“No,” I manage to say, “but she has my—”
Torben charges toward the girl. With a whimper, she throws my vial at him and retreats toward the other end of the room. I leap for my vial, my heart climbing into my throat. Just then, the blinding light returns. The sound of shattering glass reaches my ears just as something firm collides into me.
When the light abates, all I see is Torben. He must have been what I crashed into. I nearly trip in my haste to push away from him, but he steadies me on my feet.
“She’s gone,” Torben says through his teeth.
I glance around, but it isn’t Marybeth I’m looking for.
My eyes fall on the shards of glass and the ruby liquid spreading over the floor beneath it.
My tincture.
It’s…no. What will I do without it?
As if in answer, my well of grief returns, swallowing me whole.
* * *
The next thing I know,I’m blinking into pale morning light, a strange rumbling momentum thrumming beneath my body. My forehead is pressed to cool glass, and a blur of endless sandy dunes rushes by on the other side, illuminated with the glow of the rising sun. Bolting upright, I push away from the glass.
“Where am I?” As soon as I say it, my eyes land on the Huntsman.
“Train,” he says. He sits across from me on a cushioned bench, one leg propped on his knee, his eyes fixed on a page in the broadsheets he’s reading.
I take in my surroundings anew, noting the small, enclosed room we’re in, the thin sliding door opposite the window, and the rhythmic murmur of the train’s motion. Turning my gaze back to Torben, I ask, “Why are we on a train? Where are we going?”
With a weary sigh, he folds his paper and gives me an exasperated look. “We’re on our way to the Spring Court.”
“You’re taking me to the queen?” I half rise from my seat, but there’s nowhere for me to go. Furthermore, the movement sends my head spinning. An ache pulses at my temple and behind my eyes. I lower myself back down and close my eyes against the wave of vertigo.
Torben’s voice cuts through the melee of panic and pain. “I’m not taking you to your stepmother.”
I pry my eyes open. “Then why are we going to the Spring Court?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve already told you at least half a dozen times.”
I frown. What is he talking about? He hasn’t told me anything. The last thing I remember…
The duel between Torben and Helody plays through my mind with perfect clarity, but the images that follow carry a cloud of dread.
I force the memories of my confrontation with Marybeth to speed by, giving myself no opportunity to dwell on them. Then I find my last clear memory.
I recall kneeling on the ground, sobbing as I stare at the shards of my broken tincture and the ruby liquid quickly spreading over the obsidian marble floor.
Why don’t I remember anything after that?
Another stab of pain throbs through my temple, and I close my eyes once more. That’s when I glimpse a fleeting image of me frantically trying to scoop the ruined tincture into my cupped palms and attempting to pour it into my mouth. When that didn’t work, I…
I licked the poison from my fingertips.
Blooming hell. Not my finest moment.
And I wouldn’t stop until Torben dragged me away from the broken vial. I recall kicking and screaming, then scrambling out of his arms. I nearly had my hands in the tincture once more, but this time he hefted me over his shoulder like a disobedient child and fled from Madame Fury’s parlor. Patrons were only just then coming up the stairs from the fight. Thankfully, I don’t think any of them caught sight of us. It’s bad enough Torben had to see me like that.
I wince at the memories. That’s the last thing I recall, so I must have fallen asleep afterward. And no wonder. The amount I remember licking from my fingers had to have been more than my usual two or three drops.
My cheeks flush with guilt as I hazard a peek at the Huntsman. He watches me with a neutral expression. After that spectacle, I wouldn’t blame him for taking me back to my stepmother. But if he isn’t, then what are we doing?
