Twenty-Four.

Tristan

I frowned at the column of rock rising up before me, then scribbled a series of calculations, pen held with an invisible hand of magic. It had taken me a bit of practice to learn to write this way, but necessity had demanded it. Even if I could manage to grip a pen with my numb fingers, my shaking would have rendered whatever I tried to write illegible. I glanced down at my hands, knowing without removing my gloves that my fingers looked grey and lifeless, the skin surrounding the spikes through my wrists black with iron rot. I was ill and exhausted, my constant use of magic draining me and leaving my body susceptible to the toxic metal.

In the heat of the moment in the throne room, I'd made my promise to Tips without considering the ramifications. And now I was suffering the consequences. To build the tree, I needed to be alive; but the darkening bonding marks on my hand spoke of the deterioration of Cecile's strength, which, along with the spread of the iron rot in my wrists, was evidence that my days were numbered. Which drove me to work harder.

I couldn't stop, not to eat or to sleep; and the continual drain on my power allowed the rot to worsen. Which made me work harder still. I was caught in a spiral, and unless something changed, the result was inevitable.

I might have fought the compulsion to build continually a little harder, but there was one other problem: I liked the work.

Liked wasn't even a strong enough word I loved it. Loved transforming the vision in my mind into something tangible. Loved that I was creating something permanent. Loved that this was a problem I was solving, unlike the others on my very long list.

I still had no notion of what Lessa had said to my father to set him off so badly. She was effectively my father's spy in Angouleme's home, so it might well have been some information she had discovered. Possibly something to do with my brother, the idea of which made me very nervous.

Or it could have been something Lessa had done to anger our father herself, though I couldn't imagine why she would do that. They were allies in this, but that didn't mean he wouldn't dispose of her if necessary. I'd avoided her like the snake she was, but I'd seen her enough in the distance to know she was alive and unharmed. Part of me wished she were dead.

"Your Highness?"

I turned to see the crew of half-bloods I was working with standing next to the ma.s.sive block of stone they'd carefully cut and prepared. "Ready?"

They nodded, their eyes wide with excitement. I wondered how many more blocks I'd have to lift before the euphoria of watching the tree come to life diminished. For them and me both.

Widening my stance for balance, I coiled magic around the stone and lifted it up into the air, the heels of my boots grinding into the cobblestones. Magic magnified my strength a thousandfold and more, but it still came from me. I'd knocked myself over before trying to lift something while I wasn't balanced; and the last thing I wanted to do was fall on my a.s.s in front of everyone. Taking a step back, I brightened the light so I could see and gently set the stone on top of the column. One of the crew scrambled up the scaffolding, recklessly hanging off the structure to make certain the stone was square and level.

"It's perfect, Your Highness," she called down to me, and the others cheered.

"Good," I called back wearily. "I'll see you in a few days."

Fetching my hat and coat, I started walking toward my next scheduled stop, eyeing each construction site as I went. In two weeks, we'd more than quadrupled the progress they'd made over three months, but the amount of work left was daunting. The half-bloods had little time to spare to the effort, as most of their hours were spent working for the Guilds; but many of them were willing to forgo sleep in order to get another block of stone cut, another few yards of height on their columns.

They were warming to me, as well. I wasn't sure if it was the progress we were making together, or if Tips had worked some sort of magic, but I hadn't had to deal with one of them trying to kill me during the last twenty-four hours. Or maybe they were just waiting for me to finish the work before doing the deed.

"I'm telling you, fool, it shifted during the night. Look! Look!" Pierre's shrill voice pierced my ears, and I picked up my pace to see what had upset the man so much that he'd ventured from his home.

"There!" he shouted when he caught sight of me. "Someone who understands. Your Highness, please talk some sense into these imbeciles."

The three Builders' Guild members he had just insulted looked too weary to care. I recognized all of them, though I didn't know their names. One looked normal enough, but the strained wheeze of her breath suggested her affliction was internal. The other two were more obviously marked, one with an extra set of arms and the other with smooth skin where his eyes should be.

"There was a tremor in the night," Pierre said, shaking his fist in the air. "A small one, but enough that the rocks may have shifted. Yet all they do is walk to and fro, filling the tree with power. They aren't checking for changes. They don't understand it. They'll kill us all." His eyes were wild, watching the blackness of the cavern above us as though he expected a rock to drop and hit him directly.

