Page 56 of Stolen Songbird

“A thousand, then.”

“No.”

“If you value her so much, I fail to see why you want to see her killed,” Vincent said, closing a hand over my shoulder. He was warning me not to take the bait, but what would be the consequences of me walking away? Could I stomach the guilt of letting the half-blood go to her death? But what could I possibly do to stop it? The law was clear—the servant was her property to do with as she willed. Only a royal decree from either Tristan or the King could stop her from sending the half-blood to her death. I did not see the King being forthcoming in that regard and asking Tristan would feel like I was passing the problem to him. I had to think of another way.

“Ten thousand.”

Damia shot the twins a look of distain. “She is not for sale to you two for any price. You hardly need another in that menagerie you call a household.”

“Sell her to me,” I blurted out. She could refuse the others—she outranked them. But she did not outrank me.

A slow smile made its way onto the woman’s face. “With what coin?”

I glared at her. “I am hardly destitute.”

Her smile broadened. “That may be so, but it would still be Montigny gold doing the purchasing, and I’m afraid that would be breaking the law.”

“How so?” I demanded.

The troll chuckled. “This one,” she gestured towards the cowering servant, “is a Montigny bastard. And the law forbids the purchase of one’s own blood.” She laughed again.

I clenched my jaw, wondering how much thought and preparation had gone into this moment. The law stood in my way at every turn, driving me towards only one possible option: asking Tristan to save the servant. I gritted my teeth, my mind searching desperately for a solution. And I found one.

Forcing a dejected expression onto my face, I stepped backwards. “I’m afraid there is nothing I can do. Neither His Majesty or my husband are likely to take my side in this.” I glanced at Marc. “Make her arrangements.”

Silence greeted my words, surprise written across all their faces. None of them had expected me to let this go.

“Mercy, Highness, mercy!” the servant shrieked, throwing herself at me and clutching my skirts. “Don’t let her kill me,” she pleaded, the fabric of my dress tearing beneath her grip.

“I’m sorry.” I let my lip tremble and tears rise in my eyes. “The law is the law.” I stumbled back and my dress tore.

“Lessa, you fool!” shouted Damia. “Must you give me more reason to rid myself of you?”

Magic slapped against the half-blood over and over again in a sickening rhythm.

“Stop!” I screamed, but Damia only shot me a dark smile, baiting me to take the step that would end this violence. She thought me a fool—thought she could use the laws against me. But two could play at that game—and there was one law in particular that I knew would work in my favor. Bracing myself, I leapt between the two women, the sound of the magic lash falling loud in my ears.

17

Tristan

The sharp stab of pain made me jump in surprise, the motion noticeable enough that my father looked up from the reports the Miners’ Guild had delivered that morning. “What?” he demanded, fixing me with a piercing stare. “Cécile?”

I gave a slight nod, and rose to my feet. Judging from Cécile’s mood, the injury did not seem grievous, but I wanted to go make sure. “By your leave…” I started to say, when the door swung in, interrupting me.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” The troll bowed low, and I recognized him as one of my father’s men.

My father grunted and leaned forward on his desk, fingers interlocked in front of him. “What has she done this time?”

The troll cleared his throat. “The lady Cécile is currently quarreling with Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême, Your Grace.”

Rubbing one eye, my father glanced my direction. “That’s new. I thought she only quarreled with you.”

I shrugged. “We are all wrong from time to time, Father. Even you.” Looking to the messenger, I asked, “What was the nature of the argument; and importantly, who instigated it?”

“It was regarding Her Grace’s abuse of a servant, my lord. And it is a matter of opinion as to who instigated the confrontation.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”

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