The Malediction: Hidden Huntress Part 18

They marched arrayed in a circle, their magic creating a s.h.i.+mmering dome that pressed in around me. I'd never needed guards to protect me before; but then, until recently, neither had my father. Dark times indeed that we were worried about an outright attack.

We marched through the vaulted marble halls toward the throne room, the din from outside growing worse with every step I took. The doors to the great chamber swung open, but no one bothered to announce me. Pus.h.i.+ng past Guillaume, I stepped inside, taking in the countless figures on either side of the path leading to the throne. My father held audiences early, and the throne room was packed with those wis.h.i.+ng to air their grievances and those who were keen to watch.

The hall grew silent as I was noticed, everyone turning to watch me as I walked swiftly toward the throne. The half-bloods' faces were all enraged, the aristocracy seemed curious, and everyone else appeared... worried. My father sat on the throne, the golden crown perched on his head, his expression unreadable. I met his gaze for a second, then bowed low. "Your Majesty."

"Tristan." My father s.h.i.+fted and stretched one leg out in front of him. "A grievous charge has been laid against you."

"Is that so?" I glanced over my shoulder, and smiled at the gathered group of half-bloods. The move was mostly to see if Tips was in the crowd, but it wouldn't hurt to stir them up. "I'll have to add it to my already impressive list of accomplishments."

It worked. They all began shouting, tossing insults and threats in my direction, until my father held up his hand to silence them. He was not so easily baited. "I've been told that sometime during the night all the work completed on the stone tree was destroyed, the foundations pulled apart and scattered throughout the city. Blame has been laid at your feet. What say you to the charges?"

"That I'm guilty," I said. "I took apart their precious bit of work, and I confess, I took no small amount of satisfaction in doing so."

The hall exploded with noise, a few booted feet taking off out of the room, no doubt to spread the word that I was guilty as charged. It wouldn't be long before everyone in the city knew with surety that it was me who had undone nearly three months of hard labor. Had undone the only hope they had for removing their reliance on the aristocracy. I was more than certain that we'd be able to hear their reaction from here.

But it wasn't their reaction I was interested in, it was my father's.

"Punish him!" someone shouted. "He needs to pay for what he's done!"

"Silence." He didn't shout. A king didn't need to.

The throne room grew quiet, which only made the escalation of noise outside the palace all the more noticeable. A guard skirted up the edge of the room, hurrying over to my father's arm when he was noticed. I heard bits of his whispered report. "They're threatening his life... hate him... will try to tear him apart if he leaves the palace... still praising your name." My father sighed and waved him away as though his report were of no more concern than a backed-up sewer drain. But I didn't miss the twitch in his fingers where they rested on the arm of the throne.

My heart skipped.

"I would have thought you'd be pleased to see your dream becoming a reality." His voice was mocking.

"What they were building out there did not much resemble my dream," I said. "Those were not my plans."

I vaguely heard the whispered speculation about what my words meant, but none would guess I was being literal. My father's fingers twitched again, then he pressed his palm hard against the gold arm of the throne. Now, now, now, I silently screamed.

"He did it out of spite, Your Majesty." Tips's voice echoed up into the dark and cavernous heights of the hall. "Tried to turn us against you again, and when we rejected him, this was his revenge."

One of my father's eyebrows rose, but there was a glimmer of uncertainty in his gaze. "Back to your old tricks so soon, my son?"

I said nothing, remaining still and motionless.

"You." He jerked his chin in Tips's direction. "Come forward."

The half-blood's wooden leg made sharp thuds as he strode toward the throne. I drew sharply on my magic, pulling in every ounce I had at my call as though I intended to silence Tips before he could speak some d.a.m.ning words. To make everyone believe the half-blood was enough of a threat that I'd kill him in front of my father rather than let him speak.

The throne room filled with screams as the spectators sensed the swell of magic, and everyone bolted, stumbling over each other in a mad rush to reach the exit.

My father's power hit me like a tidal wave, slamming me to the floor and containing the surge of heat and pressure. I struggled against him, fighting as hard as I could. But the iron did its duty.

A boot slammed down between my shoulder blades, and I grunted, struggling to breathe beneath its weight.

My father grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head far enough back to hurt. "Killing him will not absolve you of your guilt."

"Neither will letting him live." My tone was flat.

