Danielle Jensen - Stolen Songbird

“Good evening, Clarence,” the Comte said, his voice soft as he tugged me towards the next set of steps.

“Is she the one?”

“We’ll soon find out, I suppose,” Marc replied. His tone indicated that no further questions would be appreciated.

The thing called Clarence looked me over with glowing silver irises, as if wondering whether I was good enough to eat. I turned away, cringing. When I found the nerve to glance back, the troll had resumed its rolling progress.

“Am I the one for what?” I asked, darting a look at his face. But the Comte did not answer. My mind raced with possibilities, but none seemed to justify the effort that had gone into procuring me.

An impeccably clean cobbled street snaked down the side of the valley, but the Comte led us instead down the long flights of stone stairs towards the river below. The masonry was unlike anything I had ever seen, no surface left unadorned. It would have required centuries of work, but I supposed that centuries they’d had. Fountains and statues graced every corner. In place of greenery stood gardens of glassworks sculpted into trees, bushes, and flowers. The delicate displays would not have lasted more than a month exposed to the elements above ground. Then again, hailstorms likely did not trouble Trollus.

But it was an empty beauty. With the exception of ourselves and Clarence, I had not seen a single sign of life within the city. “Where is everyone?” I asked in a low voice.

“It is past curfew,” the Comte replied. “They are inside.” He gestured towards a building, and I noticed a set of curtains twitch shut, but not before I’d glimpsed a set of luminescent eyes staring out at me.

“That’s new,” Luc muttered, and I looked around with unease at the dark windows lining the streets. Now that I knew they were there, I could feel eyes on me. The Comte gripped the hilt of his sword with one leather clad hand, tension cloaking his shadowed form as he scanned our surroundings. “We should not linger,” he said, lengthening his stride so that I had to trot to keep up.

He relaxed only when we reached the palace rising up next to the misting river. Although the darkness prevented me from ascertaining its total magnitude, I suspected it was enormous. Passing through gilded gates guarded by armored trolls, we walked up a long drive flanked with marble statues and glasswork. The entrance to the palace loomed ahead of us, white and glittering gold in the Comte’s approaching light. It was more opulent than even the Regent’s palace in Trianon, but it was the silence that struck me most. No horses’ hooves, no barking dogs, no voices. Only falling water and the ever-present silver glow of troll-light.

“This way, please,” the Comte said, leading us through an unguarded entrance into the palace.

It was much darker within than without, illumination limited to the small orb dogging the troll’s steps. “Do you all have one of those lights?” I asked. “How do they work?”

He glanced up at the orb and it flared brighter and larger, split into three little orbs, and then reformed into one. “Magic,” he replied, “defies explanation.”

And I had no chance to ask for one as we reached a set of doors guarded by one troll. No… two? I tried not to stare at the troll as we walked by, but I’d never seen a man with two heads before. Both heads saluted and said, “My lord,” to the Comte, so I settled on two.

“I’d advise you to speak only when spoken to,” he murmured as we marched down the long hall. Looking over his shoulder at Luc, he added, “You as well.”

Our boots thudded against the tiled floor, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous room. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting my terrified expression back at me. Next to each of the columns supporting the roof stood a golden floor lamp carved into a fantastical creature, troll-light glowing from its eyes. The ceiling above was painted in a fresco, but the details were obscured by the dimness.

The two trolls on the far dais drew my gaze, for they could not have been more different. The male troll sat on the throne, or rather perched, for his enormous, silk-encased rolls did not fit between the arms of the chair. He stared intently at me, his glittering eyes shrewd. At his side stood an exceptionally lovely troll, long black curls cascading over her jeweled velvet clothing. Her expression was vacant and unseeing, and I shivered as a dreamy smile crossed over her lips.

The Comte stopped and bowed deeply. I curtsied awkwardly next to him.

“Your Majesty, may I present Mademoiselle Cécile de Troyes.”

The corpulent King peered down at me and then made a flapping gesture next to his head. The Comte hastily pulled back the hood of my cloak.

“Hmmm,” the King said, making a face. “I’m not sure this is what we bargained for, boy. We expected the girl to be attractive.”

If I hadn’t been so terrified, I would have been insulted.

The Comte came to my rescue. “She’s been through quite the ordeal, Your Majesty. They had a near encounter with a sluag, and she’s been ill treated by her guide. I’m certain once she’s cleaned up and properly attired, she will be a fair beauty.”

Whether the trolls found me attractive or not was the least of my concerns, but I was grateful for Lord Marc’s defense. There was something about the tone of his voice that suggested he did not support what was being done to me. And he had given his word that he would never harm me. Between Luc and the King, I was beginning to think that Marc was the closest thing I had to an ally in this place.

“Hmmm.” The King looked me up and down, silver eyes narrow. “I suppose there might be something beneath all the filth.”

“Let me see her,” said a shrill voice, and I searched the room for its source. “Turn around!” the voice demanded, and so I did.

“Not you, girl,” said the King.

Turning back to face the throne, I felt a wave of dizziness hit me. “Oh my,” I said. “Oh my, oh my.” It had been the Queen whom the voice had ordered to turn, and from her back sprouted a doll-sized woman who gestured for me to step closer.

“Come here, girl.”

Stiff-kneed and frozen in place, my heart pounded so hard it rivaled the waterfall for noise. The Queen began an awkward backwards shuffle towards me, her skirts tangling up her feet and threatening to send both of them toppling. Marc rushed forward to grasp her arm and prevent disaster, while I remained rooted still.

The little troll scowled. “You’d think after all these years you’d have learned to walk backwards, Matilde.”

“Thank you, Marc,” the Queen trilled, ignoring her twin. She shuffled until her miniature attachment and I stood face to face. “I am Sylvie Gaudin, Duchesse de Feltre.” She clamped child-sized hands on my cheeks. I squeaked, fighting the urge to slap her away. Her silver gaze bore into me, and I swear she delved into the depths of my soul. “This is the one.”

“Are you certain?” the King asked from his perch on the throne. “She rather smells.”

“She meets the criteria given to us by the foretelling. You do sing, don’t you?” the troll woman asked.

“Yes,” I croaked, not knowing why it mattered. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Why, to bond you to our dear Tristan,” the troll said, smiling at me. “You are to be a princess of Trollus and mother of his children; and in doing so, you will set us all free.”

The world spun and I jerked away from her grip. Behind me, a small group of trolls had silently gathered and they watched me stumble down the steps towards them. Not all of them were deformed, but they were monsters still, every one of them. And I was to wed one. To be bedded by one. To bear its children. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to be on my way to Trianon to get everything I had ever wanted. Now, not only had I lost everything – my family, my friends, my dreams – I had just been informed that what life I had left would be spent in an endless nightmare.