My stomach clenched. “Surely Tristan wouldn’t allow that to happen?”
She didn’t respond, only turned her head to look at our reflections in the mirror. And in that moment, I hated Tristan more than I ever believed possible. His behavior had always disgusted me – his total disregard for the lives of half-bloods and humans alike. But the idea that he’d made my sister feel like her life was equally worthless? That was too much.
Except doing this meant betraying Marc. Manipulating him and using our friendship to bring down his cousin.
But was that such a bad thing? I’d seen his discomfort with the way Tristan behaved, which was so at odds with his own kind treatment to those considered beneath him. I’d always believed him loyal to his cousin, but how much of that loyalty was forced upon him by circumstance? Was it possible he might be better off freed from the service of a future tyrant?
Maybe our father was right, in a way. Maybe it was time Montigny rule of Trollus ended. If our family took control, it would be Ana?s who’d sit on the throne, either at Roland’s side or better yet, without him. She’d be Queen, and Trollus would thrive under her rule. If I had the opportunity to help make that happen, shouldn’t I take it?
“All right,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Six
Marc
I found Tristan at the twins’ manor, the three of them surrounded by books, though my cousin appeared to be the only one studying, half a teacake in one hand, the other scribbling calculations on a scrap piece of paper.
“Examinations?” I asked, taking a seat across from him.
He nodded and finished his cake. “Next week.”
Royal children all trained with the Builders’ Guild – the heirs because they’d take control of the tree along with the crown, and their siblings, just in case they should find themselves on the throne. I had only a rudimentary understanding of the craft, having studied economics in preparation for assuming my father’s role, but as Tristan pulled a large schematic in front of him, I recognized the cavern over Trollus as well as the tree. What he was sketching over the top of the diagram was unfamiliar to me. “What is that?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he muttered, tapping his pencil against his chin. “An idea… Or not. We shall see.”
“It’s now or never, I suppose,” Victoria said from across the room, and both twins left off what they were doing and rose.
“Good luck,” Tristan said to them. “Remember, cheating is always a valid option.”
They grinned as they departed, and I shook my head at him. “You’re a bad influence.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dropping the pencil, he leaned back in his chair, the doors to the room clicking shut, magic shutting out sight and sound. “Well?”
“The half-blood ranks are growing,” I said. “More and more are committing to the cause, are swearing that they’ll fight when it comes to it, but…”
“But?”
“Too many refuse to commit without knowing who the leader is.”
“They’re supposed to think it’s you.”
“They know it’s not me, Tristan.” I leaned back on my chair, balancing it on two legs. “I haven’t the mettle to overthrow the crown – they know I’m a stalking horse, but they want proof that whoever I represent has the power to see this through.”
Taking another cake from the tray, Tristan’s eyes went distant as he chewed, finishing the dessert before he asked, “Do they suspect me?”
“No. Tips has told me at least a dozen of the popular theories, but no one has marked you for the role of revolutionary. Why overthrow a crown that is destined to be yours anyway?”
What I didn’t say was that no one would suspect the tyrant prince would ever have sympathetic leanings to half-bloods – he’d played his part too well for that. Maybe a little too well, I thought, remembering Pénélope’s outburst. There was no love lost for him by those who had kindness in their hearts.
“They believe,” I added, “that our friendship is false on my part – that I’ve been planted to spy on you, or perhaps to take you out when the time is right.”
“Who do they favor for the role?”
I hesitated. “My father.”
Tristan winced, then rested his elbows on the table. “I’m sorry for that. I know it puts your entire family at risk, but you’re the only one who can do this. If I could…”
He trailed off: the explanation for why it was impossible for him to take on the burden was not worth voicing. Tristan’s movements were too well scrutinized for him to meet with the half-bloods without notice, and there was too much risk that once they knew his identity, the knowledge would fall into the hands of those who’d use it against us, namely, the Duke. Or worse, the King. Everything was predicated upon his ability to defeat his father, and as powerful as my cousin was, Thibault was more powerful still.
“I know it’s demanding of me to ask this of you,” Tristan said, “but for now, you’re the heart of our revolution, Marc. Without you, everything we’ve worked for will collapse. Trollus depends on you.”
I toyed with the arm of my chair, the speech I’d been planning since I’d spoken with my father sticking in my throat, his warning ringing in my ears: think long and hard about what it will mean for your friendship if you ask for his permission and he refuses to give it.
Because he would refuse to give it. Not out of cruelty, but because his commitment to saving our people consumed him and he’d not willingly allow anything to jeopardize our cause. There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for what he saw as the greater good of Trollus, and he demanded the same from me, Ana?s, and the twins. He didn’t want anything more from life.
But I did.
As if sensing my thoughts, Tristan said, “Another three years. Maybe four. Then this will all be over.”
Logically, I knew that it wasn’t such a long time. But it felt like an eternity. Longer than an eternity, because even though once Tristan was on the throne there should be no reason for him to deny my wish to be with Pénélope, I knew there would be. Too easily my father’s haggard face came to mind, the pressures of a lifetime as the right hand to the King dragging him to an early death. Tristan was not his father, but in his own way, he was equally as demanding. Was that to be my fate?
Was it selfish of me to want more?
A loud knock sounded at the door, and Tristan’s magic shifted, allowing the visitor to enter. He glanced up once, then did a double take, so I turned.
At first I thought it was Pénélope, not Ana?s, but the weight of the power that came with her was distinctly that of the younger Angoulême sister. She was wearing a purple gown, ribs corseted tight and hair hanging to her waist in elaborate curls. Her silver eyes were rimmed with kohl, full lips stained a pale pink that made them very… kissable in appearance.