With a bit more optimism than I had when this day started, I strip off my sullied clothing and take advantage of the tepid bathwater. Unfortunately, the loneliness returns after I finish with a quick wash to clean away the road dust. My thoughts run to Wren, Dax, and Quinn. This room is too dark, even with the gentle glow of the fire flickering in the hearth. It’s too quiet. Too…empty…without them.
Soon, we’ll be reunited. When we are, we’ll rebuild and bring peace to this kingdom that will last a lifetime.
ChapterFourteen
“Ever have a moment where you think, ‘Oh, God, I fucked up?’” Wren strolls out from behind a tree, arrow notched and aimed at the heart of the soldier I caught skulking around our camp. He’s one of the bastards who escorted Rapunzel from The Cup and Crown, who we’ve been following since Lansing. “Consider this your moment.”
“Go to hell,” he hisses.
“Feisty. I like it. Unfortunately, you bore me with your unoriginal response.” Standing behind him with my arm banded around his chest and my dagger at his throat, I have him trapped in my hold.
“Truly. Why can’t people curse us to a tavern?” Wren drifts closer with a roll of his eyes. Never, though, does his arrow waver from its intended target. “Now, how about you tell us why you’re following us? Otherwise, I’ll have my friend here.” He motions to Quinn, leaning against a tree, looking deceptively disinterested in this situation. “Pluck an eyeball from your socket and have you watch with the other while he crushes it beneath his boot. He had such a good time blinding your friend that he might want another go at it.”
The middle-aged man, with his pinched-up face, presses his back against my chest in a pathetic attempt to distance himself from Wren’s graphic threat.
“Fantastic,” I say, laughing. Because I’m an instigator, I nudge the man forward. “Never too soon for another eye gouging.”
“You’re insane,” Sour-Face breathes. “The lot of you.”
“That’s a bit of a step up from ‘go to hell.’” I press the blade deeper into his neck, and he sucks in a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. “But still banal because now you’re simply acknowledging the obvious. Be a good boy, won’t you, and tell us why you’re nosing around where you don’t belong?”
“I won’t tell you a damn thing.”
I blow out an exaggerated sigh. I give him a nasty nick on the side of his throat for his tenacity. “Why do they always have to be so goddamned difficult?”
“Because they foolishly believe wearing the king’s colors makes them invincible,” Quinn grits out, still not looking up from his mundane task of cleaning his nails. Of course, with his vision, he sees fine through the dim moonlight.
Wren steps closer, his bow gripped tight and leveled at our captive’s heart. Not that he’d shoot. If he did, the arrow’s force would go straight through the man’s body and into mine. Hopefully, this twit doesn’t realize this.
“One way or the other, youwilltell us what we want to know,” Wren assures him with a sneer. “It’s just a question of how long it will take us to break you.”
“Here’s a hint,” I taunt him. “It never takes long, but it gets bloody.”
With a subtle twist of his head, the man shifts his gaze to Quinn. “Fuck you.”
I give him a slight jostle. The blade skids along his flesh, cutting deeper. “That’s the spirit. You’re going to let us play. How fun.” Then I give a little shrug that has Wren lifting a brow at me in exasperation. He takes himself much too seriously. “For us, anyway. Not so much for you.”
“Go on then,” he snarls. “You think I’m scared of that one because he drinks the blood of babies? Let him rip out my heart. I don’t give a shit.” He hocks a mouthful of spit at Quinn. “I’m the king’s man. A God-fearing man. And him… He’s a heathen.”
Before he’s even finished, Quinn shakes his head and shoves away from the tree. Wren keeps the arrow notched but lowers the bow. Quinn strolls toward us. I unwrap my arm from around the man’s waist and remove the dagger from his throat. Then I lift my leg to kick him in his ass. He stumbles to the ground at Quinn’s feet. “I drink the blood of babies? No,” Quinn drawls. “Rip out the hearts of men? That one is true. It’s not God you need to fear right now. It’s me.”
“Your eyes…” he breathes.
“That’s right. They have the devil in them,’ I say with ominous delight.
Quinn throws a deadpan look at me. “Demon.”
“Demon. Devil. Same difference,” I counter.
“Someone is getting shot with this fucking arrow if he doesn’t start talking.” Wren snarls.
Quinn grabs the man by the shoulders and drags him a few feet to slam him against the nearest tree. The man huffs as the wind gets knocked out of him. He turns away and squeezes his eyes shut when Quinn bares his teeth in a growl that reverberates throughout the quiet thicket of the trees of our camp.
“Did Sir Walter send you out here?” Quinn demands.
“Yes,” he grits out, his jaw clenched.
“Why?” Wren asks.
