I shrugged. "That should have been your first clue they were fake."

He stared at them for a long time, slowly flipping through the large pages of parchment as though he were memorizing every last detail. I let him take his time, leaning back on the rough chair and closing my eyes. I was tired. Sleep had eluded me last night, making it three nights in a row that I'd gone without rest, and I needed it. Badly. My mind felt fuzzy, and the coming days would be unforgiving of any mistakes.

Except every time I closed my eyes, I was plagued by the disasters that had happened. That could happen. My mother trying to kill me, my aunt hanging unconscious from her back. The feral expression I'd last seen on Marc's face, and my fear that madness would take him.

And Cecile.

My imagination was a ferocious thing, and I could well imagine the worst of disasters befalling her, all with me powerless to do anything to help. I had no way of discovering how she fared or what she was doing. No humans were allowed past the River Road gates, so even if my contacts had information, I had no way to meet with them. No way to pa.s.s a message to Cecile, either.

But worse were the other thoughts. They were daydreams, I supposed, although I tortured myself with them day or night. Unrealistic fantasies of a future where Cecile and I actually had a chance. Where she was with me every night. Where she was mine in all ways and all things. Where I could be the man she deserved. How could I possibly sleep when there was a chance to remember the smell of her hair? The clear blue of her eyes when she looked up at me. The way she arched her neck when I kissed her throat. I'd suffer a thousand sleepless nights to be lost in those waking dreams.

"So what's the plan?" Tips said, interrupting my thoughts. "Do we make it known that we've been duped? Another uprising? We aren't prepared for it, but when this comes out, it might happen whether we like it or not."

Opening my eyes, I tipped my chair forward and carefully set my arms on the table. Blood was seeping through the cloth I'd wrapped around the metal, and I could faintly hear the drip, drip of droplets landing on the wood. "I think we've something else to discuss first."

He rolled up my plans and set them aside. "You're referring to when I lied about my true name before you sent us all off to be slaughtered."

"Less about the name and more about the lie," I replied. "Specifically, how is it possible you can?"

Tips rolled his shoulders and shifted on his chair. "It's a fair bit harder than speaking the truth, but it can be done. Gets a bit easier with practice."

"Explain."

His eyes flicked to mine, then away again. "It's like when you've got something that needs saying, but you don't want to say it for whatever reason. Throat gets tight, tongue gets dry, and it seems like your whole body is fighting to keep the words inside. But you force them out anyway."

I thought about his a.n.a.logy and nodded. "Can everyone with human blood do it, or only..." I tried to think of a polite way to phrase the thought, "Those whose blood is primarily human?"

He snorted softly and shook his head. "Those like me, you mean?"

"Yes." There was no point to beating around the bush.

"It's hard to know," he said, resting his elbows on the table. "It ain't something that's discussed much. But I do know a few who are mostly troll who can lie through their teeth, and a few with less magic than me who couldn't bend the truth to save their lives." He hesitated for a long moment. "I think the potential to lie comes with the human blood, but that it's something else that makes a half-blood actually capable of doing it."

"Willpower?" I suggested.

"Might be." He sighed. "Or just plain obstinacy. When we catch a young one lying, we all but beat the desire to do it ever again out of their skulls. It's a dangerous game to play, and if they got caught by the wrong person, it wouldn't be just their life on the line, it would be the lives of every half-blood. It's our greatest secret we've killed our own just to keep it from coming out. Full-blooded b.a.s.t.a.r.ds would all but s.h.i.t bricks if they found out we'd been lying to their faces all these long years." He winced. "Not that I mean you..."

I waved him off. "You're right. It's an advantage you have over us, and there isn't a troll in the city who wouldn't begrudge that fact." I cracked my neck from side to side, considering what he'd told me. "Lady Anais is dead," I finally said. "She was killed helping me subdue my father the night I broke Cecile out of Trollus."

Tips's eyes widened. "That ain't possible. I've seen her since with my own two eyes!"

"Not her," I said. "Someone pretending to be her. I wasn't certain how the impostor was managing it until your little slip, but now I know for certain it's a half-blood wearing Anais's face."

Tips's breath hissed out between his teeth. "Only one who could manage it," he said. "And that's your sister."

"Half-sister," I muttered, "But yes. Lessa. She's powerful enough, and she lived in the same household as Anais for all of her life until Cecile tricked Damia into giving her to my father. And no one notices the presence or absence of a half-blood servant, no matter how powerful. Add in her ability to lie, and she's the perfect person to take over Anais's life. So perfect, it almost seems planned." A sick feeling rose in my stomach the moment the words came out. "He knows."

"What? Who?"

"My father," I said, my voice every bit as grim as I felt. "He knows you can lie. Your secret isn't a secret, at least not from him. I'd bet my life on it."

Tips blanched. "That can't be possible. He'd never stand for it if he knew. Your father already hates us if he'd found out half-bloods could lie, we'd all be dead by now."