My father let go of my hair, but the boot stayed put, his weight and power holding me motionless against the floor. "Get back here, you cowards!" he bellowed, and if I could have sucked in enough breath, I would've sighed with relief. I needed an audience.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched those who had run slink back in, aristocracy at the forefront. Despite their fear, they moved smoothly, flowing in an oddly coordinated ma.s.s, all eyes fixed on the two of us. With them came the clunk of Tips's leg, his pace reluctant as he played his part.

"Tell me of the conversation that pa.s.sed between you and His Highness," my father ordered, once everyone had settled in.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Tips's voice was hoa.r.s.e with all-too real nerves. "He came down into the mines not two nights after you released him from prison. Tracked down me and my crew and set to telling us that we'd been duped. That the plans you'd given us for the stone tree weren't what he designed, and that even if we completed them, that the structure would never hold. Said you'd knowingly given us false plans."

Whispers broke out through the throne room, too many and too quiet to clearly make out.

The weight between my shoulders s.h.i.+fted. This is what he'd thought I'd do reveal that the plans he'd given the half-bloods were false and not of my making. He was ready for that move, but not, I thought, for the half-bloods turning against me for it.

"The lady you know as Anais d'Angouleme gave me those doc.u.ments herself," my father said. "She swore they were the plans for a stone structure drafted by Tristan, entrusted to her for safekeeping. You all" he gestured at the surrounding aristocracy "were witness to that conversation."

There were murmurs of agreement, but I barely heard them. In one fell swoop, I had the confirmation I needed that he was in league with Lessa and that he was using her ability to lie to his advantage.

"And we've no cause to doubt her, Your Majesty," Tips replied. "But well we know His Highness' ability to twist words. We trusted him before, and all that gained us were the deaths of friends and family. I told him it wasn't happening again, and that we'd learned our lesson about turning traitor."

The truth, if not all of it.

"I'm pleased to hear it." The irony in my father's voice was unmistakable. "Tristan, do you deny this conversation took place?"

"No." I forced the word out loud enough for everyone to hear.

"But Your Majesty, there's more," Tips said, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the growing noise from outside. "He wouldn't let it be. He sought me out again yesterday, and tried to convince me to turn against you and accept his leaders.h.i.+p. Made all sorts of promises of what he'd give us if we helped tear you off the throne and make him king. I told him that we wanted nothing more to do with him, and that we'd all go to the grave before seeing him on the throne."

The lie.

"Tristan, do you deny this second conversation took place as well?"

I hesitated, breathing in shallowly, once, twice, three times before I spoke. "That is what the half-blood said." Which he had. That he'd been lying through his teeth when he'd said it did not change the fact the words had come from his lips. No one in the room would doubt that I'd confirmed Tips's tale except my father, who had used the same ruse a time or two himself.

My father froze, his weight so steady on my back that I wondered if he was even breathing. I couldn't see his face, but I knew the wheels were turning. He knew Tips was lying for me, and that I'd put him up to it. And if Tips was lying for me, how many others were?

Something exploded outside and my father flinched, losing his balance enough that he stepped off my back. I desperately wanted to turn my head to see the look on his face as the belief I'd brought every half-blood in the city back to my cause settled into his mind. That all of them were actually oblivious to my machinations and really did want me dead didn't matter in that moment. All that mattered was that he thought they followed me. That he, in discovering that I knew the half-bloods' ability to lie, had become so wrapped up in his own web of duplicity that the probable became improbable, the truth a lie.

He was silent, and I could all but feel his mind working as he considered how to proceed. Calling Tips out for lying was out of the question. Not only would it bring to light that he'd known of the half-bloods' ability and kept it from his people, it would strip away a tool he'd long used to his advantage. His only choice was to play along, acting as though he believed Tips's words as much as anyone else in the room.

"What is it you want?" he finally asked.

"We want him punished," Tips said, slamming the bottom of his crutch against the marble floor. The rest of the half-bloods in the room crowed their agreement until my father made some motion to silence them.

"Should I throw him back in prison and leave him there to rot?" my father asked. "Or is that not extreme enough? Should I take off his head and put an end to his traitorous ways once and for all?"

"A sweet revenge for many," Tips said. "But some of us are less rash. He's no good to us dead or in prison."

"How is he good to you at all?" A question to which my father dearly wanted an answer.

I heard Tips swallow hard and I held my breath. This was the moment of reckoning.

"Prince Tristan undid in a night's work what it took us three months to complete," Tips said. "If you really want to see Trollus free from its dependence on magic, then you'll best punish him by making him use his research and plans to fulfill your vision. That is what we want as reparations for the hurt we have suffered. Order Prince Tristan to build the stone tree for us. And make him promise to do it right."

