Page 44 of The Huntsman's Heart
I don’t want to trust any part of what Alaric says. He doesn’t deserve my trust. I don’t want to do anything to help him, even if helping him means destroying him and the queen he serves.
So where does that leave me?
Melantha must be stopped. I saw with my own eyes the way she devoured my father. There is little enough left of his kingdom now, and if she’s left unchecked she will destroy Erenvold and its lands and holdings within a few years. More than that, I want revenge for the life she tore from me and for the way she left my father withered, alone, and forgotten in his death bed once she finally had what she wanted from him.
If Alaric was telling the truth, then she must be a powerful sorceress indeed to have defied death for as long as she has.
Then again, if Alaric was telling the truth, then I should be just as subject to the curse that binds him to the queen. And then I realize. He said what gives Melantha power over him is the fact she holds his dead heart captive. So who holds my heart? What did he do with it?
If he truly did tear it from my body and perform the magic to turn me into this, then why doesn’t he control me?
I start when a warm hand gently touches my shoulder, and I realize the sun has dipped below the horizon while I’ve been lost in thought. “You are troubled, princess,” Raban says softly.
I sigh. “I am.”
He presses a kiss to my temple and straightens. “Should I check on our prisoner?”
I shrug. “If you wish to.”
He doesn’t move, though. After a moment, Corvin and Évandre alight beside him.
“Will you tell us what is on your mind?” Évandre asks, looking between me and Raban.
I tuck my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees. No need to worry about sitting in a ladylike manner any more I suppose. “He—Alaric told me something while you slept. I am not sure whether to believe him or not.”
Corvin frowns. “More lies?”
“Perhaps. But the more I think on it, the more I think he’s telling me at least part of the truth.”
“What did he tell you?” asks Raban. His long tail swishes slowly in the air behind him.
“That my stepmother has power over him. That he is the one who made me into a monster like him.”
Corvin’s expression darkens and his wings flex. “Then it was him. Shall we tear him limb from limb for you and see if that accomplishes what we could not last night?”
That draws a grim smile from me, though I doubt it would work. “No. At least not yet.”
“Then can we at least tear out his tongue so he cannot lie to you again?”
There’s a growl from the hounds who I’ve always suspected understand more of our speech than ordinary dogs would.
I stand, stretching stiff limbs. “I need a distraction while I think about what to do with him. Let us train.”
Évandre nods. “An excellent idea. You are making fine progress. It would be a shame to stall.”
They carry me down to the courtyard, and I tie back my hair and prepare myself to fight. All the while I’m relacing my bootsand plaiting my hair, I feel Alaric’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him. At least he stays silent, allowing me to pretend to ignore him.
Frustration at least has the benefit of lending strength to my blows. I smile in grim satisfaction as the sword cuts a piece from the training weapon Évandre wields as I swing it around and make contact with a crack.
“Good,” he calls, darting out of the way with a flap of his wings, making me push myself harder to go after him, drawing on speed beyond what I had when I was alive.
It took me many nights to realize what I was capable of, and many more to lean into the use of it. Now I move so fast I can defeat two of them at once and jump so high I can catch Évandre and drag him back out of the air when he tries to leap out of the way.
I knock him down and twist in time to dodge a blow from Raban. As his sword tip crashes into the dirt, I’m already leaping at him. I dash his weapon away with my foot, then charge at him. I push him down and sit on his chest with my blade to his throat. “Yield.”
“Gladly, princess.” He laughs.
I can’t help returning his grin, which is infectious. “You had better not have allowed me to win.”