"Pierre, calm down," I said. "I can't get involved my father specifically commanded me to leave the Guild to its business." I flicked my attention to the three trolls. "He's right, though, you know. You cannot treat this structure as static. It wasn't built that way."

"It seems fine," the wheezy one replied, gesturing skyward. "It looks fine."

"Looks?" I repeated, looking pointedly up at the blackness. "You can't manage the tree by looking at it. You have to do it by feel." I muttered a few choice curses and then tossed my coat and hat on the back of Pierre's wheeled chair. "Warn me if anyone comes."

Reluctantly, I peeled off my gloves. Setting them aside, I put my hands into the nearest column of magic, feeling the warm vestiges of my own power flow over my fingers. I closed my eyes, letting my magic drift over the ceiling above, each rock a familiar old friend. There were a few small changes, but nothing of great concern. I started to pull away from the tree when the blind guild member approached. "Will you tell me how you do it, Your Highness?"

"By feel," I said, glad that it had been him who had approached because he couldn't see the damaged state of my wrists and hands. "You must memorize how each and every rock is placed so that you will know instinctively if something has shifted. Then you must judge how the weight and balance has changed and modify the canopy to compensate."

The man smiled, resting a hand against the column. He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "Northwest sixty-three and sixty-five are lower, but barely."

"Yes," I said, frowning at him. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"I did." He turned his head toward where Pierre was arguing with the other two guild members. "But it was an excuse to speak with you."

Curiosity flared in side of me. "About?"

"I knew what the half-bloods were constructing would never work," he said softly. "I could hear where they were building, and it didn't feel right. And I wasn't the only one. Others noticed it too." He wrung his hands together. "We knew he'd tricked them, but we'd be fools to say anything against your father."

I hesitated. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because we want you to know that it isn't only the half-bloods who will rise up against your father to put you on the throne." He turned his face back to me, and even though he had no eyes, I could have sworn he was seeing me.

"The guilds are full of your supporters full-bloods who believe you are the key to our survival. That you will be the one who sets us free."

A thousand thoughts chased each other through my mind, but I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Pierre's whistle stole away the moment. "Visitors," he hissed, jerking his chin in the direction of the bobbing light coming swiftly down the street.

I rose, backing away from the tree and letting my light dim in the foolish hope that whoever approached wouldn't recognize me.

A boy near to my age skidded to a stop in front of us, his uniform marked with the Builders' Guild emblem of a hammer and chisel. "News from the palace!" His eyes widened when he saw me. "Begging your pardon, Your Highness." He started to bow, then stopped, his eyes flicking between his elder fellows for guidance.

"Don't hold back on my account," I said, leaning against the wall. "Tell us the news."

"It's about your brother," he said. "Prince Roland."

"I know who my brother is." My voice was light, but if I'd had hackles, they would have risen. "What about him?"

"The King has announced his betrothal."

I grimaced. He wouldn't be bound to anyone until he was at least sixteen, but I still pitied whatever girl had been chosen. The idea of anyone being emotionally tied to my insane, s.a.d.i.s.tic little brother made me sick. "To whom?"

The boy licked his lips, looking anywhere but at me. My unease grew something wasn't right. What was my father up to? "Spit it out," I snapped, ignoring how he jumped, eyes bright with fear.

"It's just that I don't think you're going to like it very much, given that you... and her..."

The lights of those around me began to spin. No, no, no! "Tell me who!"

The boy swallowed hard. "To Lady Anais, Your Highness. Prince Roland has been betrothed to the heiress of the Duchy of Angouleme."

Twenty-Five.

Cecile

"Please let me go out," I begged, flinging myself onto the sofa where my mother sat reading.

She turned a page and didn't look up. "No. I don't trust you not to go running toward trouble."

"You're driving me mad," I muttered. And she really was. It had been over a week since I'd stolen Catherine's memory, but I'd been able to do nothing about it thanks to my mother. The only time I was allowed out of the house was for performances or masque rehearsals none of which Marie had attended and she never let me out of her sight for more than a moment. Compelling her with magic might well get me free of her for a few moments, but the effects were fleeting and I knew no way of permanently altering her thoughts. Nor was the idea of doing so particularly conscionable.

