Page 22 of Thorn Season
I couldn’t forget it.
Keil stopped ahead of me, foot propped against the door of my feeble cell. I stormed past him, faltering when I noticed a chair in the earthen room, stacked with a cloak, a waterskin, and three new apples. All courtesy of the blond man, no doubt.
Footsteps shuffled behind me, and I turned to find Keil holding a long strip of white cloth. “Your hand, please, my lady.”
I stepped back, wary.
He nodded to the fist I’d clenched around my skirts. “To rebandage your wound.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said, concerned that he might try to bind my wrists instead.
“I really must insist. Leaving a wound open in this environment risks infection.” He held his free hand out to me, palm open. “It won’t take a moment.”
The crackling of the torches filled the silence as I remained tense, unmoving. After a beat, Keil seemed to realize why.
“I mean only to dress the wound,” he said, voice softening. “Truly.”
I glanced skeptically between his broad palm and his bright, earnest eyes.
Slowly, I lifted my hand.
Keil met me halfway, his body shifting with the low groan of leather, his warm fingers taking mine. Cradling the back of my hand, he angled my palm to assess the cut. The salve shone in the firelight, and guilt flickered in his eyes.
Then, as promised, he began dressing the wound.
He worked quickly but gently, layering the bandage over and undermy thumb, his fingers brushing my skin with every wrap around. He was securing the fabric at my wrist when he broke the quiet.
“I don’t want your father’s gold.”
I glanced up at him but found no trace of amusement. Only a solemn shadow, passing like mist across his face.
“Something was stolen from me.” His fingers paused, gaze still lowered to my hand. “This is the only way I know to get it back.”
I startled, and only Keil’s hold on the bandage kept me from tearing away.
“My father is no thief,” I ground out.
Keil tied off the bandage in silence, his jaw flickering. He was still holding my wrist loosely in his palm when his eyes lifted to mine—searching, considering something.
Then he said, quietly, “He’s a Capewell, isn’t he? They’re all thieves.”
“TheCapewells... ?” I blinked. Slowly shook my head.
It should’ve been impossible. The Capewells safeguarded their identities as the king’s Hunters, even to their own displeasure. But from the way Keil was looking at me, with bleak confirmation... he knew exactly what the Capewells were.
My stomach plunged.They will poison you, and bleed you, and show you no mercy, I’d threatened. These Wielders surely wanted revenge against the monsters who threatened their existence.
And I might have just enticed them to start with me.
I ripped my hand away and stumbled back, heart pounding. It was too cruel—too ironic—these Wielders killing me because of my Hunter blood.
Keil took a backstep of his own, clearly sensing my fresh panic. “You’re in no danger, my lady.” He spoke measuredly, holding mystare. “I’m not in the business of punishing innocents for the misfortune of their bloodlines.”
“No? Then why am I here?” My voice whipped out sharper than I’d expected. “You think the Capewells stole something from you—”
“I don’tthinkanything.”
“Yes, that much is obvious,” I snapped. “If you’d given this kidnapping scheme two seconds of thought, you would’ve realized that my father and I arePaines. We have no interest in the Capewells or their business.”
