Page 109 of Stolen Songbird

Her eyes darkened. “Yes.”

“Because if I were gone, he would spend more time with you?”

“Yes.”

“You love him?”

She drained her glass and slammed it down next to mine, cracking it. I felt power and magic roil through the room. She could snap my neck without moving. Toss me so hard against the wall my bones would shatter. But I wasn’t afraid. As much as she might hate me, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, break her word to Tristan.

“Yes.”

“Because if I were gone, then there’d be a chance he would be with you instead?”

“No.”

“You’re lying!”

Anaïs shook her head and the weight of power in the room fell away. “I cannot lie. If you’d asked me if I desired to be his wife, my answer would have been different. But it has been a long time since there was a chance of that happening.” Reaching for my untouched glass, she drained it. “For one, he has never felt that way about me. And two, I am flawed. Unfit. And there was nothing I could do to make up for it.”

I choked back a laugh of astonishment. “If you’re flawed, what does that make the rest of us? I might not like you very much, Anaïs, but you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“And I might as well be the most ugly for all the difference it makes.” She touched her chest. “My flaw lies within.”

Hefty personality flaws didn’t matter much to men when the outside was pretty, I wanted to say; but I didn’t think that was what she meant.

“You know about my sister? How she died?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Marc told me. She bled to death.”

She scowled. “He would know. Regardless, since she had the blood sickness, I have it too.”

I shook my head. “You got your fair share of scrapes during the earthshake and they’ve already healed. If you had the sickness, that wouldn’t have happened.”

“Just because it hasn’t manifested doesn’t mean I don’t have it, Cécile. It’s in me. I’d pass it down to my children.” Her shoulders slumped. “I am an unfit wife, for the future king or for anyone. I have been told so to my face by the King himself.” I watched as all her cool composure fell away, her body trembled with unshed tears. “I wasn’t good enough to marry Tristan. I am not good enough to marry anyone. No one will even touch me for fear of tarnishing my reputation. I will always be alone.”

A knock at the door interrupted her.

“Yes?” I called out, feeling rattled by the swell of sympathy Anaïs’s confession had inspired in me. The door opened and Victoria walked in, shoulders bent with exhaustion.

“Well?” Anaïs snapped. Her composure was back in place again, and I half wondered if I’d imagined her losing it in the first place.

“Six dead in the city, a dozen more injured. Two mineshafts collapsed—we think there are five gangs of half-bloods trapped, but there could be more. Miners’ Guild is waiting for the tremors to finish before they go after them, but there isn’t much hope of reaching them in time.”

I gasped and leapt to my feet. “We have to help them! They have no way to get themselves out.”

“She’s right.” Anaïs got to her feet and began pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “They may not have much time.”

“No sense risking more lives. We don’t even know if they are still alive,” Victoria said, picking through broken glass, trying to find an unbroken cup and eventually giving up.

“It’s worth the risk,” Anaïs argued. “I’d do it myself if I didn’t have to stay here to mind the human.”

“Go then,” Victoria said. “I’ll stay with Cécile. You’re probably the only one left in the city who isn’t nearly drained, and no doubt she will prefer my company to yours.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Without a backward glance, Anaïs bolted out the door and I watched resentfully as she went. She could move rocks the size of horses with the flick of a finger, dig out miners buried beneath the mountain. She could save lives, and all I could do was sit here and wait. Worse yet, both Victoria and Anaïs could be out helping, but instead their magic was wasted on minding me.

“I feel so useless.”

“No one is expecting you to help, Cécile,” Victoria said, her voice sympathetic. “This is work for trolls.”

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