Page 111 of Stolen Songbird

“Well,” she said, pausing for a long, dramatic moment. “There are worse things to be—things that rhyme with witch. And at least you aren’t one of those.”

A wave of relief passed over me. “I certainly hope not.”

She slung an arm around me, squeezing me so tight I wheezed for breath. “Rhyming is as good as alliteration, you know. Possibly better. Now let’s go find what you’re looking for.”

33

Cécile

The next morning, I set out to see if I could learn anything more about the nature of human magic. As much as I’d been successful the night before in lifting the memory from Élise’s mind, I didn’t understand anything about what I was doing.

Trollus was a mess. Broken glass and pieces of rock littered the streets, and enormous waves from the ocean had pushed the river back, causing its banks to flood. Trolls were busy at work trying to clean everything up, but it would be a long time before the beautiful city was back to its usual glory.

With Élise at my side, I headed to the library. I hoped that Martin would be there, because I would be at a loss to find anything in the massive building.

“Oh dear,” I said, looking around with dismay. There were books everywhere.

“My lady!” Martin came around the corner, an armload of books floating behind him.

“I came to see if you had any other… er, grimoires,” I said, casting a backwards glance at Élise. The girl was already asking one of the other librarians if she could help. “But I can see that you are rather busy.”

“Not at all, my lady. I had set some aside for you, but I haven’t had a chance to send them over. My apologies. I’ll go get them for you straight away.” He bowed to me, but I noticed his eyes were on Élise.

“You’ll keep her occupied while I read?” I asked, trying not to grin.

“Certainly, my lady. Miss Élise is always a pleasant conversationalist.”

The corners of my lips twisted up despite my best effort. Élise was as quiet as a mouse, but perhaps that made her well suited for a librarian. Mostly, I was pleased to see that Martin was willing to overlook the fact she was half-human. I settled down at a table and picked up the first of the three books. It was almost entirely dedicated to love potions, the prevention of pregnancy, and predicting the weather. The second and third were focused on healing remedies and magic, but they were all clear that healing could not be done on oneself. So much for that idea.

None of them used blood or sacrifice, and none of them mentioned curses. And much like Anushka’s grimoire, none of them explained why certain elements and plants worked better for certain types of spells. The only truly interesting thing the books taught me was that witch magic was passed down from generation to generation, but only manifested itself in women. Ability and strength varied between women, and many lived their whole lives never knowing they possessed the power. Which was certainly the case in my family.

Leaning back, I rubbed my tired eyes, trying to ignore my sore knee. I’d cleaned it last night with the oil my spell had led me to, then again this morning, and it had scabbed over. It didn’t need magic, it just needed time to heal. Coming here had been a waste of my morning. None of what I’d found was helpful. I wasn’t helpful. Anaïs could dig trolls out of collapsed mines, but the best I could come up with was how to put boils on someone’s bum. And I couldn’t even do that to the King, because earth magic didn’t work on full-blooded trolls. And I didn’t exactly have a supply of troll blood on hand, nor did I expect any of them to provide it willingly.

Suddenly, I jerked upright. When Christophe had accused Tristan of using magic to make me love him, Tristan had said that such things were not the magic of trolls. I stared at the grimoires and mentally skimmed through the pages of Anushka’s book. Witches could make you fall in love, heal a wound, or bind you to a place, but their magic always affected the flesh or mind. While a troll could lift a rock, create light, or toss you across the room, they couldn’t make you sick or cause you to fall in love: their magic was primarily tangible.

“Anushka didn’t break the mountain,” I whispered. She had been caught up in the rockslide as much as the trolls, and whatever had driven her to curse the trolls to eternal captivity had happened during the four weeks it took to dig out the city. But what? What had they done to make her turn to such evil? And if she hadn’t broken the mountain, then who had?

Élise abruptly appeared, and to my surprise, she sat down heavily across from me.

“What has happened?” I asked, her bowed head filling me with anxiety.

She looked up, eyes glistening. “It’s Tips. He snuck into the mines with one of the day-shift gangs to help them meet quota.” Élise squeezed her eyes shut. “He was pinned by a falling rock. The rest of the miners got him out, but his leg was crushed.”

I blanched. “Is he healing?”

Her tears fell faster and faster. “Anyone else would have been, but he’s mostly human. He heals like a human.” She looked up at me. “They don’t think he’s going to make it—and even if he does, he’ll never walk again. The guild will put him in the labyrinth for certain.”

My stomach tightened, and I gripped the edge of the table hard, breathing deeply in an attempt to control my hammering heartbeat. My eyes fixed on the stack of grimoires in front of me, two of which I knew contained spells for healing humans. Spells that I knew would work on half-bloods. “I’m not going to let him die,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“There isn’t anything you can do,” Élise sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

There wasn’t anything Ishoulddo. Tristan had been right when he said that bravery and wisdom made poor bedfellows. It had been one thing to tell Victoria, but if I helped Tips, everyone would know I was a witch. And the trolls hated witches—they’d been hunting them down for centuries. It would not surprise me in the slightest if some of them demanded I be burned in the streets when they found out, no matter the risk to Tristan. I bit my lip hard. Risking my life meant risking his, but if I did nothing, Tips was a dead man, that much was certain. And I couldn’t quietly stand back and let that happen, even if it was the smart thing to do.

Picking up the two grimoires, I rose to my feet. “What,” I said softly, “would you say if I told you Icouldhelp?” I swallowed hard, knowing I wouldn’t be able to turn back once the words were out. “What would you say if I told you I was a witch?”

34

Cécile

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