“No one I’ll miss,” he said bluntly. “I told him not to.” His head throbbed; he rubbed his temples. “I… might have been more insistent.”
He heard her sharp inhale, and he expected a fresh outburst of indignation.
But her voice was plaintive. “Do you understand, now? What you saw, that could happen to you, or worse. Give this up. Gohome.”
“If there were any other way, I would happily take it.”
Something in his tone gave her pause. “There are others on the hunt, too,” she offered. “From Preule. Somehow word got to their king and he’s decided to hold a contest of his own.”
Of course it had. It was only a matter of time, though he’d hoped he’d have more. “It doesn’t matter; magic is illegal in Preule. Gescany has the only scribes.”
“As if none of you would defect. We’re already halfway to the border, and Preule’s king is offering a higher prize.”
She had a point.Hecould hardly defect; if Edgard found out about the treachery, as he surely would, Sy was sure the summons would be swift and merciless, and from that far away, unending. Aquila was a loyalist; David would not risk his father’s factory, nor his sister’s education. But what about restless, flighty Sabina? What of social climber Claude?
“And,” he wondered aloud, “how long before other kings are on the hunt, too?”
“Kings, queens, presidents, prime ministers. They’ll all be after it, and they’ll never stop until they’ve done what your king set out to do. It’s spilled, and we’re all wet with it, and it can’t be put back.”
He bristled. “Myking?”
“A nationalist, are you?Theking, then.”
He relaxed; she hadn’t meant it the way he thought. The last day had opened him raw, and he’d been rash.
But she was still acting strange, and he was too exhausted to keep pretending she wasn’t. “As citizens of Gescany, with the winning ruler, and thus the winning nation, promised supremacy, it is in our best interests to ensureourking wins the contest. Don’t you agree?”
“Who else would I be hunting it for?” She laughed. A false, wholly unconvincing laugh. At his blank expression, she tensed. “What, you think I’m a spy for Preule? Is that it?”
“I think you’re hiding something.” He nodded at his gloves on her hands. “I know you are.”
“Well, that would make two of us, then. Sabina told me–”
His breath caught. “Sabina is alive?”
“Well – she was the last I saw her. We got separated.”
David’s fresh betrayal pricked him like the sting of an angry bee. Only a sleeping spell, but Sy might have been killed or captured in his sleep. It was not a mercy. He couldn’t believe David had done it. And David was far more conscientious than Sabina.
He looked Anya over carefully, lingering a second too long on her dull eyes. “Did she hurt you again?”
“What? No, I–” She broke off, obviously flustered and turning pink.
Now, a wary fear gripped him. He didn’t know Anya, not really. And she had every reason to want Sabina out of her way; to want revenge. It slipped out before he could stop it. “Did you hurt her?”
Wits recovered, her nostrils flared. “The forest has marked her. Something wants her. I’ve done what I could for her. She’s with a friend of mine, a hunter from Preule. Perrine. They’re already making plans to abscond across the border together. And if she’s smart, she’ll be quick about it.” She paused, gazing thoughtfully at the trees. “It’s defending itself. I think it may loosen its grip if they give up.”
He sensed their own time together was running short. She was initially relieved to see him because she thought he had her things; now she knew he didn’t, he was worth less to her than if he had been a rabbit caught in the snare. She had no interest in staying with him. And why should she? He had nothing to offer.
Laughably, he realized he’d hoped she would be at least mildly impressed by his misguided attempt at heroism. But abject failure wasn’t very impressive, was it? She couldn’t think less of him if he’d tried – and he had tried.
Then he’d gotten what he wanted after all.
“The others,” he said carefully. “Most of them went back to Äbender. The ones left are desperate and will have an easier time tracking you than tracking the bird. Do you understand me?”
She did. Her eyebrows rose in a challenge. “I’m not afraid of them.”
“You should be,” he said, turning to go. As he did, she looked sharply away, pulling her braid over her shoulder, toying nervously with the end, and he hesitated.