"He doesn't hate you," I said absently, staring at the wall behind Tips. "Hate is something he reserves for those with whom he has personal grievances. And he'd never act so impulsively if he thought he could put the information to use." A plan was beginning to form in my head. It was risky and rash, nothing I would ever have tried in the past, but it might just work.

"I'm afraid to ask," Tips muttered.

"Think of it this way," I said. "He knows you can lie to him, but you don't know that he knows. Not only can he use it against you, he can use you against his enemies by taking advantage of the fact that they don't know either."

Tips raised both eyebrows, giving me a dour look. "This is why I hate dealing with the aristocracy you're all mad."

I grinned. "It's brilliant."

"Right."

I leaned forward. "Have you told anyone I caught you out?"

Tips winced. "Not yet. Haven't found the courage to tell them I slipped up."

"Excellent." I would've clapped my hands together if they didn't hurt so much. "I've an idea. It's more than a bit mad, and if it goes poorly, we might both lose our heads. But I think it'll work."

"And I must be mad to listen to you, but I'm going to anyway." Tips leaned on the table, his eyes bright. "Tell me what you've got in mind."

Twenty-One.

Cecile

My mother wandered past me to look out the window, leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. "You will stay in tonight, I trust," she said, letting the drapes fall back into place.

"I will," I said. "I think a cup of tea and a book are what I need." I coughed quietly. "My throat has been a bit sore, and I don't care to overdo it."

She frowned at me. "I hope you aren't coming down with something you've seen how much work the Regent's masque will be."

"I'm sure it's nothing." I glanced at the clock. I'd told Chris to come to the back door at seven, but hopefully he'd be wise enough to ensure my mother was actually gone before he knocked. "Where did you say you were going?" I asked, looking blindly at the book in my lap.

"The Marquis is accompanying me to the palace for my performance. After that, we'll have to see. It seems anyone who is anyone is having a party tonight."

"Seems like poor planning on their parts," I muttered. I really didn't care about my mother's social schedule what I cared about was her leaving so I'd have the privacy to try this spell.

A knock sounded at the door. "That will be my carriage." She picked up her thick velvet cloak. "I hope you enjoy your rest, darling. I will be late, if I'm home at all." Bending down she kissed my forehead, then stroked my cheek. "There is no one more important to me than you, Cecile. I hope you know that."

My traitorous heart warmed, then I squashed the feeling away, reminding myself that the last time she'd expressed herself this way, she'd been in the process of drugging me. "Good luck tonight, mother."

I waited until I was certain she was gone, then I threw off the robe covering my dress and hurried to the back door. Chris was waiting, a roll of parchment in one hand and a caged chicken in the other. "She's gone?" he asked.

I nodded. "Come in before the neighbors see you."

Once he was inside, we set to hurrying about the house closing all the curtains. I was taking no chances that someone might see us at best, I'd be exiled from the city. And at worst... the smoke coming from the fireplace took on an ominous feel.

"Where do you want to do this?" Chris asked, holding up the cage and eyeing the chicken. "It will be messy."

I grimaced. "The kitchen would be the best, I suppose."

Following my terse instructions, we set up all of my supplies on the kitchen floor, along with a bucket and rags to clean up what would be a large amount of blood. I took the map Chris had brought and laid it out flat, then carefully began committing it to memory as well as I could.

"What are you doing?" Chris whispered.

"The map needs to be reflected in my mind's eye," I said. "Otherwise this won't work."

Catherine had devised the spell I intended to use to find missing loved ones. It was a n.o.ble cause, unlike my own, but cause meant little when it came to the effectiveness of the spell. All I really needed was a possession belonging to the missing, in this case, a.n.u.shka's grimoire, a map, and the raw power of a death. So little, and yet, so much.

When I was comfortable I could accurately visualize the map, I set a basin between it and me. Then I opened the chicken's cage and pulled her out. She clucked quietly in my arms, used to being handled. Chris handed me a knife, and I swallowed a wave of nausea. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"You've killed chickens before, Cecile. Lots of them." Chris's words were steady, but his face was ghostly pale.

"For eating," I muttered. "Not for... this." I petted the hen on her head and she clucked at me. No amount of farm living could prepare me for this.

"I could pluck her after and we could, umm, roast her up?"

I gagged and shook my head. The idea of eating my ritual sacrifice was too much.

"Or, or, I could pluck her, and give her to someone who needs the food." He nodded encouragingly at me.

"Yes," I said, swallowing down what had threatened to rise up. "We can do that."

My grip on the knife was slick with sweat. The chicken started to struggle in my grip, as though sensing my tension. "I can't hold her steady," I muttered, the knife and the chicken sliding in my grasp.

"Just get it over with," Chris said. "Do it now."

"I can't, I can't," I said, struggling to get the angle right. My hands knew what they were doing, but my mind was at war with itself. Walking down this path would change everything for me. It would change who I was.

