I nibble my bottom lip. Torben has admitted as much. Several times, in fact. And yet, beneath his gruff demeanor lies something else. He may not like to admit it, but there’s a part of him that believes me. A part of him that wants to prove my innocence. Not only that, but he has the means to help me do so. He has the influence I need to bring my case to the Alpha Council once we find proof. It’s a concept that now sends a wave of panic through me. Torben and I have less than two weeks to gather the evidence we need. This duel was supposed to bring me closer to exonerating myself. It was supposed to allow me to prove the queen’s involvement with my father’s death. But I was wrong. This wasn’t the confrontation it was supposed to be. Just an inconvenient roadblock unwittingly created by my well-meaning friend. Now every second that ticks by feels like time wasted.
“Marybeth, it’s hard to explain,” I say. “The Huntsman is helping me prove my innocence.”
“You can’t trust him,” she says.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m reading too much into Torben’s moments of softness. In his accidental confessions that he believes me.
She thrusts out her hand again. “Let me save you, Astrid.”
Maybe I should do what she says. Maybe I should let her spirit me away from the Huntsman, far from where he can find us. I’d only have to hide until the seventeenth, when his broken bargain claims his life.
The thought makes my chest feel tight, but I remind myself that it will be my life instead if we can’t prove my stepmother’s guilt.
Marybeth takes a step closer, reaching for my wrist.
I glance at the silver disc in her hand again. Before she can touch my arm, I leap a step back. “Where would you take me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Tell me where.”
Her eyes dart toward the archway where Torben watches us. She lowers her voice. “If I say it out loud, he’ll know.”
“He can’t hear us from there. Tell me where you’d take me or I’m not coming with you.”
“All I can say is that it’s safe.” Her voice quavers with every word.
“Are you planning on taking me back to the Spring Court?”
She pales but says nothing.
My eyes turn to slits. “To Fairweather Palace?”
Again, no answer.
The hair at the back of my neck stands on end as I watch her tremble.
My throat feels as dry as the sand beneath my shoes as I state my next question. “Marybeth, are you working with Queen Tris?”
She opens her mouth, gaping for several seconds. Then she releases a strangled groan and shouts, “I can’t tell you!”
My blood goes cold, as does my tone. “Did Queen Tris kill my father?”
Tears well in her eyes. She lowers her chin and shakes her head.
I’m not sure I believe her answer. “Do you know who killed him?”
Her throat bobs. When she speaks, her voice comes out quiet. Weak. “I don’t remember doing it.”
I blink at her, trying to comprehend what she means by that. The truth dawns like an iron blade to my heart. “Marybeth, did you kill him? Did you poison my pie?”
Her well of tears breaks, sending moisture streaming down her cheeks. Her voice catches on a sob. “I don’t remember it, nor did I have a choice.”
Rage roars through my body, heating my blood. “What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?”
Marybeth falls to her knees. “I gave her my true name.”
A wave of gasps rumbles from the stands followed by utter silence.
