Page 69 of The Dead Queen

I know I should be afraid too. Any sane person would be, but all I feel is awe. All my life, I’ve been told that shadow power is evil, that it’s only employed to harm. And I suppose there’s truth to that. But just now, it was also used to protect. To save me.

Tristan gets off the ground, wiping dirt from his pants. “No.”

“No?” Hunter asks, his face shrouded. “What do you mean, no?”

“I can’t just do it on a whim,” Tristan snaps. “It has to be life or death. A moment of necessity.”

Hunter scoffs. “And here I thought you were a pitiful dog locked up in the kennels with the others, when all along you’ve been a cold-blooded killer.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, exactly?” Hunter waves his arms around at the massacre. “Why did you let the King’s Guard capture you in the first place? You clearly had the ability to escape. You just let us torture you like that.” I see fury in Hunter’s eyes. And guilt. No doubt he’s remembering how my father made him beat Tristan again and again. “What are you, some kind of masochist?”

Tristan’s gray eyes grow dark. “I’m not a killer.”

Hunter looks around at the dead foxhounds. “I’d say you are.”

Tristan bares his teeth, rage tinting each word. “I don’t kill needlessly.”

“I’d say you had plenty of ‘need’.”

“Just because I can use my power to kill doesn’t mean I should.”

“We don’t have time for this,” I say, furious at Hunter. I shoot him a glare and mount the black horse. He’s draped my red cloak over its rear like a blanket. I buckle it back over my shoulders with a huff. “Maybe next time the Wolf saves our lives, you could try showing a little gratitude instead of this unveiled contempt.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow at me, but Hunter looks crestfallen. He clearly thought I’d side with him. He should know by now that the only side I’m on is my own.

In the distance, the sounds of hoofbeats and more foxhounds reach us.

“We need to keep moving,” Tristan says urgently, wiping blood from a shallow cut on his cheek. “It won’t take them long to find us again.” He kicks a dead foxhound out of the way.

I nod. My heart is pounding, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s from the near-death experience or from the Wolf’s gray eyes watching me.

Chapter 22

We ride for several hours before Hunter leads us into a small clearing a short distance away from the road. He jumps down from his mare, then turns to me with his hand outstretched, presumably to help me down from the saddle. The Wolf whaps his hand out of the way before jumping down himself. Then he grabs me by the waist and swings me to the ground. The two share a look that makes me roll my eyes.

Hunter stomps back to his mare, where she nibbles on a grassy patch. He whispers into her ear and pats her neck. She snorts in pleasure. My heart clenches when I remember she nearly died because of me. Because I forced her back into the fray of foxhounds. My heart breaks all over again for Nell, the loyal horse who died at the jaws of a corpse wolf.

“What’s her name?” I ask.

Both Hunter and the mare look at me. I nod toward the horse. “The mare.”

“Oh,” Hunter rubs her nose. “Marigold.” He turns toward the black horse. “And that’s Honor.”

I walk up to Marigold and run my hands along her neck. She whinnies in pleasure. “Thank you, Marigold.” I whisper into her ear. “You are a brave horse. I won’t forget that.”

Hunter unties the saddlebags from her sides then crouches to dig through the provisions he packed. Copper glints in the sun as he sets his gauntlets on the ground next to him, like he’s lying a baby down to rest.

“Why did you keep the gauntlets?” I ask.

Hunter spreads his cloak on the ground, gesturing for me to sit on it. “Because people in the villages will ask fewer questions if you travel with one of the king’s men. Even without the full set of armor, these are proof that I’m from Caerwen. Copper demands respect.”

Behind us, the Wolf scoffs.

Hunter ignores him. “And we’re less likely to be attacked by thieves on the road.”

“Or,” Tristan suggests, “it might make us more of a target.”