Do it! The voice in my head was full of wicked glee. Was it me, or was it the King?

"I'm sorry." The words came out in a rush as I sliced the knife across the chicken's neck. Blood splattered everywhere, adding to the wetness of tears already dripping down my cheeks. I held the dying creature over the basin with shaking hands, letting the blood flow even as power flooded into me, then handed her to Chris.

Retrieving the candle, I held the flame to the crimson contents of the basin, part of me praying that it would go out and the spell would fail, even as I knew it wouldn't. Fire leapt up in the bowl and we both jerked back. I could feel magic rising all around us, but it had a dark, malignant edge to it. What I was doing was a corruption of the earth's power. What I was doing was evil.

"I can't go back," I whispered. And before I could lose my nerve, I plunged my hand into the flaming mixture. It was hot, but it didn't burn. Slowly, I lifted my hand from the basin, flames licking out from my fingers. With the grimoire in my free hand, I held my b.l.o.o.d.y hand over the map and closed my eyes, visualizing the city.

"Tell me where a.n.u.shka is," I said loudly, and focused my thoughts. I felt power gush from my fingers, filling the air with heat. The blood splattered loudly against the paper, but I kept my focus. "Tell me where a.n.u.shka is." The magic surged, and I smelled a faint hint of smoke, then it was over.

I opened my eyes. Chris was on the far side of the kitchen, his back against a cupboard. He stared at me with wild eyes, the dead chicken clutched to his chest. "Did it work?" His words were shaky, and I could tell he didn't want to come closer. He was afraid of me. I was afraid of myself.

Wiping my hand on my stained dress, I picked up the candle and leaned over to look at the map.

There were tiny burn marks on the parchment, barely more than pinp.r.i.c.ks. But where I had expected one, there were nineteen. "I don't think it worked," I said, my breath coming in escalating pants as I stared at the blood-spattered map. "It didn't work." I slammed my fist into the floor, skinning my knuckles. "How could it not have worked?"

Chris was at my side in an instant, his eyes raking over the results of the spell. "b.l.o.o.d.y stones and sky," he swore. "All that for nothing!"

"What am I doing? What have I become?" I sobbed, unable to contain the flood of disappointment and disgust I felt toward myself. "How did I become a chicken-killing pract.i.tioner of the dark arts? An agent for a king set on conquering the whole world? How did I get here? How did I become so evil?" The questions poured out of my mouth until the need to breathe silenced them.

"You're not evil, Cecile," Chris said softly, patting me on the shoulder.

"Then why am I doing this?" I demanded.

"Because you love Tristan," he said. "And you couldn't stand to see him hurt."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No." He sighed heavily. "It doesn't make it right, but I'm not sure that it's entirely wrong either." He moved in front of me so that we could see each other's faces. "I'm just a farmer with a good eye for horses. I'm not a scholar or a philosopher, or any of those sorts, but if you ask me, most people aren't tough enough to put a bunch of strangers ahead of their loved ones. And quite frankly, I'm not sure I'd want to know the sort of person who would."

"Tristan would," I said, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "It's what he wanted me to do."

Chris gave me a little shake. "He put your life ahead of everything and everyone I know for a fact that he sent lots of those half-bloods to their deaths in order to get you out of Trollus alive. And rightly or wrongly, he did it because he loved you too much to let you die."

Pulling a slightly grimy handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped my face. It came away b.l.o.o.d.y. "It seems to me, that no matter what we do, no matter what choices we make, there isn't a happy ending waiting for us at the end of the long road." He squared his shoulders and pushed me upright. "But that doesn't mean we give up. It doesn't mean we stop fighting."

He got to his feet. "I'm going to take this chicken down the road to a family I know could use it. Why don't you start cleaning up in here?"

I clung to Chris's optimism as I set to wiping away the blood splattered across the kitchen, but my heart wasn't in it. I hated what I was becoming. Every day, I lied and deceived those closest to me. Every time I practiced magic, I broke the law. I was attempting to find a way to unleash a terrifying force onto the world. And for what? To save the life of the one I loved? I cringed at how selfish it seemed, but no matter how many times I played the events at the mouth of the River Road over in my mind, I could not fathom doing anything different.

Gathering up the b.l.o.o.d.y rags, I tossed them into the fire. Pulling off my ruined dress, I tossed that in too, before donning my discarded dressing gown. Then I stood in front of the fire, my focus all on Tristan while I watched my dress burn into ash.

He was excited, which wasn't an emotion I'd felt from him in a long time. What was he up to? What was he planning? What would he think of what I had just done?

"You doing all right?"

I jumped. Chris had come back into the house without me even noticing. "No. I don't know," I said.

He gave me a sympathetic look, then picked up the discarded map.

"Just burn it," I said, turning back to the fire. "It's useless."

Chris made a noncommittal grunt. "That's interesting," he said.

"What?" The brightness of the fire was making my eyes sting, but I refused to blink.