Sitting at a real table and eating food she hadn’t prepared on the roadside was reviving. Sarah and Finn eagerly attacked the bread, the rice, and the chicken. Having a lemon-pepper flavor was new, but delicious, and Vera realized she was probably eating just as ravenously as the children.
“Pardon me,” a voice said beside her.
Vera swallowed quickly and twisted in her chair, an arm instinctively going around the sling that crossed over her shoulder and held Rebecca. It took only a moment to recognize the gray-haired man they’d met earlier on the road, standing beside their table.
He must have seen the wariness in her eyes because he took a slight step back. “I truly have no wish to cause alarm,” he said. “But when I saw you again, I knew I needed to be certain that you and your children are safe. I’ve seen many things on this journey, and I—I would help you, if you need aid.”
He spoke surprisingly elegantly, and Vera sensed genuine worry in his words. Still, she shook her head, not bothering to correct his assumption that the children were hers. “We’re fine, but thank you for your concern.”
He dipped his chin. “Then I shall leave you to your journey.” He began to turn, but paused. “I would also like to apologize for the men I travel with. They are not friends, and their sentiments aren’t mine. We’re merely traveling together to Zahdir, as there is safety in numbers.”
Vera rubbed Rebecca’s back as the baby stretched in her sleep. “I appreciate that.” She hesitated, then—because she truly did not feel threatened by this man—dared to ask, “What is your name?”
His expression became a little guarded. “Zander.”
“I’m Vera,” she said, hoping to put him at ease. This was the first opportunity they’d had to question one of the many refugees, and she knew Serene would have many questions. “Where are you from?” she asked.
“Fellnor,” he answered. “And you, if I may ask?”
“Iden.”
“Ah.” Zander’s eyes saddened. “So the trouble has reached Iden.”
“What trouble?”
He frowned and glanced around them, as if to assure no one was listening. He still lowered his voice. “Isn’t that why you came to Mortise? To flee the Hunt?”
The Hunt.
Venn had told her about Finn’s account of what had happened to his father in Devendra, but it had seemed impossible. How could there be a military body they didn’t know about? And why would Prince Grandeur lead them? But here was someone else, confirming Finn’s words.
Beside Vera, Finn set down his spoon. “They came after you, too?”
Zander eyed the boy before looking back at Vera. “Is that what happened to your husband, then?”
“They took my father,” Finn said, his small hands fisting on the table. “They tortured him—cut off his fingers.”
Vera laid a hand on Finn’s tense shoulder; a comforting touch, but also a quelling one. “What is the Hunt?” she asked Zander. “Do you know?”
The man scratched at his short gray beard. “I know as much as you, I’m sure. They came after my son, dragging him off in the night by order of the prince. That’s all they kept saying. My son demanded to know his crime, but they would only say he was suspected of treason. His wife came directly to me, but I couldn’t learn anything. Three days later, his body was returned to us.” He shot a quick look to the children, swallowing hard. “He was not . . . unscathed. I made arrangements to go to Iden, to petition the king for answers and justice, but word must have spread of my intent—that’s all I can fathom. For I returned from visiting my son’s grave to find my home in flames, my son’s young family inside.” Tears filled his eyes and he glanced away, blinking rapidly.
Horror swelled in Vera’s chest. “The fire. Surely it wasn’t . . .”
“Intentional?” A muscle in Zander’s jaw ticked. “What else could it have been? Coincidence? I think not. The next morning, the Hunt came for me—I barely escaped with my life. And while most men are too afraid to share their stories, I’ve heard whispers. My family is not the only one to have suffered these things. The Hunt is aptly named; they are hunting for any sign of rebel activity and they destroy entire families without any need for proof.” Zander’s eyes flicked past Vera, and he took a step back. “I should go. Safe travels to you all.”
Zander hurried away, and Vera looked over her shoulder to see Venn striding toward them, his gaze narrowed on the retreating man. “What happened?” he demanded when he reached the table, his voice low and dangerous.
“Nothing,” Vera said quickly. “We were merely talking.” She would prefer to tell Venn about Zander’s story once the children were asleep, so they wouldn’t have to hear it again.
Finn, of course, had other plans. “He knows about the Hunt,” he said.
Venn’s eyes shot to him. “What?”
The boy nodded. “The Hunt took his son and killed him—and then killed his family in a fire.”
Vera squeezed Finn’s shoulder. “Let’s talk of this later,” she said softly, shooting a pointed look at Sarah.
Finn didn’t look happy about it, but he kept his silence.
