Hidden Huntress
Page 121

This was Cécile’s family.
Obviously, I’d known we were going to see them, but it dawned on me now that the meeting might not go well. They knew what I was. They knew who I was. And they had every reason to hate me.
“Cécile!” The blonde girl barely waited until she was off her horse before throwing her arms around her sister. They rocked side to side in a strange sort of dance.
“We weren’t expecting you until the new year,” her father said, giving me a curious nod as I dismounted.
I nodded back, at a loss for what to say.
“It’s impromptu,” Cécile replied. Pulling off my coat, she handed it to me.
Josette’s eyes widened. “Is that blood? What happened?”
“Are you hurt?” Her father reached for her, but Cécile held up a hand. “I’m fine. It isn’t mine.” She hesitated. “Papa, this is my husband Tristan. We’ll only be here for the night – I need to be in Trianon tomorrow.” She thrust the reins in his direction. “Can you take care of Fleur? I need to get cleaned up.” Then with her sister’s arm around her, she all but bolted into the house.
Her father and I stared at each other, and I was quite certain I’d never felt so awkward in my entire life.
“You’re the troll,” he finally said. “The troll that stole my little girl and forced her into an unnatural union?”
I winced, twisting the leather of my reins back and forth. “Yes.” Trying to put the blame on my father seemed like the wrong thing to do.
“Am I to guess that the whole Isle is now crawling with you and yours?” he demanded.
I shook my head. “Only me.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s quite a story behind that.” He scowled. “What happened to her?”
“That’s complicated.”
Reaching forward, he grabbed me by the front of the shirt. “Complicated? After all you’ve done, you show up with my daughter – visibly upset and covered in blood – and tell me it’s complicated? You explain yourself now, boy, or you can get off my property.”
I stared at the grizzled farmer who had me by the shirt and realized why Cécile was the way she was. “I’ll tell you everything, Monsieur de Troyes,” I said. “If you’re willing to listen.”
Grudgingly, he nodded and let go of my shirt. “You can call me Louie – we don’t waste time on ceremony in these parts.” He glanced at my horse. “Good-looking animal you have there.”
“Christophe Girard selected him for me.” But not before first trying to convince me I should learn to ride on a pony.
“Aye? Well, Chris might not know much, but he knows horses.”
I led my horse into the stall Louie pointed at. “He has more to offer than people seem to give him credit for,” I said, examining the buckles holding my saddle on. “He’s loyal, which is a rare thing in my experience. He’s also been a good friend to Cécile and Sabine. And to me.”
Fleur was in the stall across the aisle, and I noticed Louie already had all of her tack removed and was leaning on the door watching me. “Won’t argue with you,” he said, scratching his greying head. “You know the first thing about caring for a horse?”
I shook my head.
He came out of the stall and over to me. “How old did you say you were?”
“Seventeen.”
“Have to say, I thought you would be older.” He shrugged. “Either way, you’re well past due to learn a few useful skills. Think you can talk and learn at the same time?”
I nodded, feeling suddenly desperate to prove to him I wasn’t useless.
“All right. Best you start from the beginning, then.”
With little more than an occasional grunt and the odd word, Cécile’s father showed me how to care for my horse while I talked. I didn’t start at the beginning of today, or the moment when Cécile arrived in Trollus. I started at my beginning, and I told him everything. Revealing so much about myself was entirely at odds with my nature, but I found the story slipping off my tongue as though it wanted to be told. Louie was Cécile’s father, and I needed him to know who I was, to prove to him as best I could that despite everything, I wasn’t entirely unworthy of his daughter.
We moved from the horses to the cows to the pigs, him asking the occasional question, but for the most part listening in attentive silence. By the time I finished, all the chores were complete and dusk had settled onto the land.
“So you say this witch intends to kill Genevieve tomorrow night?”
“It is a near certainty.” We were sitting on the front stoop of the house, and Louie was smoking a pipe, the smell of it both strange and comforting at the same time. “She’s been maintaining her immortality by killing her female descendants. Cécile believes she needs the link of the bloodline in order for the spell to work, and that the only time she can access enough power is when the solstice aligns with the full moon.”
Louie grunted in understanding, then blew a puff of smoke into the air. “And if she succeeds, then Cécile will be next?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
He nodded. “Now you say trolls and humans can…” Wincing, he puffed out a series of smoke rings.
I knew what he was getting at. “Around three-quarters of Trollus’s population has human blood running in their veins.”