Page 22 of Given to the Black King

The stag fights. Its hooves tear mud from the bank. I hold it until the struggle slows and its breath comes hot against my arm.

Then the ache in my fangs surges. My mouth closes on the thickest antler.

Bone cracks.

Relief tears through me.

I groan around the splintered beam and bite harder. For three heartbeats, the pain is gone.

Then it returns.

Worse.

I release the stag.

It stumbles up the bank with half an antler and disappears into the brush. I stay in the water.

Blood runs from my gums. Bits of bone grind between my teeth. Iona’s throat is softer than the antler.

I wade out and spit the splinters onto the shore. Ghenn holds my horse’s reins. “Feel better?”

“No.”

“Good hunt, then.”

I take the water flask from his saddle and rinse my mouth. He watches the blood run over my hand.

“How long?” he asks.

“Since she reached the pass.”

“And you have slept?”

“No.”

“Eaten?”

“Enough.”

“That means no.”

I throw the empty flask back to him. Ghenn catches it. “You cannot send her home and call the problem solved.”

“I can send her home.”

“Yes.”

“I can rule in pain.”

“Yes.”

His agreement irritates me more than argument would.

“What?” I demand.

“Nothing. You’ve decided. I’ll make sure nobody expects you to enjoy it.”

I stare at him.