Page 84 of The Huntsman's Heart
“Wait!” Rushing to the bed, he snatches a heavy blanket and throws it around me, finally smothering the flames.
I whimper. The pain is intense. But I have one last chance and will not hesitate this time.
Clenching my fists, I stagger to my feet. I drag myself to the dressing table and yank away the cloth covering the mirror.Then I catch sight of my reflection. For a moment I can barely comprehend that it’s me.
My face is blacked and singed, my long hair burned away, my lips raw and chapped. My clothes are all but gone, rags hanging from my frame. From my arms and legs, skin sloughs away in drifts that turn my stomach.
Shutting my eyes, I reach around the mirror, searching for the hidden catch. My fingers slide over smooth wood fruitlessly.
With a scream, I snatch up the chair and smash the mirror, revealing the cabinet behind where a small silver chest sits hidden. Reaching through the mess of broken glass, I close my hand around it and draw it out.
Mine at last.
Guinevere
A moment later, Corvin and Évandre drop a dripping Alaric in through the window, scrambling in behind him. He straightens and catches sight of the object in my hands.
For a second, I don’t recognize the joy in his expression. It changes his whole demeanor, making him seem almost young.
He runs to me and reaches for me, checking himself at the last moment. “Your skin. Does it hurt?”
I shake my head. It’s excruciating, but none of that matters with his heart in my hands. He is looking worse for wear too, his long hair blackened at the tips, his face smudged with soot and ash and raw and blistered in places from the fire.
I hold the box out to him. “This is yours.”
His larger hands close over mine and I wince. He pushes the box back gently toward me. “No. It is yours.”
There’s no time to say more. The door bursts open and Melantha strides in, surrounded by five armed guards. She stops dead when she spots the box in my hands. “Thief! How did you find that?”
“It never belonged to you.” I direct my next words to palace guards. “I have no wish to harm you, but if you stand in my way, I cannot guarantee your safety. Stand aside if you wish to live.”
The guards look between me, Alaric, and the three tall gargoyles. First one, then each of them lays his sword at his feet and steps back, arms raised in a gesture of surrender. “Yes, princess.”
“Traitors!” Melantha turns and runs.
I smile at Alaric. “Bring her back.”
I don’t need to tell him. He’s already racing after her. He catches her before she rounds the corner in the corridor, grabbing her by the neck and hauling her screeching back to the solar.
The gargoyles gather up the guards’ weapons. And now I’m faced with the task of deciding what to do with my stepmother.
Alaric binds her hands behind her back, and I look at her, trying to see what both he and my father saw in her to be so blinded. She is beautiful, I suppose. Her features elegant, classic. But knowing her like I do, there’s a sharp edge to her beauty that distorts it into something else. Her brows too high, her chin too pointed. Or perhaps Alaric’s spell is already wearing off, leaving her beauty brittle and ready to snap.
“You little bitch,” she spits at me. “Do you think they will follow you when they see what a monster you’ve become?”
“I am what you made me.” I straighten my back, but her words cut to the bone. I am a monster. There’s no denying it. And why should they follow me any more than they should follow her?
I turn away in disgust.
A young boy stops aghast in the open doorway. He looks between the bound queen and the gargoyles and Alaric and finally his gaze falls on me. His mouth drops open. He dips his head in a bow. “Princess Guinevere, I have been sent to say that monsters are at the gate. The guards are needed.”
Melantha cackles wildly, and we all look at her, surprised. She fingers a long necklace with a round charm dangling between her breasts. “Imagine what they will do if they cannot find any meat. They might scale the walls and eat us all.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Corvin strides toward her and tears the chain from her neck. He holds up the bone disc and his lips move as he mutters, reading aloud words in a language I don’t recognize.
Évandre and Raban gasp as he finishes, and I look between them.
