I turned back to Roland. “You find it amusing that your elder brother and heir to the throne is in prison?”
The boy’s laughter cut off. “Tristan isn’t heir any longer. I am.”
I shook my head, not so much to deny he was telling the truth, but more at the sheer horror of the devil in front of me one day ruling the kingdom. Either way, my denial incensed him.
“I will be King!” he screamed, and flung himself at me. I leapt back, but my heel snagged on my dress and I toppled to the ground. Chris’s hands caught my arms and heaved me far out of reach, but not out of sight of Roland throwing himself over and over against the barrier, his fists splitting open and healing in an instant, his blood splattering the magic that caged him and rendering it visible. The rocks shook and trembled as his power hammered against the curse, muffling his screams. But nothing could spare us the feral rage written across his face – an expression void of any form of sanity.
“Heaven help us,” Chris whispered, our hands locked together as we watched.
The hammering stopped. Roland’s face smoothed into composure, and turning, he bowed low to the troll-light coming down the road. “Father.”
The King walked into view. “You’re making a great deal of noise, boy.”
Roland scowled. “She said Tristan was heir, not me.”
“Did she now?” The King looked through the blood-splattered barrier and caught my eye. “Humans are liars, Roland. You know that. Now go back to the city. The Duke is waiting for you.”
An answer that was no answer. There was hope for Tristan yet.
Roland shot me one last triumphant look, then sped off into the darkness.
“What do you want?” I asked, climbing to my feet. “Why did you have me brought here?”
“Oh, I think you know why,” the King replied. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the blood off the barrier. He watched us with interest, but said nothing. I stared back until I could stand it no more. “Where is Tristan? I want to see him.”
His chuckle drifted around me. “You’d make a poor politician, Cécile. You’re far too honest about your desires.”
“I thought all humans were liars?”
He shrugged. “True, but you are honest in spirit, which is more than I can say for myself. Or any troll, really.” His orb of light brightened until the tunnel shone like day. “One wants what one cannot have. And when one cannot lie, the ability to deceive becomes a far more meaningful talent. Something to be revered. But all this philosophizing is something better left to another day. I have what you want; and you, my dear, I believe to be capable of delivering what I want. What I propose is an exchange.”
I shook my head rapidly. “I am not so stupid as to think it would be that simple, Thibault. Nor am I so selfish as to consider releasing you upon the world for the sake of one life.”
Which was a lie. I considered it every waking minute.
The King tilted his head and nodded slowly. “Tell me, Cécile, what exactly is it about my release that terrifies you so?”
“Everything.” My voice sounded high-pitched and strange. “You’re a cruel, heartless tyrant. I’ve seen the way you rule – I know all about your laws. If I let you free, you’ll slaughter every last one of us.”
“Don’t be foolish,” the King interrupted. “The last thing I intend is to wipe out humanity. I need your kind. Do you expect the Duke d’Angoulême to pick up the plow to work the field? Or your dear friend, Marc, the Comte de Courville, to lay paving stones day in and out?” He waved a hand at me as though my fears were utter madness. “Do not stand there and preach to me that the Regent of Trianon does not have laws, or that his aristocracy is any less dismissive of their commoners than we are of ours.”
He pointed a finger at me. “You call me a tyrant, but I can say that there isn’t one individual in Trollus who goes hungry or doesn’t have a roof over his head. Every last one of them is educated and employed. Can your regent claim as much?”
I bit my lip. “What about freedom? The Regent allows no slavery on the Isle.”
The King made a face. “Why don’t you go ask those starving in the Pigalle quarter how much their freedom is worth. Or those freezing to death in ditches along country roads.” He rested a hand against the barrier. “You would be exchanging one aristocracy for another. Those such as your father would still raise pigs and sell them at market. Your mother would still sing onstage for those who could afford a ticket. For most, very little about their lives would change.” He sighed deeply. “How much are you willing to sacrifice for your ungrounded fears?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Chris said from behind me. “He’s only acting in his own interests.”
“And you aren’t, Christophe Girard?” The King spoke to Chris, but his gaze remained fixed on me. Gauging my reaction. “Don’t tell me,” he continued, “that you have not considered how you might benefit from keeping Cécile and my son separated.”
“Tristan being freed is the least of my concerns,” Chris retorted, but their words washed over me unheard. Were my fears unfounded? I closed my eyes and remembered the paintings Tristan had shown me, depicting what life had been like for humanity under troll domination. Remembered the drawings of humans begging for salvation after the Fall and the atrocities that followed. Would it be the same under King Thibault? Better? Or worse? I clenched my teeth.