Page 20 of The Huntsman's Heart
“Oh, we have no reason not to trust you,” says Évandre.
Corvin snorts. “Shall I start listing them?”
Raban elbows him. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“What do you mean?” My temper flares, and it definitely shows in my voice. I can’t help it. I’m tired. I’ve been alone in the woods. I’ve been abducted, raped, attacked, left for dead. These creatures don’t seem like monsters, but nor are they human. Really, what did I expect? “You won’t help me?”
Raban shrugs. “We will of course be happy to be of service to a princess, but we can't leave Havenrock.”
Understanding dawns. Even if they were willing to help, they can’t give me what I need. They can’t escort me through the woods and help me reach home in safety.
Suddenly the size of my problem looks impossibly large. What hope is there? I’ve already wasted too much time probably traveling in the wrong direction. Now I’m completely lost, alone in the forest with no way to get home.
To my shame, hot tears rise and choke the back of my throat, and I let out a little sob. “Then I may as well throw myself to the first monster I meet. I have no chance of making it home alive.”
Évandre gives me a grave look. “I hate to tell you this, princess, but you are dead already.”
“What?” I blink at him through blurry eyes. “Do not be ridiculous.”
Raban twists his mouth into a sympathetic frown. “Oh he’s not. He’s serious. We thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
Corvin rolls his eyes. “You’re dead. Deceased. Passed away. You’ve had it.” He draws a line across his throat with his finger.
“You are out of your mind. Or I am. Talking to statues.” I turn to go.
Raban calls out to me. “Wait! Princess!”
I pause, thinking he is about to warn me of some danger outside the gates or change his mind about helping.
With a small flap of his wings, he hurries around in front of me, his eyes big and earnest. He holds out his hands and takes mine in his larger ones. “Just wait a moment and listen.”
I’m about to ask him what he means, but he gently places my hands on my chest, right over my heart. “Feel.”
In the pause, no one speaks. I sense them all watching me, though.
Even the dogs are quiet for now. Which doesn’t help me.
I hear the breeze whistling through the pine needles beyond the gates and feel the cool on my cheek.
I feel Raban’s warm hands over mine.
“What am I supposed to be listening for exactly?”
“Your heart. Can you feel it beating?”
I frown, but he’s right. I feel nothing. I’ve just got my hand in the wrong place. I shift, waiting to feel the familiar thud, thud, but there’s still nothing.
Scared, I glance down at myself, at the dried blood, the torn clothing.
“No,” I whisper.
The gargoyles say nothing.
Tearing my hands away from Raban’s warm grip, I yank at my chemise, not caring for propriety. I stare in horror at the huge gash which rends my chest between my breasts. At the knotty scar already forming where the skin has been roughly knit back together. Skin that is deathly pale.
“No.” It’s useless protesting, but somehow the word feels like the only way to fight this fate.
