Unable to abide him one moment longer, I march from the hall, half expecting him to stop me for no other reason than to yell at me for turning my back on him.
He doesn’t, though, thank God.
I have no destination in mind, with most of the castle still a mystery. All I know is I need to flee the hall. Put as much distance as possible between Wren and me because I just learned a cruel lesson.
It’s possible to love someone with your whole heart…
…and also hate them with your whole soul.
18
WREN
“John destroyed another village.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, my blood suddenly thick as sludge in my veins. It’s been quiet for a full fortnight, with no reports coming to us of new attacks. Should have expected the reprieve would be short-lived. My hand instinctively moves to my sword, compelled by the need to run the weapon through the king’s heart. “Which one?”
Quinn drops onto the chair opposite me in the hall’s sitting area. The stressed wood groans under the sudden weight. He’s dusty from the road and stinks of sweat and horse. “Haversville.” He scratches a hand through his long, brown hair. A muscle tics in his jaw, his frustration palpable. “There were only a handful of survivors. Mostly women and children. They are…worse for the wear.”
Of course they are, but even as I acknowledge this truth, I’m sickened damn near to death over what they must have suffered.
There is no honor among John’s soldiers.
Haversville is dangerously close to Dyhurst—only a few hours’ ride north. A slight push would bring John’s soldiers to our doorstep. The only thing in our favor is that for all intents and purposes, the castle is believed to be abandoned. A forgotten relic perched on a barren cliff. The smart move is to remain here rather than risk Rapunzel out in the open while we seek another sanctuary. Still…
“Do we know the direction his army is heading?”
Anywhere but south.
“North.” Quinn doesn’t take his black eyes from the dancing flames that keep the chill of the stone walls at bay. “Our spies say the army split. Half are marching toward Trent. The others are picking their way toward Eastbury territory.”
I release a relieved sigh and lean back in the chair. But where one problem is temporarily solved, the problem of Haversville remains. For the use of Dyhurst, we protect the surrounding area and keep Sir William Saunders well paid. Of course, it helps that William also loathes John and would welcome a Rygard free of the king’s tyranny.
I curl my fingers around the weathered wood of the chair’s arms, my gut coiled. More lives were lost. And for what? For John to make himself, and possibly his army, as close to immortal as humanly possible with Rapunzel’s fucking hair. With that kind of power at his disposal, he could remake the world in his image. Set himself up as a god among men, with Rapunzel at his side, using her hair to keep himself young and healthy as Sybil has done throughout the years. It’s enough to make me march out to the courtyard where she’s helping Arthur in the garden and hack off every strand from her pretty head.
But at what cost?
Even now, much of her remains a mystery—but it’s one I’m determined to solve.
“The last raid we pulled, when we intercepted those soldiers delivering that gold to John,” I say to Quinn. “Give it to Warrick and tell him to distribute it to the survivors of Haversville. We can’t leave those people to rot. That’s not who we are.” I lean forward as memories from the day the king ordered Leeds’s destruction ambush me, flooding my mind with visions best left in the past. “If need be, he can gather supplies and volunteers from our allies in Leighton Falls.”
“Of course.” Quinn finally tears his gaze from the fire, and in those abysmal depths is a world of rage. He rests his arms across his thighs. “I would go myself, but withherhere…”
I shake my head and lean back. “It’s best if we stay.” Then I see the question in his eyes. “What’s on your mind, Quinn?”
“Our enchanted guest…” Quinn points to the ceiling. “What’s to become of her?”
“Why do you care?”
“Answer the fucking question, Wren.”
I don’t particularly appreciate how Quinn is suddenly interested in my intentions for Rapunzel. Mainly because when I took her from the tower, I was covered in my mother’s blood and filthy from her freshly dug grave. Even now, I want her to hurt as I hurt. I want to ruin her. Tear her apart. Put her back together wrong. Then leave her empty and aching—same as I am now.
Beyond that…
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Quinn purses his lips and returns to watching the flames flicker in the hearth. “Rapunzel is not the monster you need her to be.”
