“Fred…” I needed to fix this, to make him understand that everything I’d told him was true. That what I’d done tonight was necessary. But only soundless air came out, because I didn’t know what to say. My chest burned with the hurt of his disbelief. He was my older brother, my defender—my lifelong threat against anyone who gave me trouble. The only person I’d thought capable of rescuing me in those dark early days of my captivity in Trollus. And he was turning on me.
He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear any more of your delusions.” His finger twisted out, jabbing at the shop next to us. “This. This is real. And far more dangerous than you seem to realize.”
I opened my mouth to tell him I knew exactly how dangerous it all was, but he cut me off. “Do you even know who La Voisin is?” He leaned close. “She was a lady’s maid to Marie du Chastelier, the Regent’s wife. She should have found herself burning for what she did, but instead she was exiled from court. But that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten. And it certainly doesn’t mean they aren’t watching. The very fact I’m here tells you as much.”
Ever and always the stakes grew higher, enemies cropping up at every turn while my allies fell away. My veins felt as though they ran with ice and that I would never again know warmth. His words terrified me, but I’d made my choice on the beach when I’d made my promise to the troll king. “I have to do this.”
His shoulders abruptly slumped, the tension flying from his jaw, leaving it sagging. Defeated. It made me wish for his anger to return. “I could lose my position for this. I could go to prison for this.” His voice lowered, making me strain to hear. “But worst of all, what you’ve done might well bring the Regent’s gaze down upon you, and if they discover what you are, you’ll die for it.” He took one step back and away from me, and then another. “This is the last and only time I help you with your delusions, Cécile. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“Fred, don’t say that.” I tried to go after him, but Chris pulled me back. “Let him go. He doesn’t mean that—he only needs time to cool off.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I let Chris hold me still. Because I didn’t know what words existed in the world that would make things right. It ate at my heart to watch my brother ride away. He was one of the people I loved most. One of the people I should be trying to protect. Yet I’d done the exact opposite, endangering his career and maybe even his freedom, all while destroying the trust he had in me.
My tongue was sour with guilt, but underneath it, creeping its way up through my innards, was something worse. Tristan had warned me that releasing the trolls would be the downfall of humanity, forcing me to see the faces of my friends and family as those who would suffer first. And what was this, if not a precursor of what would happen should I succeed in my hunt? It was an omen, as dark and ugly as I had seen, and yet there was no turning back.
Because over and over in my ear, I heard a voice. Louder now, like the call of a hound who has caught the scent of his quarry.
Find her.
11
Tristan
Trollus seemed overly bright as Marc and I walked toward the entrance to the mines. I moved without really seeing, the details of the comings and goings of my city sliding by in a blur. As we rounded the corner and the wide steps leading down to the mines materialized ahead of us, my legs seemed to forget their purpose, and I tripped, stumbling to a halt.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Marc said under his breath.
No. “Yes.” My voice sounded far away. “This conversation needs to be had.”
Marc hesitated, shooting me an uneasy look. “It can be had elsewhere.”
“I’m not so sure that’s the case.” My intense distaste for the mines was an extremely well kept secret, in that only Marc, the twins, and Anaïs knew anything about it. And the only reason they knew was because when I was ten, Anaïs had dared us all to sneak down. Pride had been enough to get me down there, but it ran out before I could get back out again. Then claustrophobia had taken over, and I couldn’t have gotten out faster. It had taken all four of them to control me long enough to ride the lift out, and I could tell Marc wasn’t looking forward to repeating that experience. Neither was I.
“I’m not a child to be governed by my illogical fears,” I muttered more to myself than to him, forcing my feet to start moving toward the deceptively quiet entrance.
The mines were even louder than I remembered. The shifts had changed two hours ago, so the corridors were almost empty, but I could hear the dull throb of explosions from deep in the earth and the crack of rock as it was crushed to remove the ore. The heat was intense, the air thick with the magic needed to melt the gold down so it could be poured into various molds.
I mechanically followed Marc toward the lift shaft, the dust in the air sticking to my tongue and filling my lungs. There were two guild members sitting on stools near the shaft, their heads bent over a deck of cards. Both jumped up as we entered the room, eyes widening when they recognized me.
“We’ve business in the mines,” Marc said to them.
The two exchanged unhappy glances, and part of me hoped they’d deny us access. A big part. If I couldn’t go down there, then Tips would have to meet me somewhere else. It would be better that way. I wasn’t at my sharpest, and if there was ever a conversation where I needed focus, this was it. Why was it so cursed hot in here?
“As you like, my Lord Comte,” one of the men said, and the platform rotated over the shaft, my stomach contents bobbling as it shifted under our weight.
“Ring the bell when you’re ready to come back up, my lord.”
The platform dropped out from underneath us.
I flung my arms out to keep my balance, my teeth clamping together to prevent a dignity-compromising yelp from filling the air.
“Bastards,” Marc swore, glaring up as we hurtled down the shaft, the gleaming girders lighting our passage. But it wasn’t the speed of our descent that bothered me, it was the amount of rock piling up above our heads.
The lift stopped, and I stumbled off.
“You’re late.” Vincent sat on a crate a few feet away, his arms crossed. “Are you sure it was wise you coming down here, Tristan? I know this is not your favorite place.”
“It seems a long time since wisdom guided my actions,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s get going.”
“Good.” Vincent’s voice sounded unfamiliar and sour. “You took forever getting here, and I’ve a quota to meet.” Not waiting for a response, he started down one of the narrow tunnels leading under the mountain. Marc and I exchanged weighted looks before starting after him, his lone shape hunched over beneath the low ceiling.
This was Vincent and Victoria’s punishment for having helped me, spending day after day, night after night, in the mines. It was hard, dirty, and dangerous work, but it hit me then that the work wasn’t the punishment. My father had separated them.
The twins’ mother had died in childbirth, and their father had passed only days later from the shock of it. Victoria and Vincent had been raised by half-blood servants with only each other for family. They had always been inseparable, never going more than a few waking hours apart. Now, they’d be lucky to see each other for a quarter-hour each day. It was the worst thing he could have done to them. The twins were broken, Anaïs was dead, and Marc…