Of course.
Her Mirror, who’s never far from her side, glances at her. And for so quick a second that most would miss it, their gazes meet, communicate. I’m not most. And I can only imagine what that silent communication held.
“Do you really expect me to believe the Huntsman came for you? If that shit actually happened, you wouldn’t be here to tell the story. That man doesn’t miss. And as good as you believe yourself to be, you’re notthatdamn good.” She laughs again, and as expected, everyone joins her like the good lackeys they are. “Try again, Eshe.”
“Now, normally, I would agree with you. Not about me not being that damn good, because”—I roll my eyes, scoffing—“c’mon, stop it. Yeah, I am. But Iwouldusually agree with you about the Huntsman not missing his target. Yet there’s a first time for everything. ’Cause here I am. Alive ‘n’ breathing ‘n’ shit. Still…” I scratch my temple, balling my face up as if in deep thought. “There’s one thing I can’t figure out for the life of me. I mean, I’ll be the first to admit I can be a little… difficult. But the Huntsman? Like, who did I piss off that bad to put that mu’fucka on my ass?”
I shrug, glancing over at Tera and Nef as if they have the answers to my questions. But Tera shakes her head, and Nef juststares at me. Not that I expected an answer from her anyway. She’s not a talker. Most people take her silence and refusal to meet their gaze as shyness. But most people also don’t realize she’s too busy seeking out vulnerable parts of their bodies in which to stick her favorite blade to speak or look at their faces. Their bad.
Abena heaves a sigh. “I’m bored. And not that I’m calling you a liar, Eshe, but—”
“My bad, Auntie. But no worries. My long story just got shorter. He showed up, tried to kill me, but I got the drop on him first, blah, blah, blah. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say I didn’t get a chance to ask him who put the bounty on my head, because I was too busy killing him. Ding-dong, the Huntsman is dead. Huh.” I tap my bottom lip. “I think I like the sound of that. No wonder that shit is so catchy.”
A deafening silence fills the throne room. The only sound is the wind from outside the building and the tree branches lightly scratching against the windows. There’s not even the faintest sound of breath to break the consuming quiet. I don’t turn around to take in the reactions of the others in the room.
No, my sole focus and rapt attention is centered on Abena. With a sick and perverse glee, I study every minute flicker of emotion she battles to conceal. Battles and fails.
Fury.
Shock.
And fine traces of fear.
Fury, because the Huntsman failed and I’m standing here when I shouldn’t be.
Shock, because I’m announcing a bald-faced-ass lie that I killed the most feared assassin in our world, and she’s aware of it but can’t contradict me, because then she would be outing herself.
And fear, because she knows I’m as unpredictable and unstable as they come, and that scares the fuck out of her.
I smile, and damn if she doesn’t flinch.
“You killed the Huntsman?” She lets out a loud crack of laughter. Shaking her head, Abena leans forward, her long fingers curled around the arms of her chair like claws. “You expect all of us to believe that you accomplished what no one before you has ever been able to? There’s no way in hell—”
Her voice breaks off as I drag down the zipper of my jacket and reach inside, then pull out a balaclava and hold it up for her and everyone else in the room to see.
So what if after Malachi left my house last night, I broke into his house, entered the code I’ve seen him use countless times on the safe in his closet, and borrowed one of his signature balaclavas? Abena doesn’t know that, and neither does anyone else here. As I hold up the black leather face covering with the pointed top that resembles the head of a crowned eagle, there can be no doubt that it belongs to the Huntsman.
And if I have the Huntsman’s hood, then not only is my story about encountering the Huntsman true, then most likely so is my claim about killing him.
This time, the noise in the throne room is as thunderous as the silence that came before it. Shouts, curses, and even laughter punctuate the air. The wordsbad bitch,just like her mother, andnot to be fucked withcirculate among the kapteni and the soldiers. From the anger that steadily darkens Abena’s eyes and stiffens her body, I can tell she hears each and every one.
This is exactly what she hoped to avoid by sending the Huntsman after me. What she intended to stamp out before the roots could take further seed and grow vines.
Admiration for me.
Loyalty for me.
Desire for me.
And yet, her actions have given me the opportunity to sow those very seeds of discontent into her own ground.
Without breaking her gaze, I approach the dais and climb the steps.
“Here you go, Abena.” I offer her the balaclava with an almost-soft smile. “For you.”
To those watching, it appears like a gift from a devoted subject. When in truth, it’s checkmate.
She has no choice but to take it. Either that, or look like a sulky, petulant child in front of everyone in the room.
