Page 116 of Stolen Songbird

But what if I could handicap him enough that a less powerful troll might be able to control him. Could I do it? Did I have the strength?

“There’s a book hidden in the garderobe.”

Frowning, Anaïs went into the side room and came back holding the grimoire. “What is this?”

“Anushka’s grimoire,” I said. “There are spells in here for use against trolls.”

Anaïs recoiled. “Blood magic!”

I nodded and explained the spell that would cut a troll off from his magic.

“Can you make it work?” she asked, eyeing me warily. “Using my blood?”

“I hope so.”

“I prefer certainty to hope.” She made a face. “What makes you think you are even capable of subduing one of us? And not just any Fa…” She broke off. “Not just any troll. The most powerful troll in this world.”

I blinked. “I could test it on you, I suppose.” My eyes met her metallic gaze. “If I can cut him off from his magic, a less powerful troll could restrain him. Stick him full of metal until he is sound enough of mind to be set free.”

She looked ill.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

“I will do what it takes,” she said. “Whatever it takes to save him.”

Relief flooded through me.

“It doesn’t need to come to that, though.” Anaïs squared her shoulders. “We can get you help. Get you another witch who can fix you with magic.”

“If the King allows it,” I replied. “I think he might rather see me die than allow another witch in this city.”

“He wouldn’t dare—he knows the risks it entails.”

“There is always Roland,” I said softly.

Magic prickled over my skin as Anaïs’s anger rose. “If it comes to that, we are all of us doomed.”

* * *

When Tristan eventually returned, it was with Jérôme and Christophe trailing along at his heels. “Oh, my dear girl,” the weathered old farmer said upon entering the room. “What has happened to you?” Pulling back my layers of blankets, he rested a hand on my forehead and then laid his ear against my chest, listening to the rapid thudding of my heart. Then, very carefully, he felt along my side, quickly withdrawing his hand when I squealed in anguish.

“This is far beyond my skill, or that of any of the others who do business with you, my lord,” he said. “Her ribs are broken, and I suspect she is bleeding internally. She needs a skilled surgeon, and soon, for there to be any chance she’ll live.”

“She needs her grandmother,” Chris said from where he stood in the corner. He pointed a finger at Tristan. “I told you this place would kill her.”

“You bring her grandmother, then,” Tristan said. “Just name your price—I’ll pay.”

“Only a troll would try to put a price on something like this,” Chris said, not bothering to hide his disgust.

“Shut your fool mouth,” Jérôme snapped at his son. “We’ll bring her grandmother, my lord. If we ride fast, we should be back here by morning.”

“Or not.” The door clicked shut. “The grandmother is a witch—and it seems we already have one too many of those within the confines of this city.”

Jérôme and Christophe dropped to their knees. Anaïs’s grip on my hand tightened, and Tristan spun towards the door.

As soon as I heard the King’s voice, I knew my time was up. He wanted me dead, and this way it would happen without him even muddying his hands. I would be just another human who succumbed to the darkness of Trollus.

“Have you lost your mind?” Tristan shouted. “She’s injured! If we don’t help her, she’ll die!”

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