Stunned silence filled the throne room. No one had expected Tips to demand that. Not the aristocracy or the bourgeoisie, and certainly, certainly, not the half-bloods. My heart thundered in my chest, and sweat coated my palms. Please let it work.

My father began to laugh. At first, only a soft chuckle, but the sound gathered and grew until it filled the long hall. "What a pragmatic request, miner," he finally said, his voice still shaking with mirth. "I cannot say I expected it."

He nudged me with one foot and the weight of the magic holding me lifted. "Get up."

I climbed warily to my feet, not taking my eyes off him for a second. His expression terrified me. He knew I had tricked him, knew that I was plotting against him. But he looked pleased.

Which didn't make any sense. He had no clear way out of the trap I'd set for him. He knew Tips was working with me, but he didn't dare out the half-blood for his lies. He knew that commanding me to build the tree was what I wanted, but that if he didn't, he'd be all but confessing to the thousands of angry half-bloods outside the palace that he'd duped them. The half-bloods he wrongly believed I'd already recruited back to my leaders.h.i.+p, when in actuality, they probably all hated me more than they ever hated him.

He'd figure my trick out eventually, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that right here, right now, he believed the majority of the city followed my orders.

Say something. My skin alternated hot and cold. Everyone in the room faded away; the sound of the mob barely a whisper in my ear. All that mattered was my father.

"You will do what the half-blood asks," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. A slight smile crept into his eyes. "As... punishment, for your actions."

Relief filled me, and it was a struggle to keep from showing it. I think I did not quite manage it, because the smile moved to his mouth. I stayed quiet long enough to make our act look real, then nodded. "As you command, so shall it be, Your Majesty."

"We want his promise!"

I started at Tips's voice. This wasn't part of our plan. I turned just in time to see magic that was not my own crush the half-blood against the marble floor.

"Do not make demands of your betters," my father snapped, his vehemence surprising me. Tips had been making demands this entire time, and my father had not seemed to care. What about me making a promise was different? It was a question that required more thought, but I didn't have time for it now. After everything that had happened today, the half-bloods were going to need more than a little rea.s.surance that I was to be trusted, and I had every intention of giving it to them.

I cleared my throat. "I, Prince Tristan de Montigny, do so swear that I will build a stone tree for you, which, when it is complete, will protect Trollus from the weight of Forsaken Mountain without the use of magic."

My father snapped around to face me, his eyes bright with astonishment and anger. "You're a fool to bind yourself so." He muttered the words under his breath, and only I was close enough to hear them.

"That remains to be seen," I said softly, refusing to let myself wonder if he was right.

"Let it be known that His Highness has given his binding word!" he roared. Twisting on his heel, he strode up to the throne and settled down on it hard enough that the ma.s.sive chair inched backwards. "Get back to your trades," he snarled at the crowd. "And you." His eyes settled on Tips. "Get back to the mines. It would be a shame after all of this if you were to miss your quota."

A not too subtle reminder that he was still King of Trollus, and that we all still lived and died by his word.

I had no escort back to my rooms, although I was as much in danger as I had ever been. It would take time for Tips to disperse the truth behind what had happened this morning, and despite knowing I worked for their freedom, many would resent being used once again. Even now, after this victory against my father, I still had so few allies. Only Tips, his crew, and elise. Marc was still an unknown, holed up in his home and refusing any visitors, and the twins were limited by their banishment to the mines. I needed to find a way to help my friends, but as yet, I didn't know how.

The smell of food tickled my nose as I stepped into my rooms, a laden and steaming tray revealing itself as I expanded my pool of light. A note written on my aunt's stationery sat on the corner of the tray.

Because you are still dear to me.

S.

P.S. I had elise bring this for you, and as such, I cannot vouch for what it might contain.

My pulse accelerated. Sitting down at my desk, I scanned the contents of the tray, searching for a hidden message from elise. Nothing. No note, no symbols, no clever arrangement of food. "b.l.o.o.d.y stones," I muttered, and started eating, because if nothing else, I was starving. Shoving half a roll into my mouth, I started on the bowl of soup, spooning the thick liquid into my mouth as fast as I could swallow it. Tipping the bowl with magic, I started to scoop up the last mouthful when my eyes caught sight of one word scored into the bottom of the dish.

elise's mission had been to discover who or what had provoked my father into such a fury that my mother had nearly torn the palace down and cost me my life. And she'd done it.

Anais.

Twenty-Three.