Page 77 of Thorn Season
I grasped his hand. He cast me a flesh-searing look, but I didn’t let go. Because I finally understood.
The trial hadn’t taken this toll on Junius. TheHuntinghad.
“I can’t bring them back,” I said quietly. “But maybe I can do something else.”
22
“Ilooked into Nelle’s whereabouts,” Garret said, the revelry outside drowning his voice. Beyond our ivy-covered alcove, the fresh air was abuzz with laughter and the rhythmicwhoosh-thudas arrows sent apples into troughs.
This afternoon, every noble would pay tribute to the gods of harvest by firing two arrows into two apples—the first for good produce, the second for good appetite. All pierced apples would be stewed, spiced, and folded into sugar-dusted pies.
“And?” I asked, stomach growling as the scent of caramel sauce drifted from the kitchens.
“And Carmen wasn’t lying. Nelle moves around often and covers her tracks. She was last seen in Avanford one year ago.”
I grimaced. Nelle was still my lead suspect, but since visiting Backplace, my threads of information crisscrossed like cobweb silk. I’d considered that Nelle’s strongest motive for these Huntings was to produce an unstable kingdom, ripe with tension and ready to fall.
But fall to whom, if Carmen was truly fleeing Daradon with her lover?
Perhaps Garret had been right and weweredealing with Wholeborn extremists, motivated only by their hatred of Wielders. But if so,was Nelle still best-placed at the top of my list? Other figures at court displayed a more obvious Wielder intolerance—like Sabira, who was already scouring her province’s abandoned smithies for sympathizer units.
But it had beenNelle’schamber key beside Wray’s body—and that fact looped me back to the beginning of my theory cycle.
Clearly missing a piece of the picture, I’d thought to access Nelle directly.
Now I could only hope Kevi Banday knew enough about the copycats to make my next request worthwhile.
“I need information,” I said stiltedly, “about the Hunting on the Jacomb estate.” I lowered my voice to explain exactly what I’d offered Junius yesterday.
Garret’s forehead puckered. “You shouldn’t have promised that.”
“Can you get it or not?”
A sigh whistled through his nose. This was the first we’d spoken since Grayday, when, after having touched my specter for the first time in seven years, he’d left me staring after him. I’d believed he’d drawn all the way back into himself then, unreachable.
And yet our interaction today felt...fragile. Like the pain we’d both laid bare that night had truly paved a new ground beneath us—but that one wrong step would send us falling through the cracks.
Finally, he said, “I’ll try.” Then, stiffly, unused to showing concern: “Remember they might be watching you now. You’re being careful?”
Actually, I replied internally,I’ve been traipsing around the city, not-so-subtly asking for information about my attacker’s weapon.
But before I could think of a more palatable answer, applause erupted from Erik’s group of nobles; the king had just struck his first apple off its stand. He milked the attention before aiming again, hissecond arrow zipping straight and true. The group cheered louder, like the juice spray of an apple was the most entertaining thing they’d ever seen.
My gaze drifted to a nearby group, where, in contrast to Erik’s silver-blue grandeur, Keil stood as a figure of sun-soaked gold, all easy composure and rolling muscles. He was chatting, laughing, demonstrating the proper archery stance to a cohort of giggling noblewomen. Defying tradition, he’d nocked both arrows at once, and now he angled diagonally before the two stands.
He drew the bowstring taut—his white shirt straining around his biceps, his back muscles bunching with the pull—and I warmed with the memory of his body locked around mine. I was wondering how those muscles might feel in a softer embrace, going loose against me, when Keil released the bowstring—and his arrows whooshed free, hitting the apples in a successivesplat-splat. The resulting applause of Keil’s little group rivaled that of the king’s.
I bit my lip around a smile.
“That’s the ambassador?” Garret murmured, reclaiming my attention. He’d been watching me watch Keil. Now his gaze narrowed on the Wielder, and I tensed, awaiting that spark of recognition. But Garret’s expression flickered instead with something like rivalry as he said, “He’s young.”
I exhaled. I didn’t want Garret knowing where to find the Wielder who’d disarmed him on the Verenian fields, and whose accomplices had beaten him bloody. Though, truthfully, I didn’t know which of the two men I was trying to protect.
Garret turned toward me again, adjusting his cufflink. “I should get back before Briar notices I’m gone. She’s no closer to locating the compass, and growing more anxious by the day.”
“Good,” I muttered.
“Youdon’t have to live with her.” He quirked a brow, smirking. “She nearly disemboweled one of your cousins last night for breathing too hard near her dinner plate.”
