Page 69 of Stolen Songbird

“Such as feeding humans the flesh of their own dead while troll aristocracy feasted in their palaces. Sending humans like rats into the labyrinth with promises of riches if they found a way out. Slaughtering human babies and using their mothers like milk cows for troll infants. And once the humans had all fled, doing the same to half-blood women.”

I held up a hand to make him stop, his words making me feel breathless and unwell. What he was telling me was shocking, but looking at the expressions of the kings above us, I could well imagine them giving the orders.

“But human memories are short, it seems,” Tristan continued. “They soon forgot the atrocities of Trollus, or perhaps their greed overwhelmed their fear. They agreed to continue the hunt for the promise of gold. When it became clear she would not be found through her physical description, the hunt turned on women who followed her practices.”

“The witch trials?” He had my attention now. The trials happened once a generation, at least. I’d been ten the last time a mob of men swept through the Hollow looking for women who were uncannily skilled with herbs or predicting the weather. Calling them trials wasn’t even the truth, because anyone the mob accused was burned to death.

Tristan nodded. “Hundreds of years and thousands of women slaughtered and for what? We’re still trapped like rats in this hole. She’s still alive and no doubt has a good daily chuckle about our worsening predicament. And my father continues to send men out hunting for her, when he knows that it’s useless. It is like trying to thread a needle with a battering ram. It’s a waste of time.”

“It isn’t a waste of time,” I argued. “Your aunt told me the prophecies always come true.”

The anxiety in him rose to a fevered pitch. “I want you to drop this, Cécile. I don’t want you to spend another second thinking about it.”

“What is wrong with you?” I demanded.

“Leave it,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “Do not pursue this any further!”

I realized then that he had duped me. “It isn’t that you don’t think the curse can be broken,” I said, snatching hold of his arm. “It’s that you don’t want it broken at all. Not even once you are king. Not ever.”

“And if you had any sense, you’d be thankful for it!” He jerked away from me hard enough that I almost fell off the chair.

“Perhaps I would be if you’d give me half the chance,” I said, rubbing my strained fingers. “But it’s difficult given you seem intent on deceiving me. Why not try the truth for once. If you’re even capable of it.”

He flinched and was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Cécile, consider this: my ancestors did not just rule Trollus, they ruled all of the Isle of Light and much of the western half of the continent. Do you honestly believe if we are set free that my people will settle for anything less?”

“I don’t think what happened in the past dictates what will happen in the future,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I don’t agree,” Tristan said coldly. “And I think if you knew more about what you speak, you would be singing a different tune.”

He gestured at the table and three books toppled sideways off my stack, revealing a huge tome underneath. “Some light reading on our prior conquests.” Then he turned and walked out.

Reluctantly, I opened the book and shone my light stick on the page so I could read. Before long, I wished I hadn’t. For the centuries prior to the Fall, the trolls had been a conquering force like no other in the world. They had ruled lands that reached far beyond the shores of the Isle. Foreign nations had either bent a knee and paid tribute in slaves and goods, or their people were slaughtered. A lone troll had the power to wipe out hundreds of men, and the troll kings had armies in the thousands. The artists illustrated the history in graphic detail. My stomach turned at the sight of it.

Was this what I should expect if I set the trolls free? King Thibault’s army might be a mere echo of the trolls’ strength in prior days, but what could armies of men do in the face of a magic with the strength to blast rock and tear metal asunder? The Regent of Trianon would not willingly give up power—he would ride against the trolls and learn his lesson the hard way. And I did not see Thibault showing any mercy against an enemy army—an army that included my very own brother. I swallowed hard at the images running through my head.

But what about after Tristan was king? Then it would be within his power to ensure peace. He wasn’t like his father or like those other kings. And what’s more, with only a few exceptions, the trolls I knew were not evil marauders intent on domination. The half-bloods were fighting against oppression, and I knew there were full-bloods who were like-minded. The past did not have to repeat itself.

Rising, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my skirt, and the grimoire caught my attention. I stared at it, thinking. For all the trolls’ magic and strength, it had been a human who broke the mountain and trapped Trollus for eternity, or at least near enough to it. Humans had magic too, at least some of us. I’d be a fool to not learn what I could about it.

I picked up the book, hating the feel of the strange leather cover. “What answers do you hold?” I whispered, examining the strange lettering on the cover. Probably the language of the north, where the witch had come from. It was all gibberish to me.

I examined the clasp again, but there was no catch or release trigger that I could see. I tugged on it, but the clasp wouldn’t budge. “Stones and sky!” I swore. “Open!” I pulled hard and my hand slipped, the catch slicing painfully across my finger.

Click.

The book fell out of my hands and landed with a thud on the table, pages open. I quickly looked over my shoulder to ensure I was alone, then shone my light on the pages. The language looked the same as that on the cover, written in a tiny but neat hand. The open pages were thick with words and little drawings, but I understood none of it. Tentatively, I reached down to flip the page.

Dizziness washed through me and I closed my eyes, focused on keeping the contents of my stomach where they were. When I opened them again, I gasped aloud. The words were as clear to me as if they were my native tongue.

“Love potion,” I read aloud. The ingredients were plants and herbs that I’d never heard of—the only thing that was familiar was stallion’s urine. Three drops of the potion were to be served in red wine to the man in question, and it would be at its most potent at the stroke of midnight. “Yuck.” I flipped to the previous page: “Infliction of Boils.” Vile. I turned the pages, and my disappointment grew. The spells were petty and trivial—the sorts of things a silly village girl would use to improve her fortune or embarrass her enemies. There was nothing as grand as how to break a mountain, curse a troll, or live forever. The only spell that looked useful was one for healing, but judging from the lack of wear on that page, healing arts were not where Anushka’s interests had lain.

The spells started to grow darker. I read page after page of recipes that weren’t spells at all, but poisons designed to inflict great pain and even death. There were many that would end a pregnancy—of the witch herself or of her chosen victim. It was here that she began to use sacrifices in the rituals. Chickens, sheep, cattle—it seemed the more difficult and ugly the spell the greater the sacrifice required.

Trolls.

My eyes took in the chapter heading, and then a hand closed on my shoulder.

20

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