Once I was thoroughly turned about, Tristan finally opened a door and pulled me into a room I recognized as the one where we had first met. He went immediately to the sideboard and, to my surprise, bypassed the decanter of wine and poured himself a glass of water instead. He guzzled the liquid down and poured another. “Wine?” he asked.
“I’d prefer an explanation.”
He gave me a curious look. “I suppose there is no way you could know.”
I shook my head.
Passing a tired hand across his face, he nodded. “Fine. We are cursed, and by we, I mean trolls, not you and me; although perhaps you might consider yourself so. Nearly five centuries ago, a human witch broke the mountain in two, burying Trollus in rock. Through magic, we were able to keep the city from being crushed; but suffice it to say, it took a significant length of time to dig a way out, only for the trolls to discover that the witch had cursed them to the confines of Trollus for as long as she drew breath.”
“If your ancestors were half as irritating as you are, I can understand why.”
Tristan glowered. “This is no laughing matter, Cécile.”
“Why not?” I said. “You think everything else is.”
“We’ve known each other the space of three hours and already she thinks she knows me,” Tristan muttered. “Do you want the rest of the story, or not?”
“Please.”
“As I was saying, all of those trolls and their descendants have been trapped within the confines of the city for the past five hundred years, while you humans carried on your merry way above. Three weeks ago, my aunt – you may remember her, tiny woman, practically inseparable from my mother – anyway, she has the gift of foresight. She foretold that when a prince of night bonded a daughter of the sun, the curse would be broken.”
“I’m the daughter of the sun,” I said, my mind racing.
“Far cleverer than you appear.” Tristan stuck his head out into the hallway and looked both ways before slamming the door shut.
“But the magic didn’t work. You bonded me and the curse is still in place.”
“Correct again. Remind me to choose you for my team if we ever play charades. I like a stacked team.”
“But how does the curse work?” I envisioned trolls turning into stone and crumbling to dust once they passed out of the darkness and into the sun.
Tristan went to a drawer, removed something, and handed it to me. It was a small sphere of glass and, inside, what appeared to be a highly detailed miniature version of the city of Trollus. “It is like being enclosed in an impenetrable glass bubble,” he said. “One that humans and animals and water can pass through, but which we cannot. As if pulling a mountain down on our heads wasn’t enough.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.
The sound of boots coming down the hall caught both our attentions.
“Hide in here.” Tristan pushed me into a small closet. “Be silent – your life may depend on your discretion.” The lock clicked shut. Kneeling down, I peered through the keyhole and waited.
I didn’t wait long. The door slammed open, the King’s bulk filling the frame as he passed through. Tristan’s anxiety spiked, but to his credit, he didn’t even flinch. I wished desperately that the bond would allow me to read his mind, but despite my best efforts, all I felt were his emotions. And even then, it was hard for me to decipher what was mine and what was his.
“Where is she?”
“Never mind her,” Tristan said, “I’ve got her locked up safe.”
“Good, good,” his father replied, rubbing his hands together. He was breathing hard, and big drops of sweat beaded and ran down his fleshy jowls. I half expected his heart to blow out of his chest, and I didn’t feel at all bad for wishing it would.
Tristan poured his father a glass of wine. “From what I gather, all did not go as planned.”
An understatement, if I had ever heard one.
The King took a long swallow of the red liquid. “No.”
Tristan hung his head. “You are disappointed, I expect.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’ve gone through a great deal today and still the curse remains. How do you think I feel?” Tristan answered without hesitation.
The King eyed his son with critical interest, considering his words. The glass drained, he motioned for Tristan to pour him another. “What do you propose?”
“I propose,” Tristan said, pouring the wine nearly to the rim, “that we bind her with oaths swearing her to secrecy and send her on her merry way.”
“Or we could just cut off her head. The dead, as they say, tell no tales.”
My blood ran cold and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Tristan’s apprehension rose, but the shrug he gave his father told another story. “You could, although given that I’ve just been bonded to her, the process would cause me no small amount of discomfort.”
“Attached to the little thing already?” the King smirked, the chair he settled into groaning beneath his weight.
“She was brought here to serve a purpose,” Tristan scoffed. “What I am attached to is my life. You know the risks.”
The King chortled at this and his son laughed along with him. Tristan’s words were surprisingly painful to me – not that I had any reason to expect anything different. I’d been brought to Trollus to lift the curse – and I’d failed. Why should he care what happened to me now? But why would my death jeopardize his life?