As it was, rare was the moment when I was alone with her, and I was not sure if I could compel two people at once. I'd been forced to satisfy myself with setting Sabine and Chris to keeping an eye on Catherine, but that wasn't progress. I was becoming desperate enough to try anything, and well I knew how desperate people made mistakes. "Are you going to keep me locked up like this forever?"

"Just until after the masque, darling. After that, I've no concern over what you do."

The masque, the masque, the masque. It was all she cared about, acting as though it were the most important night of my life. There was no arguing with her, and no, I'd discovered, getting around her. The trellis running along the side of the building had been removed, a lock was installed on my window, and when I'd picked that in an attempt to escape, she'd had the cook's husband nail the window shut. My door was bolted from the outside at night, and whenever we went anywhere, she kept a firm grip on my wrist to keep me from running off.

Any and all attempts to look for further clues toward a.n.u.shka's ident.i.ty had been thoroughly and effectively stymied. But my need to hunt her had not. I hadn't slept for days, and I'd started throwing up everything I ate. A quick glance in the mirror showed hollow cheeks and shadowed eyes, but my color was high. I should've been exhausted, but instead I felt jittery, like a child who has consumed too many sweets.

"It's weeks away." And I wasn't sure I'd last that long without progress. I felt as though I was being consumed from the inside out.

"Barely enough time to prepare," she said, staring blindly at her book. "But the date is set."

I scowled at her, though she wasn't paying any attention. She was obsessed with this stupid performance. "Any longer and I might throw myself off a bridge," I muttered.

Her eyes flicked my direction. "Don't be morbid."

"Says the person trying to kill me."

Julian snickered from where he sat perched on a chair. My mother shot him a withering glance, but it didn't seem to affect him in the least. The spell remained in effect, the contempt he used to hold for me replaced by his wholehearted enthusiasm for my rise to lead soprano. He might well have fallen out of love into logic, but that was not the same as falling into intelligence. If he didn't learn to mind his tongue, I suspected he might find himself cut from the coming season entirely. For his sake, I hoped it wore off soon. "I'm bored," he announced. "I want to go out."

"Then go," my mother said.

"I've no one to go with."

An idea crossed through my mind. "I could go out with you, Julian. It would be a fine thing for people to start seeing us together before the start of next season, wouldn't you agree?"

His eyes brightened at the idea.

Genevieve set down her book. "You're not going anywhere without me until after the masque is over. I'll not have you ruining everything."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Julian beat me to it. "Don't you trust me to keep an eye on her?" he asked. "After all, I know how important the masque is" his eyes went to me and then back to my mother "to both of us."

I silently applauded his tactic while watching my mother's profile for any sign of what she might be thinking. But her face was as smooth and unreadable as a troll's. "Back by midnight," she said, and snapped her book open again.

I grinned at Julian and he winked.

While he went outside to hail a hackney cab, I changed into a dark blue dress, braided my hair so that it hung over one shoulder, and shoved what I needed into a satchel. Kissing my mother on the cheek, I hurried out into the chill air where my co-star was waiting. Taking his arm, I scrambled up into the carriage.

"Le Chat?" Julian asked.

I shook my head. "After. There's somewhere we need to go first."

One dark eyebrow c.o.c.ked. "Oh? Where's that?"

"Pigalle."

His other eyebrow shot up to join the first. "Pigalle? Curses, why would you want to go there?"

"There's something I need," I said, waiting for him to argue, but he only shrugged and gave the instruction to the driver.

"You won't tell her where we went, will you?" I asked as the horse started trotting down the street. "She'll lock me up for the rest of my life if she finds out."

Julian tilted his head from side to side in a parody of extreme thought. "I suppose not. It wouldn't really do for me to have a prisoner for a co-star. But in exchange for my deception, I expect you to pay for all my libations tonight."

"As much as you can drink."

"Then off to Pigalle we go." He clapped his hands together. "Which isn't something I'd ever thought I'd say."

"Wait here," I said to Julian as I slipped out of the hack. "I won't be very long."

It was very dark in Pigalle, the moon little more than a sliver in the night sky, but I still looked up and down the street to see if anyone was watching, before going to the door and knocking. Moments later, I heard footsteps, and the door opened.

"I told you never to come back!"

Catherine tried to shut the door to her shop in my face, but I threw my shoulder against it, forcing my way in before Julian could take notice. "I have questions that need answering."