Page 143 of A Game of Monsters

And I was safe with him, no matter the part he was playing.

I scrambled up before he tugged on my leash again, uncaring for the further discomfort he caused me.

Duncan led me through the gathered crowd, directly toward the structure of monstrous tents. As soon as we were out of ear shot, I readied myself to say something. But as the first word left my mouth, Duncan pulled hard on the leash, making me choke on the words.

“Not here,” he hissed, turning casually around. I took it as a signal, following his gaze to the mirrors stationed all around the camp. Cassial was watching, no doubt. Duncan understood that. He had a part to play, as did I.

“Where’s your Saviour?” I shouted, feigning panic and hate for the Nephilim before me, when the truth couldn’t be more opposite.

“Occupied,” Duncan replied, choosing his words carefully. “You will begracedwith his presence soon. Once I ensure you do not pose a threat to him, that is.”

Occupied. It could mean a few things, but the way Duncan said it, the tone he used, told me that there was only one fact behind his answer.

Cassial wasn’t here.

If not, then where was he? Had he already gone for Jordin Elmdew, ready to implant Duwar into the vessel of a child?

Duncan guided me into the shadowed archway of a tent. As I entered, the smell of blood slammed into me. It clogged in my throat, souring my tongue and making me gag. Duncan relaxed his pull on me as he rounded up to the back of another person.

A woman stood facing something on a table before her. Her form was hulking, with shoulders as broad as mountains and a stature tall and imposing. She wasn’t a Nephilim – evident from the lack of wings – but that didn’t take away from the aura of strength she emitted.

As she turned around, I caught a glimpse of another person, laid out across the metal table. She blocked their face from view, standing in front of me with hands clasped to a large, serrated knife, equally as bloodied as the black apron tied around her waist.

“Ah, so the famed Icethorn king has finally arrived, just as the Saviour knew he would.” Her gravelly voice itched across my bare skin.

“Is this the welcome party?” I asked, hissing as Duncan tugged once again on my lead.

The woman ignored me as she lifted the bloodied knife and pointed in my direction. Down the jagged edges of the blade, she studied me with narrowed, hateful eyes.

“I knew that one day I’d get the chance to meet the boy who killed my brother. It’s my honour to finally have you in my presence.” She looked back to Duncan, excitement and pride swelling over her rosy-cheeked face. “Well done, initiate. You have proved yourself useful.”

“This success has little to do with me,” Duncan replied, fingers digging into my shoulder, anchoring me in place before the woman could snatch me away. “Robin Icethorn decided himself to come and pay us a visit.”

“I came because you placed Althea’s head on a spike and lured me here,” I snapped, wondering what game Duncan was playing, and how I could further it.

“Then it is fate that I get this meeting, oh how I have craved it for a long time.” She refused to look anywhere but at me, and I saw the feral hunger for blood in her gaze, as potent as if she’d just used her words to tell me exactly what she wanted to do with me.

I chose not to hold her stare, instead searching for clues as to who she was. Apparently, I’d killed her brother, but that was like searching for a needle in a haystack these days.

“I was unconvinced your idea would work but using yourmistakeand turning the outcome to something positive will benefit you in the Saviour’s grace,” she said, voice rough from years of the pipe no doubt.

“I live to please.” Duncan bowed. “Thank you for your praise.”

She dismissed his bow with a wave of her blood-caked hand. “Now,” she said, settling bulbous dark eyes on me once again. There were smudges across her skin, dark brown stains that could’ve been shit, if I didn’t know better. It was blood, she was covered in it. “Hand him over. I will deal with the rest from here.”

“Cassial has requested that the Icethorn is kept alive.”

“I know that,” the woman spat, rubbing the knife down her apron. It was then I noticed the faint outline of a symbol. A once-white imprint of a hand, now covered in blood and grime.

She was a Hunter. But I couldn’t work out who her brother was, the one she’d referred to. The one whom I’d allegedly killed.

“Then there is no need for that knife,” Duncan said, gesturing to the blade she waved around. “Robin is not to be killed, Cassial has use for him.”

“Your Saviour also promised me I can have somefun,” the Hunter said. “Who said anything about killing him? No, no. I will keep the Icethorn fey alive, but I cannot promise how many pieces he will be returned to you in. Hand him over. I’ve waited long enough for this day. I will not postpone it for another moment.”

Duncan didn’t move. Not even as the woman extended her hand, waggling fingers impatiently. I looked down his strained arm, to knuckles which had paled as he gripped the end of my leash.

His hesitation was seconds from giving him away. I had to do something. Already, I recognised the change in emotion on the woman’s face as she watched Duncan lose himself to his inner thoughts.

---