Page 7 of Her Cruel Redemption

‘We can start tomorrow if you’d like.’

‘I’ll add it to my schedule.’

I didn’t look at her as her footsteps drew closer. Moved past me. Leaving me here to obsess alone. But she paused at my back, and her fingertips briefly touched my shoulder. ‘You’re safe here. I know you don’t trust us to have your best interests at heart, but know that we’ve protected this valley since long before humanity reached these shores.’ Then she was walking away, trekking back through the twilight-lit trees, who seemed to shiver as she passed them by. I returned my focus to that bullseye. Maybe what she said was true and I was safe for as long as I stayed with the Yoxvese, but I wasn’t willing to bet on it. And I wasn’t willing to spend my life hiding here, either. I wasn’t enchanted by the place like Gwinellyn was. I missed the familiar, human comforts of the world beyond the Yawn. And, more importantly, I wouldn’t stay here in quiet retirement while I had a score to settle.

I lined up my aim. Threw the knife. The blade flashed as it spun, before it hit the tree with the satisfyingthumpthat meant it had landed. I narrowed my eyes, drifting closer as I tried to judge if what I was seeing was accurate, but as I drew closer a grin spilled across my mouth.

A perfect bullseye.

Chapter Four

Iwas sure to be dissatisfied, but as I walked, I couldn’t help fingering the sharp prick of anticipation thatthistime would reap some kind of reward, some new information. I knew it was unlikely, but the anticipation was there all the same.

The guard at the door wasn’t surprised to see me. He opened it as soon as he caught sight of me, already aware of where I was heading, and his eyes stayed fixed firmly on the ground as I passed. I walked into a brightly-lit tea room, the apartment of some aristocrat who no longer had use of it after they fled the city. Luxurious. Well-appointed. Kept warm and clean. The woman staring at me from her position seated by a tea table didn’t seem to appreciate that fact, though. She looked as carefully constructed as ever, her blond hair pulled back in an immaculate bun, not a strand out of place, and her cream-coloured dress without crease or blemish. Her expression was arranged just as deliberately, her mild eyes showing neither fear nor anger.

‘Good evening, Leela,’ I said as I took my seat at the table. ‘Are you well?’

‘Quite well, Your Majesty,’ she said, as she did every evening, right before she poured tea that neither of us ever drank. I didn’t trust her not to poison me. She was too busy watching my every move to take a sip.

‘Are you comfortable?’ I asked, to which she would reply that she was, and we would tread the same tired old script from there.

‘I am.’

‘Has anyone treated you poorly?’

‘No.’

‘Are you being given enough to eat?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you need more books or paper?’

‘I’m satisfied with what you’ve already given me, thank you.’

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Perhaps some more time outside?’

‘I can arrange that.’

‘And my freedom.’

She always made that request. I respected her for trying. ‘No.’

We stared at each other over the steam of our untouched tea.

‘Have you been receiving your mail?’ I asked slowly. Two letters this week. One from her parents and one from her sister.

‘Yes.’

‘You know you could reply to your letters if you chose to. I would have them delivered.’

‘Yes.’ She never did. She had a fresh stack of paper and a set of wax seals on a table by the window, where they sat untouched.

‘You could tell your family where you are. Reassure them you’re alive.’

She didn’t respond.

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