I nodded, though I wouldn’t be ready if I had a thousand years to prepare. This would be the performance of my lifetime.

Fifty-Three

Tristan

Tristanthysium… My name twisted through my mind, and I tensed, waiting for the answer my people had sought for centuries. But Cécile said nothing more. Which made me very worried.

“Tristan?”

I refocused, realizing Fred had spoken to me. “Pardon?”

“Someone will realize I’m not him.” Fred rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, then tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed coat.

“Unlikely,” I said, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand. Something had happened to Cécile – something that had shocked and horrified her, and only the knowledge that she was physically unharmed kept me from running her direction. She’d called my name, but given me nothing more. “No one knows such a thing is possible, so why would they suspect anything?”

Fred nodded, but his Aiden-mask betrayed his doubt.

“Make sure the castle is locked down,” I said, repeating the plan we’d discussed this afternoon. “The gates closed. No one enters and no one leaves. And above all, keep Marie from interfering.”

“All right.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t care much about what happens to Genevieve, but promise you’ll keep my sister safe.”

I needed to get back to the ballroom, but I felt the need to understand the nature of the conflict between Genevieve and her son. “What did she do to you to make you hate her so?”

Fred went very still, then he quietly replied, “It’s not so much what she did as who she is.”

I waited for him to continue.

“I didn’t hate her before I came to Trianon,” he finally said. “Quite the opposite. I thought she was magical – this beautiful nice-smelling woman who came and went like a dream. And when she told me how wonderful my life would be if I came to live with her, of course I couldn’t say no. But…” he broke off. “It wasn’t enough for her. She wasn’t satisfied with me leaving the Hollow, she wanted me to turn my back on everyone I’d grown up with. Loving her wasn’t enough: she needed me to hate my father. Not just to see her side, but to take it. There was no middle ground, and when I tried to find it…”

“She made you pay,” I finished for him.

Fred nodded. “It seemed every time I tried to make plans to go home to visit, something would interfere. I didn’t think much of it at first, but eventually I saw a pattern. That she was orchestrating it. And when I disagreed with her or went against her wishes, something would go wrong. My horse would turn up lame. Possessions would go missing. I’d get sick. But the worst thing was her obsession with my sister. She wanted to know everything about her, and most of all, she wanted me to convince Cécile to come to Trianon.”

He shook his head. “There wasn’t a chance, and I told her so. Told her I’d do everything in my power to keep both my sisters far away from her. And not an hour after our argument, I found myself halfway to the Hollow dead set on bringing Cécile back with me. Even though I knew that wasn’t what I wanted.”

Unease weighed me down as I realized the implications of his tale.

Fred rubbed his thumbs against his temples, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I knew what she was, then. And I knew that I needed to get away from her, so I moved into the barracks and refused to see her.” He swallowed audibly. “Days later, my horse died. My bunkmate fell ill. And then there was a girl I fancied, and she…” He broke off. “She flung herself off a bridge in full sight of witnesses. For no reason. None at all.”

He lifted his face to meet my gaze. “She didn’t need me to convince Cécile to come to Trianon, but that didn’t matter to her. Anyone who isn’t a slave to her will is her enemy, and she lives for taking revenge. And I knew if she caught me trying to stop Cécile from moving to Trianon that the consequences would be disastrous. Next, it could have been my father falling in front of a wagon or Josette… I couldn’t risk it.”

Gone now was any doubt that Genevieve knew of her powers and how to use them. But more than that, Fred’s story spoke of a personality, a way of being, that was eerily familiar. Warnings ran through my head, an idea, a notion that had never crossed my mind before abruptly coming to the forefront. That our target was hidden right in front of us.

But how? Genevieve’s birth and life were documented and known with certainty. She was not five centuries old, and that was fact. So she could not be Anushka. It was impossible. It had to be something else – that Genevieve was under Anushka’s compulsion. That the other witch was affecting her behavior. But why? What was the point of doing so, when all she needed was Genevieve’s life?

Tristanthysium, be wary. One of our friends is foe. Trust no one. Cécile’s voice interrupted my thoughts, demanding my attention. I waited, but nothing further echoed in my ears. Swearing, I started down the hall toward the ballroom, but Fred caught my sleeve. “When this is over, promise you’ll take Cécile away from her. Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”

If only I could. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect Cécile. No one is more precious to me than her.”

Although at the moment, no one was frustrating me more than her. Why was Cécile being obscure? Did she mean Genevieve? Was that what she’d discovered? But then why not tell me clearly?