Page 78 of A Kingdom of Lies

Duncan was right. I’d felt the human’s disdain towards us the moment I had run back to find him; hateful, burning looks were shot my way. And I couldn’t blame them. My presence had brought this horror to their homes. There was nothing I could’ve done or said to return life to the bodies that they mourned over. Children, husbands and wives. Homes destroyed. Streets littered with dark stains of blood.

“How far is Lockinge from here?” I asked.

“By horse,” Duncan replied quietly, fussing over the bloodied blade he still clung to, “two days. By foot, close to a week. We could steal a horse from the village’s stables, I think it would go unnoticed–”

“I’ll not give them another reason to hate me. Stealing their livestock is not an option, Duncan. We go by foot if that’s the case.”

I couldn’t do it, couldn’t take something from these people that didn’t belong to me, after I had been the cause of so much loss already. Part of me wanted to beg for them to understand, to sympathise with what I had lost, turn their hate towards the enemy beyond the Wychwood border, to Doran. But this was not the time.

“This is not your doing, Robin. These people may not see it now, but one day they will.”

“Such wise words are wasted on me,” I said, feeling hollow in my core, knowing what was to come. “We should have left days ago when we had the chance. Instead, I chose to give in to this stupid little… whatever this is between us. It’s done nothing but distract me from my goal.”

Duncan inhaled sharply, breathing through his clenched teeth as though my words had stabbed him in the chest. I would’ve felt the pang of guilt for my harsh words, but I was already drowning in it. Duncan was quiet for a moment, watching the humans intently who regarded us with just as much fear as the gryvern who had attacked them.

When he finally spoke, it was with a tone I’d not heard from him in days; short and sharp, like any useful knife, he replied, “There is a long journey ahead, Robin, far too long to wallow in self-pity.”

“Then let’s go.” I made to move, but Duncan grasped my wrist.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” Duncan said, eyes wide, brows creased. “If… if you say you’ve changed your mind on meeting with the Hand, I will release you – let you go.”

“What about those names you need me to collect?” I asked.

Duncan refused to look anywhere else but me when he replied. “They don’t matter.”

“What does then?”

He released my wrist, letting my hands fall back. “You.”

One single word pierced me deeper than any arrow could hope to do. This was my chance to turn back. To walk away. But then I remembered all those innocent fey hidden in a prison that no one knew about.

I had to do this for them. For answers – for their freedom.

“My mind hasn’t changed on the matter,” I said.

“Okay.” With that Duncan turned on his heel, pacing back towards the church.

I bit down on my lip, holding back the urge to call his name. But then I looked back at the scene of destruction and lost all ability to worry about Duncan and his feelings. I punished myself by glancing at every human I could see, studying their faces, remembering them. To imprint them each in my mind so when the time came to kill Doran it was for them as much as me. It was the least I could do.

But first I still needed an army, just not the one I originally set out for.

CHAPTER 27

Days seemed longer when they were consumed with silence.

Duncan worked hard to keep a gruelling pace as we travelled through Durmain’s landscape. I couldn’t speak on behalf of his body, but my feet were numb, my limbs aching to the point of feeling as though they’d given up on me. Not once did Duncan slow. Even if I picked up my pace, gritting my teeth against the discomfort, he always stayed ahead.

Nights were the worst. We were curled into balls with nothing but the jackets upon our backs for warmth. Still Duncan didn’t speak. I wanted to say something to him, to spark a conversation just for the chance to hear his voice; the thought of it was all-consuming. But as time went on, it became more difficult to know what to say.

Duncan was stubborn, which only pulled the string of tension between us tauter. I could recognise that we also shared that in common. Father had once referred to me as a mule; thinking back on it I had the urge to smile. His nickname at the time was a way of mocking my childish, stubborn tendencies; now the memory warmed my chest.Stubborn as a mule, he would say through fits of laughter. I wished I laughed alongside him. I would’ve given anything to hear him say it again.

So far, the weather stayed mild with clear skies, but the chill of winter was persistent nonetheless. It didn’t bother me, but I could see it effecting Duncan, chipping away at him slowly.

We had stayed clear of any villages or towns we had come close to. With the threat of more gryvern, it was best we didn’t bring them to the doors of humans who were unknowing and undeserving. Which meant food was limited to the little that Duncan had brought with him in the pack draped across his back. And no more alcohol. It was a reckless mistake, one of many.

I wouldn’t make them again.

Even when he offered me something to eat or drink, it had been without words, just an extended hand, held out long enough for me to silently take his offering. In hindsight they were perfect opportunities for me to say something to him.

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