Page 55 of Stolen Songbird

I scowled. “Why is she so blasted nasty all the time—Victoria is her friend. Friends don’t do that to each other.”

“They shouldn’t,” Marc agreed. “But, I suspect Anaïs is angry at Victoria for how much time she spends with you.”

“Maybe if she was more pleasant, Victoria would enjoy her company more,” I snapped.

Marc sighed. “Anaïs is very unhappy, Cécile. And you don’t know her well enough to judge her.”

I know enough, I thought angrily, but I kept my mouth shut. Next time I talked to Victoria, I would suggest she dress her statue in clothes and let Anaïs try that on for size.

We entered a square dominated by a fountain with a giant winged serpent spouting water from its mouth, its emerald eyes gleaming malevolently. On the far side of the square, two trolls were shouting at each other. One shoved the other, and the argument quickly turned to blows.

Marc sighed. “Wait here a moment.”

I watched as he strode over to the fighting men. Raising one hand, invisible magic jerked the two apart, leaving them to dangle in the air while he questioned them on their grievance.

I went over to the fountain to examine the serpent more closely. It had been carved in great detail, from its overlapping scales to its sharp golden-tipped claws. The plaque on the base readThe Dragon Called Melusina. “A dragon,” I muttered, eyeing up the creature, wondering if such creatures existed somewhere, or if they were merely a figment of some sculptor’s imagination.

Turning my back on the dragon, I leaned against the fountain, nodding at the trolls who offered bows and curtseys with their greetings as they passed. The sight of an older, but statuesque, woman walking across the square caught my attention. She was dressed all in black, which was unusual, and though I didn’t recognize her, I marked her easily as an aristocrat. Her gown was elaborate, the taffeta rustling across the cobbles, and she wore a wealth of jewels that glittered in the lamplight. But what made me certain was the air of authority in her walk, and the way all the other trolls made way for her as she passed. A slender servant woman walked a few steps behind her, head downcast and arms loaded with packages.

Straightening, I prepared myself to receive and deliver the expected courtesies, but the troll only glanced my direction and kept walking. Her servant shot me a wide-eyed look of dismay and dropped into sort of an awkward moving curtsey. “Your Highness,” she whispered, looking back over her shoulder.

I opened my mouth to warn her, but I was too late. The servant woman collided with her mistress and the packages in her arms dropped to the ground with the distinct sound of breaking glass. I winced.

“You idiot!” shrieked the troll. She rounded on the servant, and I watched in horror as magical blows fell across the woman’s face, blood splattering against the pale grey paving stones.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” the servant begged, cringing against the blows as they fell. Wounds opened and closed on her face, the red gore dripping onto her dress the only permanent mark.

“Stop,” I said, but the troll didn’t hear me. “Stop!” I shouted louder. She glanced my direction, but ignored the command.

In two strides, I was next to her. “I order you to stop this abuse immediately.”

The troll turned her head to look at me, eyes dark and menacing. “You have no right.” She raised her hand to strike another blow, and I moved without thinking. Reaching out both hands, I shoved the troll woman hard.

“Cécile, stop!”

Magic lashed around my waist, jerking me back, and Marc stepped between the troll and me.

“Your Grace,” he said. “I don’t believe you have met Her Highness. May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Cécile de Montigny.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Your Highness, the Lady Damia, Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême.”

I blinked. The troll was Angoulême’s mother. “Your Grace,” I muttered, and reluctantly curtseyed. This was not a random meeting, I was sure of it.

The woman snorted. “It is a bit late for courtesies, girl.” Grabbing hold of her servant’s hair, she dragged the half-blood away from us.

Marc held up a warning hand to keep me from going after them, but it was unnecessary. I knew the troll was trying to provoke me, but it was still infuriating to stand by and watch her treat the half-blood woman so. There had to be something I could do. I couldn’t just walk away.

“My Lord Comte.” The sound of Damia’s voice jerked me to attention. I could feel tension radiating from Marc as he acknowledged the other troll. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Damia’s eyes glittered. “Make arrangements to have the labyrinth opened this evening. This one’s actions merit disposal.” She jerked her chin towards the half-blood cowering at her feet. “I do not care to have my household’s reputation tarnished by such behavior.”

Marc’s hands tightened into fists. “Surely such an extreme reaction is not warranted.”

“I did not ask for your opinion,” she snapped. “She is my property, and I can do with her as I wish.”

The twins came up on either side of me, but I scarcely noticed. I felt the blood drain from my face and my hands turn cold. How far was she willing to take this? Would she really send her servant into the labyrinth to die just to elicit a reaction from me? Because I was positive now that that was exactly what she was trying to do. She was baiting me in an attempt to get at Tristan. If I went to him appealing for help in saving the half-blood, it would not only undercut the carefully crafted ruse defining our relationship, it would also put him in the position of having to choose between sacrificing the servant’s life or revealing his true sentiments towards half-bloods.

“If you are so eager to get rid of her, I’ll take her off your hands,” Victoria suddenly said. “Five hundred is fair, I think.”

“She isn’t for sale,” Angoulême’s mother snapped.

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