Page 108 of A Thieving Curse

Raelyn returned her focus to digging, even though her back ached and her shoulders complained with every movement. Her palms were raw from rubbing against the wooden handle, and her wrists burned from the chafing of the rope. The pain helped drive her and give her something to think about other than why she was digging, or all the questions Lucas would never ask again.

A heavy hand clasped her shoulder. “Enough, Princess Raelyn,” Tristan said.

She lifted another scoop of dirt and tossed it onto the growing pile. Tristan took the shovel away. He had taken off his armor and gloves. The belt around his waist held only his dagger. She tried to take the spade back, but he handed it to one of the soldiers.

“Get this done.” Tristan held up her hands and examined the blisters and raw skin in the feeble light. “Oh, princess. I should have stopped you sooner.” He put his arm around her and led her away.

Alex strained to look at her as they walked past. “Are you all right, Rae?”

“Don’t answer him.”

“You should have let me help, you heartless scoundrel!”

Tristan stopped. Dread made Raelyn’s stomach flop as Tristan turned. Why did Alex have to draw attention to himself? Alex sat still, his fists clenched as he scowled at his cousin. Tristan released her and beckoned to Alex’s guard.

“Hold her.” Tristan crouched behind Alexander as the man grabbed hold of her arms.

Raelyn’s throat tightened. “What are—”

“I suppose these holes aren’t much use to you anymore.” Tristan poked his finger through one of the shirt’s wing openings and ran it over Alex’s skin. Alex stiffened. “Seems a pity to have form without function.” Tristan drew his dagger.

“Don’t!” Raelyn tried to pull free, but the man wouldn’t let go.

Tristan grabbed the back of Alex’s neck and pushed him forward. Alex snarled, as well as a human could snarl. The steel blade of Tristan’s dagger gleamed in the moonlight as he brought it over the hole in Alex’s shirt.

“Stop!” Raelyn’s legs trembled.

Tristan sliced the blade’s tip from the top of the wing opening to the bottom. Alex screamed and arched his back, and Raelyn swallowed the bile pushing up her throat. Alex tried to move, but Tristan held him down. She turned her face away as Tristan moved the dagger over.

“No!” Meredith wailed. “Please—”

Alex screamed again, and the sound echoed over the mountain. Raelyn couldn’t stop herself from looking. Tristan stood. Alexander sat hunched over his legs as blood trailed down his back from two cuts as long as her hand where his wings had been. His shoulders quaked as he whimpered.

Raelyn collapsed. The man holding her wasn’t prepared, and she fell hard on her knees. She retched between sobs. Her chest and stomach pinched, and her throat burned. The scent of vomit stung her nostrils, and Alex’s moans filled her ears. The sound of shovels had stopped. Silence blanketed the camp. She pried her eyes open, her entire body still shaking.

Meredith knelt next to Alex, gently stroking his head. Peter gripped the shovel in his hands like a weapon. Alex’s blood stained the dagger in Tristan’s hand. Raelyn wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stood unsteadily, moving away from the vomit.

“Keep your distance,” Tristan said. “Or I’ll give the monster reminders of his tail and horns, too.”

Her upper lip curled. “You’re the only monster here!”

Tristan’s jaw tightened. “Disrespect me”—he pointed the dagger at Alex—“same thing.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” She bowed her head and shrank back.

“All right.” Tristan wiped the dagger on Alex’s shoulder. “Goodnight, my lady.” He walked away toward one of the campfires.

36

RAELYN STAYED AWAY from Alex, but she watched Peter and the soldier bury Lucas’s body. Jasper said a few words, but she was too numb for them to make any sense. Some knight led her to a campfire and gave her a piece of cooked hare. Jasper, Meredith, and Peter were given bread crusts.

Alexander and Gareth were given nothing.

Raelyn stared at the meat, her stomach too knotted to have an appetite. She looked over at Gareth.

Tristan had ordered Gareth stripped of his armor, including his gambeson, and his hands were bound behind his back. A rope trailed from his wrists to a stake in the ground. Gareth’s tan trousers and a thin white shirt wouldn’t do much against the chilly night air. And Tristan had left him so far from any of the fires.

Her guard had stepped away to talk to another man, and they had their backs toward her. Cautiously, she moved to a low crouch and crept from shadow to shadow until she reached Gareth. She held the meat out to him, but he shook his head.

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