddle. The door opened and Chris looked out, his mouth dropping open when he saw me. “Cécile, no!”

  “I have to,” I whispered. Wheeling the horse around, I slammed my heels against its side and galloped out of the yard.

  I didn’t get far. By the time I reached the tree line, Chris had caught up to me on his father’s horse. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of my reins and pulled the two horses to a halt.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he shouted.

  I kicked the horse’s sides and tried to pull the reins free, but I was already exhausted from the short gallop, my injured side screaming from exertion. “I need to go back!” The words came out in a choked sob. “He’s hurt. I have to help him.”

  “How?” Chris swung down from the saddle and pulled me off the horse. “What do you possibly think you can do? Ride back into Trollus and demand they let him go? He can’t leave, Cécile. He’s as stuck there as the rest of them.”

  “You can’t expect me to do nothing!”

  “That’s exactly what I expect you to do. That’s exactly what Tristan expects you to do.” He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. “If you go back, everything he did, everything he sacrificed to keep you alive will be for nothing. You can’t help him, Cécile, but you can ensure his sacrifice was worthwhile.”

  “Of course you would say that,” I hissed. “You hate him. You’re jealous of him. Don’t pretend you’d shed a tear if you found out he was dead.”

  Chris abruptly let go of me. “Is that what you think of me?”

  I looked away, lowering myself on weak knees to the ground.

  “You think I’d see someone dead because I was jealous?”

  “Then prove me wrong.” My voice was barely audible. “Help me save him.”

  “Letting you go back would be the exact opposite of helping him,” Chris replied, blankly watching the horses wander off to graze. “He made me promise to keep you safe, but even if he hadn’t, I still wouldn’t let you go. Hate me if you want to, but I’m not letting you throw your life away for a troll.”

  “You shouldn’t even be able to speak his name.” I dug my fingers into the dirt. “You shouldn’t be able to talk about anything to do with Trollus.”

  “He released me from those oaths. And he told me to give you this.” He dropped a folded letter onto my skirts, its golden embossed seal glittering under the sun. Tentatively, I picked it up and pulled it open, the sight of Tristan’s familiar script causing a pain in my stomach.

  Cécile,

  There is much I wish to say to you – so much, that if I had hours, even days, to write this letter, it would not be enough. All the words in this world and the next are not enough. But even as the ink on the page dries, you are dying. I have no more time than to tell you that I love you, and on the hope that you survive to read this, to warn you. You must never return to Trollus. Only death awaits you here…

  My eyes skimmed the rest of the page, and then again, the page shaking between my fingers.

  “He’s giving you the chance to start over, Cécile.” Chris knelt next to me and pushed the trembling page down into my lap. “You can have a life here, if that’s what you want. Here, in the Hollow.”

  I knew what he was thinking, though the words remained unspoken. With dull eyes, I watched my family hurrying towards me. Chris was right: the right decision – the safe decision – would be to stay in the Hollow. To one day get married and have children and forget about Trollus. To forget about magic. To forget about Tristan.

  You must never return to Trollus…

  My eyes turned southward, towards the ocean and towards Trianon. Trollus might be forbidden to me, but there was no power on this earth that could make me forget. Or make me give up. I wasn’t powerless – far from it. I had witch magic in my blood strong enough to stop a troll, and that had to mean something. Who knew what I could accomplish with a little practice. And while I was learning, my hunt would begin. I wasn’t certain where I’d find her or what I’d do when I did, but th
ere was one thing I knew for certain.

  The witch must die.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I can say without a shadow of a doubt that this novel would never have come into existence without the love and support of my family. Thanks Dad, for reading fantasy novels to me before I was old enough to write a sentence, and then for editing those sentences when I was finally wise enough to write them. Thanks Mom, for being supportive when I made the unexpected and inexplicable decision to become a writer – you’ve been my #1 cheerleader. And thanks Nick, for keeping my ego in check – no one makes fun of my characters quite as well as you.

  A very special thanks must go to my tireless agent, Tamar Rydzinski, who plucked me from obscurity based on a logline and two hundred and fifty words. You helped make my dream a reality, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

  To my editor Amanda Rutter, thank you for falling in love with my trolls and giving me the amazing experience of seeing my book on the shelves. I’m looking forward to working with you and the rest of the Angry Robot / Strange Chemistry team over the coming years.

  My endless gratitude goes to those who have stuck by me during my journey to publication. To Donna, for buying me countless lunches at Earl’s and always listening to my drama; to Lindsay, for your ceaseless enthusiasm and salesmanship; to Carleen and Joel, for kindly feeding and employing the hermit who lived in your basement for five months; and to all my friends who kept dragging me out of my writing cave so that I could still claim to have a life.

  And last but by no means least: Spencer, thanks for discovering – much to your own surprise – that you’ve a penchant for somewhat crazy writers who can’t cook. My heart and my stomach would be in a much worse state without you.

  PRAISE FOR DANIELLE L JENSEN