“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Ignoring the question, I watched fresh blood well out of the punctures in my arm and drip into the tub.
“Tristan!” Marc snapped and I looked at him in surprise. He was not one to raise his voice.
“Yes?”
“Your father has kept you locked in a prison cell for months, and then today, for seemingly no reason whatsoever, he has allowed you to return home. After a mysterious meeting at the mouth of the River Road. Why? Who did you go to see? What drove him to do this to you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again, the words sticking in my throat.
“It was Cécile, wasn’t it?”
I nodded mutely.
“Is she well?” There was more than a hint of concern in his voice.
“Yes,” I said. “For now, at any rate.” I swallowed the taste of bile that had risen in my throat. “He used me to exact her word that she would hunt down Anushka for him.”
“A promise? Were there any loopholes?”
“Yes, but she’s had no experience finding a way out of bargains and I’ve no way to get word to her.” I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to drive away the memory of her expression as she pleaded that I be spared. “So she will either succeed, or he will ensure her failure drives her mad.”
“And if she succeeds? What is your plan then?”
“I don’t have one.” Standing, I wrapped a length of toweling around my waist and retrieved a pair of trousers from my wardrobe, struggling into them. I discarded the idea of a shirt, the thought of the fabric rubbing against the open wounds on my back more than I cared to bear. Marc remained silent through all of it, but his unease was apparent in the way he cloaked his face with shadow.
“There will be no more plans, no more plotting,” I said. “I’ve overestimated myself for far too long, and look at the results. There is nothing I can do but wait for the end to come.”
“I can’t believe you mean that,” Marc said. “The cousin I know has never conceded defeat.”
“Three months trapped alone in a hole changes a man,” I muttered, sitting down cautiously on the chaise. “I’ve had a lot of time to think and to come to terms with my failures. To accept that I am, and have never been more than, a puppet in my father’s machinations.”
“You’re giving up because he discovered one of your plans?” Marc’s voice was incredulous. “Because of one lost battle you relegate yourself to the status of a puppet?”
“It’s not that the battle was lost,” I said, closing my eyes. “It’s how it was lost.” I swallowed hard. “If I had been betrayed or outwitted—that I could accept. But…”
He remained quiet while I searched for the words to explain my torment. “He knew that I loved her,” I finally said. “And he used my love as a weapon against me. As a weapon against my cause. He took the one thing I had that was good, and he corrupted it.” My shoulders slumped. “I love her, and there is nothing I would not do to save her, and for that, I loathe myself, because all my love seems capable of accomplishing is evil. And now he means to do the same to her. To make her choose between my life and the lives of countless others.” I clenched my teeth.
“Her choice is already made.” His words held a trace of bitterness. “Will you leave her to struggle on alone?”
“There is nothing I can do to help her.” I stared at the floor, but all I could see was her face. “She was doomed from the moment she set foot in Trollus, perhaps doomed from the moment she was born. I thought I could protect her, but I was wrong.” My fingers twitched slightly and drops of blood rained down on the carpet. “She will determine all our fates—the burden is hers. There is nothing I can do.”
“How very fatalistic of you,” Marc snapped. “If you can trouble yourself to move, there’s something I want you to see.”
Reluctantly, I rose and followed him out onto the balcony.
The city was mostly dark as it was the middle of the night, but scattered throughout the blackness were pockets of lights. I frowned. “What are they doing?”
“Building your structure—they started shortly after you were put in prison.”
I blinked once. “Why? On whose orders?”
“Your father’s.” Marc leaned against the railing. “Shortly after your imprisonment, he announced to the half-bloods that he would fund the construction of your project if they provided the labor.”
“Why would he do that?” I muttered, resting my elbows on the railing.
Marc shrugged. “It did much to restore his popularity with them. They practically sing his name in the streets these days.”
“He never needed or wanted their support before.” My eyes flicked between construction sites. Something wasn’t right. “Surely his actions have cost him popularity with the aristocracy.”
“Indeed they have.” Marc shifted his weight slightly from one foot to another, showing his unease. “He almost never leaves the palace these days. When he does, he always goes with a full complement of guards. Your mother, too, is guarded at all times. He clearly fears an assassination attempt.”
“He doesn’t fear anything,” I replied, scoffing at the very idea. “And his resumed control over the tree protects him—no one would dare it.”
“He didn’t resume control of the tree. He gave the task over to the Builder’s Guild. They’re taxed right to their limit in keeping it stable.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Bloody stones! What is he thinking?”
Since the moment a permanent tree structure had been established, the ruling monarch controlled it. Part of the reason was the immense amount of power it took to maintain, but the other part was the protection it gave the King. Magic didn’t disappear the moment a troll died, but it dissipated quickly, making the death of a king a dangerous time in Trollus. Especially when the death was unexpected. Giving up control of the tree made my father vulnerable indeed.
“The reason he gave was that having the lives of all those in Trollus held in the hand of one troll had proven to be too much of a risk.”
I cringed inwardly, remembering how when he had first imprisoned me I’d threatened to pull the tree down on all our heads should something happen to Cécile. “He’s not wrong,” I said under my breath. “But that risk has always existed—why change now?”
“His actions certainly bear consideration.”
“As always,” I said, my mind sorting through possible motivations. But I couldn’t quite concentrate, because something about the construction going on in front of me was wrong. “They aren’t following my plans,” I said abruptly.
“I thought they seemed different.” Marc’s voice was mild. “Of course, I am no engineer.”
But I was—and even though the foundations of the structure were only just being laid, I could tell it would never support the weight of Forsaken Mountain.
“I thought the half-bloods had your diagrams?” Marc said. “What reason would they have to deviate from them?”
I shook my head. “I promised them the plans once I had their names—but I didn’t have the time to collect all of them, which gave me an out on my promise.”