Page 121 of Stolen Songbird

She spat, a glob of spit which flew through the air only to be brushed away by a bit of magic.

He frowned. “Foolish girl.” Grabbing the haft of the steel spear, he jammed it the rest of the way through her chest. Anaïs tried to scream, but it came out as a gurgle, blood staining her lips. Her fingers latched on the spear, but she did not pull it out. The King laughed and turned from her to me.

I was terrified. Dying was an easy thing to accomplish, effortless in its agony. It was living that was hard, requiring endless toil and labor, and for all one’s efforts, it could be stolen in an instant. My entire time in Trollus had been one long struggle at death’s doorstep. But instead of breaking my will to live, it had made me stronger. I wasn’t just fighting for my life, I was fighting for Tristan’s.

Nor was I completely powerless.

“Poor Cécile,” he said. “Poor fragile human, how you suffer so. I want to let you live, but I feel you will forever be a liability for him.”

I saw Tristan shout something, but heard nothing—the King had blocked away the sound of our voices. But not Anaïs, she was closer.

“You’ve no intention of letting me die,” I choked out. “Why else bring a witch into Trollus to save me?”

“True,” the King said, stepping in between Tristan and me so that we were blocked from each other’s sight. “But Tristan doesn’t know that—and even here, he controls the actions of his half-breeds on the streets. He has their names. I want this played through to the end. I want to see how far he will go.”

The half-bloods were dying in the streets for me—I had to do something.

“I opened Anushka’s grimoire,” I whispered. For all the politics and intrigue between Tristan and his father, I knew that the King’s desire to break the curse trumped them all.

He hesitated.

“I know her secrets—the magic she used against the trolls. If you stop this now, I’ll tell you everything.”

The King laughed. “Oh? If you have the witch’s spells, why don’t you use them now?”

The smell of blood was thick on the air, heady and metallic. Anaïs moved, the end of the sluag spear dragging against the carpets. I didn’t dare look in her direction, though. I could only trust that she would know what to do.

“You’re lying,” he said, leaning over me. “You know nothing.”

My breath came in short, shallow gasps. With every minute that passed, more people would die. And I had only once chance to end this.

“I know enough to stop you,” I whispered.

A cup flew across the room and blood splattered against the King’s face, hot droplets raining down onto my cheeks. The northern words felt foreign on my lips, but I instinctively knew what they meant.

Bind the light.

I felt strength surge into me, rising from the earth beneath us. Wind rushed through the room, cold and fresh, pushing away the burned stench of the battle. But as it had when I healed Tristan in the labyrinth, it was from the blood that I drew power, directing the strange magic in a way no troll could use it.

“Not possible,” the King hissed.

“Sometimes,” I whispered, “the truth hurts.”

The King collapsed backwards, Tristan’s magic binding him to the floor and muffling his curses.

“Cécile!” Tristan was at my side in an instant. “Are you all right?”

I shook my head. “Help Anaïs.”

I watched as he knelt beside her, blood running in bright red streams down the steel sluag spear. “Anaïs?”

She opened her eyes. “Kill him, Tristan. Now, while you have the chance.”

I watched him turn to look at his father. From my position on the bed, I couldn’t see the King, but I could well imagine the fury in his eyes. Cut off from his magic by my spell and physically restrained by Anaïs’s and Tristan’s magic, he was helpless. Yet I doubted he was afraid—for all his faults, cowardice was not one of them.

Tristan drew his sword, examining the sharp steel edge as though he’d never seen it before. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Not like this.”

“He’ll eventually break free, Tristan. You have to do it now,” Anaïs argued, her voice strained. I closed my eyes, her words faint noise in the background of my mind. She was right, but I knew that Tristan wouldn’t be able to kill his father. Not in cold blood while he lay helpless on the floor, no matter how much the King might deserve it.

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