Riot crosses the room and pours himself an ale. “Where are they?”
“They’re in the pens,” Master informs, and then his gaze catches on Lou’s body being carried across the massive room toward one of the hallways, a spoke I rarely traverse. I have yet to visit my father’s stone.
“No,” he whispers, staring at the stretcher. “Who?” he demands, tone fierce.
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing Master Hull and Lou were stationmates back in their heyday. “It’s Lou.”
Master’s face drains, and his arm drops from Grace’s shoulders. “Aye,” he says, voice shaking. “Forever may he rest.”
“We’ll perform the burial once everyone has arrived,” I say.
There hasn’t been a funeral in over a decade; no Hunter has died under my command. Until Tuck. And now Lou. Even if Tuck were allowed to be buried here, we don’t have his body.
Master Hull shakes his head, shoulders drooping as he walks to the ale barrel. “We hadn’t seen each other in five years—” He swigs his beer and then looks me dead in the eye. “How did it happen?”
I take a few steps toward my father-in-law. “His tavern was attacked. They hit us fast and hard. It was chaos.”
He nods. “Well, Lou would be thrilled to know he’s the reason we’re finally going to end this fucking king.”
I swallow. “He’s not the only reason, Master.”
Hull’s eyes narrow on me.
Grace moves to her father’s side before I speak.
“They took Sam.”
Silence rips between us, slashing open the vat holding my guilt as I watch Master’s eyes widen in surprise and fear.
“How could you let that happen, Kade?” Master snarls, arms blowing wide as he barrels toward me.
Riot steps between us. “It was chaos, Master Hull. We didn’t even see them take Sam.”
“I’m not talking to you, Riot. Step back,” Master growls.
Hunters filter away from the main chamber, giving us space.
“They must’ve knocked him unconscious in the bar. I didn’t feel his magic struggle or call to me,” I say, not looking to assuage my guilt with excuses but trying to give a father a reasonable explanation. “I’m sorry I lost sight of him.”
I was worried about protecting Grace.
Master Hull shakes his head, turning away from me. “There’s no apology that willeversuffice for this.”
“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” I say, fists clenching at my sides. “And I’ll get him back. I swear it.”
Master ignores me and hobbles to the couch by the roaring fire. I don’t blame him. I would need time to process this, too. But, selfishly, I can’t stand his disappointment in me.
“Come, Mother Hollie. Let’s sit by the fire in the library,” Master Hull says, offering his arm to the sniffling woman on the couch.
Grace approaches me with kind eyes and squeezes my hand before she walks off to join them.
Riot blows out a breath and refills his ale. “Want to check on the Eastern outfit?” he asks, side-eyeing me over the pint.
“Yeah,” I answer, gathering my discarded weapons and making for the tunnel to the training pens. I need a distraction, and I need to climb out of this sea of guilt before it fucks with my ability to strategize and get Sam out alive.
We enter the weapon hallway. Every inch of wall houses varying styles of stakes, swords, knives, guillotines, crossbows, fire canisters, and every other Hunter invention from the past few centuries.
“I always feel more at peace here,” Riot says as we walk the hall designed to support a single purpose—death.
