Page 48 of Stolen Songbird
Forever fearing the assassin that would come for me in order to kill him.
“I know this is a great deal to take in, and likely not the answer you were expecting,” he said in a low voice. “But don’t focus on what might happen years down the road—focus on the now. If I am discovered before I am ready to strike, we will both be dead. I must keep up the ruse that I am loyal to my father and, in order to do that, I must make people continue to believe that I view humanity with contempt.”
My chin jerked up and down with understanding.
“I will ignore you. Be cruel to you. And you must play along. Act sad and unhappy. Never give anyone a reason to think I’ve shown you a moment’s kindness or that I’ve confided in you in any way. And above all, never let anyone suspect that I care one way or another whether you live or die, beyond how it might impact me.”
“Do you?” I asked, stepping towards him before I knew what I was doing. We were nearly touching now, and he smelled clean, of soap, with a faint hint of leather and steel—like a boy should.
“So many questions,” he said, smoothing my disheveled hair back from my face, his hand running down the length of it until it rested at the small of my back. I trembled beneath his touch: not from fear, but something else. Something that made the blood in my veins boil while raising goose bumps along my skin. His hand tightened around my waist. My lips parted slightly and the overwhelming need to have him pull me closer flooded over me like an ocean wave. My eyes drifted up his chest, past his throat, coming to rest on his face. He was watching me through long black lashes, his eyes half closed; and in them, I thought I saw something, knew I felt something…
Abruptly a veil fell over his eyes, hiding whatever it was I thought I’d seen, if it had ever been there at all. His face resumed the mask of indifference he always wore, callous and arrogant. And he was angry. “Where did you hide my plans, Cécile?”
“Sewn into the draperies in your bedroom.” The words came out without my bidding them to do so, as though I had no control over my own tongue.Be careful making promises to a troll.
I blinked once and he was gone, the thunder of the waterfall deafening my ears once more.
15
Cécile
Idid not let the momentum that came from my encounter with Tristan go to waste. I had hope now—and something to look forward to. Most of all, I had an ally, and a powerful one at that. But Tristan’s plan would take time to enact—time that I had no intention of wasting by moping around in my bedroom.
“Élise,” I said, having found her making the bed. “If I wanted to speak with the Duchesse, how would I go about doing so?”
Élise smoothed a hand over the blankets. “You could send her a card requesting an audience.”
I frowned, not at all fond of the idea of waiting around for a response to an invitation.
“Or I could take you to see her now,” she said, a smile touching the corner of her lips. “The Duchesse is not a stickler for formality—or of anything she considers an inefficient use of time. She’ll not mind you dropping by unannounced.”
“You seem to know a great deal about her,” I murmured as we walked through the corridors. Now that I had my own light, I was able to pause and examine the artwork lining the endless corridors of the palace. I tried to find little details to remember to help mark my way.
“She was my first charge, when I turned fifteen.”
“Really?” I stopped in my tracks and turned to her in surprise, accidentally blinding her with my light in the process. “I wouldn’t have thought someone so young would…” I trailed off.
“Have the privileged position to empty the chamber pots of the Duchesse and the Queen?”
I flushed, because that was precisely what I’d been thinking.
“She knew my mother,” Élise continued. “She purchased the rights to Zoé and me when we were quite young, so we had many years to prepare for serving royalty.”
There was an edge to her voice that I could not help but notice. “Sorry,” I muttered, certain that I had offended her.
“Why?” she asked, knocking firmly on a door. “It wasn’t any of your doing, and besides, there are worse things than being a lady’s maid. I could be dredging sewers or working in the mines.”
Choice. The word came swiftly to my mind although I did not speak it aloud. Until these last few days, I had not truly appreciated what it meant to have control over one’s own life. The right to choose mattered—and it was a right none of the half-bloods had.
“What do you want?” shrieked a voice from inside the room.
“It’s me!” I shouted back. “Cécile!” Squaring my shoulders, I turned the handle and went inside.
“Cécile!” the Queen exclaimed as she caught sight of me. Rising to her feet, she hurried over and kissed me on both cheeks while I was still mid-curtsey. I wheezed as she pulled me into a hug that made my ribs creak.
“Don’t break her, Matilde,” the Duchesse shouted over her shoulder. “She’s positively fragile.”
“I’m not really,” I said, smiling awkwardly at the Queen as she led me towards a sitting area surrounded by mirrors. “I did grow up on a farm, you know.”
