Page 97 of Huntsman
The last time I stood in this throne room, it was to accept the job of hunting down and assassinating Eshe Diallo. Now, just days later, I’m here again, but as the sacrificial lamb for Eshe instead of her killer.
Fate, that bad-bodied cunt, has a fucked-up sense of humor.
Pain hums through me, a constant companion that at times talks louder, its voice more annoying, and at others murmurs to me in a low whisper. Blood cakes my clothes and skin. Last night, Abena had someone come in and do the bare minimum in patching up my wounds. As in throwing butterfly bandages on injuries that clearly require stitches. But she can’t have me bleed out before killing me in front of Eshe and everyone else she’s gathered for this sick-ass sideshow.
This bitch need to get Iyanla to fix her mu’fuckin’ life.
And for me to say that shit, it’s saying something.
The air of… gaiety in here is disturbing. Like we’ve transported back to some French court with frivolous nobles and silly jesters and the one reigning supreme is the biggest joke of them all. Abena sits on that ridiculous ebony chair rimmed in silver and diamonds with the crown of blades fashioned on top of it. Is it lost on everyone but me that she had to give herself a crown just like she had to steal it? Because earning one was beyond her. She doesn’t have the disposition or heart of a real queen, so she had to kill for the crown, and here she is, prepared to murder again to keep it.
Yeah, a joke.
As if she feels my eyes on her, her head turns in my direction.
She has me propped up against the far wall, a guard on either side of me—soldiers from the night before—while waiting on the festivities to begin. The multitude of eyes on me crawls across my skin like a parade of ants, and I can’t say I blame them, given my condition, and that, until I was marched in like a prize fucking pig, they all thought I was dead. Not every day you see a dead man walking.
A smile curves her mouth.
I stare at her, let her glimpse the fury and hate howling like a hungry wolf inside me. Let her see her death.
And I watch that smile bleed from her face.
Yeah. I might die today, but fuck if I’m going alone.
“Show some fucking respect,” the soldier on my right snarls, then jabs me in my wounded hand.
A back draft of red fire rolls up my hand, through my arm, and into my chest, stealing my breath. Sweat dots my skin under my replaced shirt, and my gut roils with bile.
But I don’t flinch, don’t move except to shift my gaze from Abena to him.
His light brown skin reddens, and fear creeps into brown eyes even though he tries not to show it.
Tries and fails.
“Simeon,” the one on my other side snaps. “He’s chained and not a threat. We’re above that shit, and it’s not what we do. It’s not who the fuck we are,” she says, almost to herself. I catch the barest thread of self-disgust in her voice, and I remember her. She’s the soldier affected by the killing of her own the night before. Yeah, she might want to tighten up, or she won’t last long—like her friend. “Now, we’re here to guard the prisoner, nothing else. Keep your hands to yourself and fuckingguard.”
Simeon’s jaw clenches, works back and forth like he wants to say some shit, but ultimately, he gives her a sharp nod and mutters, “Yes, ma’am.” Then his whole face perks the fuck up as heturns toward the back of the throne room. “Oh shit. She’s here. I can’t believe she’s actually here.” He shoots me a look, his dark eyebrows pulling down over his nose. “She came for you.”
Though my mask doesn’t slip, the same confused wonder that fills his voice winds through me.
Confusion. Awe.
A terrible, deep fear for her.
And a wild, blinding… shit.No.
Why is she here? What the fuck is she thinking turning herself in forme? Not for me. I’m not…Fuck.
The female soldier grips my forearm, holding me in place, and I didn’t even realize I’d moved, shifted forward. I glance down at her, and she gives me the smallest shake of her head. It’s nearly unnoticeable.
Then she dips her chin again—it’s so slight, it’s barely there. But it is, and I turn my attention back to the wide double doors.
And Eshe.
If Abena or anyone in this throne room expected her to be cowed or humbled walking inside here, Eshe disappoints them.
Pride swells inside my chest, and though not twenty-four hours ago, I told her she wasn’t mine, this feeling in my soul doesn’t give a fuck.
