Page 84 of Kill the Beast
Lyssa barely made it through the stone archway before she sank to her knees and started screaming, releasing all of the rage and hurt and betrayal pent up inside of her until her throat was raw and her voice gave out.
A crow shot out of the trees, its edges blurring as it somersaulted into Nadia. “What happened?” the little witch asked breathlessly as she staggered to her feet.
“What’s going on?” Ragnhild shouted, the undergrowth rustling as she materialized from it, a basket of mushrooms in the crook of her arm.
Lyssa ran her hands over her tearstained face and glared at the old witch. “Did you know?” she rasped.
“Knowwhat,girl?” Ragnhild said, but there was trepidation in her eyes. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“That Alderic…” She had to force the words out past the lump in her throat. She still couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. “That Alderic is the Beast of Buxton Fields.”
The witches exchanged a panicked glance.
“You knew!” Lyssa snarled, arms wrapping around her middle as if she could somehow keep herself from falling apart. Betrayal after betrayal, lies upon lies.
“We knew he was a Hound,” Nadia said quickly. “We didn’t know he was the Beast.”
But Ragnhild was quiet, and the look on her face…
“Tell me,” Lyssa demanded. “Tell me the truth.”
“I knew he was the Beast,” Ragnhild said, breaking Lyssa’s heart anew. “At least, I assumed he was. His magic felt tethered to you, somehow, perhaps because of that oath you swore. And while it is not unheard of for a Hound to want to kill another Hound, more often than not they want to kill themselves.”
“Rags,” Nadia breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Lyssa glared at the old witch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The bones—”
“Fuckthe bones!” she screamed, and it turned into a sob. She curled in on herself, pressing her forehead to the ground. It felt like she was drowning, like she was being dragged out to sea in a current too strong to fight, and there was no one left to save her.
Eventually, she regained some semblance of control. Drew in a ragged breath. “How is Alderic a Hound?” she croaked, numb. “He’s a human.” Her shock was ebbing now, bewilderment crashing in to take its place, and it felt like there were a thousand questions all clamoring to get out of her at once.
“All of the Hounds are humans,” Ragnhild replied, her face softening as Lyssa gaped at her. “Or they were, once. Some are like Alderic, transforming into monsters until either the terms of their curses are met or they are killed by a magical weapon. Some remain in their beastly forms year-round.”
Lyssa looked down at her hands. At the dirt caking her palms. “Every Hound I’ve killed was… a human? But I thought…” She had thought she wasprotectingher own kind, so that no innocent would ever have to lose a life to the faeries again. The only humans she had ever allowed herself to kill were the Hound-wardens—no better than faeries themselves, and a threat to everyone around them. Even the king seemed to agree. But this…
She had thought that she was exacting justice. That she was like Ungharad, wielding her sword and righteous fury in order to balance the wrongs the faeries had committed against the humans.
Was that what Honoria had been fighting for, this entire time? To protect wretched, faerie-cursedhumansfrom the undiscerning blade of the Butcher?
Ragnhild crouched down in the dirt beside her, grunting with the effort. Nadia made no move to join them, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot like she wanted to run away into the forest.
“Yes, child,” the old witch said, with a gentle hand on Lyssa’s shoulder. “You have been killing humans.”
“Why?” It was a dozen questions rolled into one, because her brain refused to form the rest. But Ragnhild seemed to know what she meant.
“To end their suffering.”
“You lied to me.” Lyssa turned her tearstained face to the woman who had taken her in nearly thirteen years ago, the woman who had shaped her into a weapon of vengeance. Or so she had thought.
“Your rage was useful,” Ragnhild said. She sighed, looking ancient and worn. “I know you, girl, as much as you pretend like we’re barely more than acquaintances, after all this time. The world is black and white to you. It would have been hard for you to slay some poor human who had simply wronged a faerie in some way—you would have thought me pitiless, instead of merciful. But you are eager to kill in the name of what you think is justice. I merely used that to my own ends.”
“But why kill them at all?” Lyssa demanded. “You said they are cursed—why not meet the terms of each curse to free them?”
“Because the Wicked Ones were cruel, and made it all but impossible to break their curses. And because most of the Hounds have lived so long with the guilt of what they have been forced to do, that all they crave at this point is death.”
Lyssa thought of Alderic, who had been desperate enough to hire her to kill him. Alderic, who was covered in scars from trying to end his life himself.
