Page 41 of Stolen Songbird

Victoria pointed a finger at her. “Always.”

We all watched as she hoisted one of the spears off the rack. “If you wouldn’t mind, Tristan.”

He shrugged and the moose pulled away from the spear, which clattered onto the stone floor. With a surprisingly unladylike grunt, Anaïs launched her spear, pinioning it to the wall. “What do I win, Victoria? Do I get to be Baroness for the day?”

The twins rolled their eyes as if to say I told you so. I raised a hand to get their attention and recited: “The perfectly pretty porcupine perfumed the palace with the putrescence of a porky pig.” They both fell to the ground in hysterics.

Anaïs crossed her arms. “What is she going on about?”

“Inside jest,” Victoria laughed, wiping tears from her face. “Had to be there.”

She sniffed. “Perhaps you’d like to give it a go, my lady.” Picking up a spear, she tossed it my direction. I caught it, but the weight of the metal spear sent me stumbling backwards. I wasn’t strong enough to throw it more than a couple of feet much less hit a target. “It’s what we use to hunt sluag for sport,” she said. “Afraid your little arrows wouldn’t do you any good.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that—she was right.

“I’m surprised you use weapons against them at all,” I snapped. “Why not just use magic like you do for everything else?”

Anaïs rolled her eyes. “Magic doesn’t work against sluag—they nullify it. I’ve killed five of them,” she boasted.

I clapped my hands loudly, doing my best to be patronizing. “And here I thought your sole purpose was to walk around looking pretty.”

“Jealous?” she sneered.

“Not hardly,” I lied.

“You’re lying—I can tell.”

I smirked. “Jealous?”

Her face darkened. “Unfortunate the sluag didn’t gobble you up.”

I looked at Tristan to see how his growing irritation would manifest, but he said nothing, seemingly absorbed in polishing one of the buttons on his coat. “Why don’t you go back to the party, Cécile?” he said, flicking at an invisible bit of lint on his coat. “I’m sure they have all manner of entertainments concocted to keep you busy.”

“Speaking of the party,” I snapped. “Your father has taken notice of your absence and isn’t best pleased. He asked that I remind you that you are not his only heir.”

Tristan’s finger froze in the process of flicking another bit of lint, and I felt the stab of his unease. “Did he ask you to relay any other message to me?”

“He did not.” He hadn’t needed to.

“Well then,” Tristan smiled a patronizing little smile. “Unless you care to speculate why he might have felt the need to remind me of my younger brother’s existence—a fact I could hardly forget—then perhaps you might consider finding your way back to the party.”

My skin burned hot with anger. “Excuse me,” I muttered and hurried back into the house.

The last thing I wanted was to rejoin the party, so instead I wandered through the empty corridors until I found a staircase that led to what appeared to be a basement. Holding my light up so that it shone ahead of me, I made my way down. The corridor was lined with doors, which I opened one by one. They were all filled with wine bottles and casks, but nothing else of interest. Above me, I could hear the footfalls of dancers, the faint thrum of music, and the occasional burst of laughter. They clearly were not missing their guest of honor.

Rounding a corner, I reached for the handle of yet another door. It was locked. Curious, I pulled out a hairpin and set to work on the complex mechanism. When it finally clicked open, I cautiously shone my light through the entrance before stepping inside and turning the handle lock behind me.

The room was dominated by a large table surrounded by a dozen chairs. Its surface was littered with books, paperweights, and a large abacus. I perused the titles as I circled round the table:The Cathedrals of Castile,Trianon’s Bridges, andThe Great Palaces of the Sea of Sand. A black coat was tossed over the back of one of the chairs, and the white embroidered TdM on the cuff glimmered in my troll-light. “What have you been doing lurking in Marc’s basement?” I wondered aloud, settling myself in the chair. Several empty glasses and a plate of half eaten cucumber sandwiches sat on the table in front of me, but no clues as to why Tristan was reading books in the cold comfort of a wine cellar.

The handle of the door jiggled. I gasped and clambered out of the chair, diving behind a tea service trolley and extinguishing my light just as the door opened.

Tristan hurried into the room, with Marc, Victoria, Vincent, and Anaïs hot on his heels. I swore silently, certain he would notice my presence the second he walked in.

But he seemed oblivious. I could see him talking to the other trolls, but magic prevented any sound from reaching me. Which meant they had something to hide. Through stacks of teacups, I watched him wave his arms around, a wide grin stretching across his face as he spoke to his friends. I could feel his excitement as he rounded the table to where I had been sitting only seconds before. Leaning down, he pulled a lever on the bottom of the table, and a secret compartment popped open. He reached inside, extracted several large rolls of paper, and proceeded to spread them out on the table. I tried to stay calm so as not to draw his attention as he explained whatever it was he was showing them. Soon they all looked equally excited, except for Anaïs, who frowned and wagged a finger at Tristan. Tristan only shrugged.

A loud knock came at the door. Tristan quickly shoved the papers back in the secret compartment and slammed it shut. “Yes?” he said, his voice loud after the enforced silence.

A grey-clad servant hurried through the door. He was visibly shaken, wiping his sweating palms against his trousers. “My lord! Your brother, His Royal Highness, he…” he stammered.

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