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Chapter. 41

I take a sip and immediately regret it. My face scrunches up as the awful warm liquid coats my mouth. I wince and force myself to swallow the foul beverage, and the scratchy aftertaste makes me cough.

“What is this?” I ask, still not fully recovered. “It tastes like hot water mixed with herbs.”

“It could be.” He shrugs. “I’m not too familiar with your human cuisine.”

He just mixed hot water with a bunch of random spices he found in the kitchen. The thought of him digging through a spice cabinet in confusion is amusing. At least he tried. I’ll have to teach him how to make tea.

The mug warms my fingers. I’ll dispose of it when he’s not looking.

His gaze is on the fire, watching the flames lick the decorated metal.

“Rahlan, I’ve been wondering why.”

His eyes land on me, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Why did…” I trail off, unsure of my words. “Why did you do it?”

“Your brother was a Huntsman,” he says.

“But why do you hate them?”

He looks back at the fire. “Forget it.”

He collected the eyes of the three men I was traveling with, so they must’ve been Huntsmen too. His hate for the Huntsmen is the reason I was captured, and it’s the reason my brother died. It’s everything.

“I just want to understand,” I mumble.

“I said forget it.” He stands, turning to leave.

How can he dismiss me for wanting to know why Jacob died? I jump to my feet. “Is it because the Huntsmen are brave enough to fight back? You only like humans small and weak like me, humans you can control?”

“No!” He whips around. “You stupid girl. They do not fight back. They are the Huntsmen. Hunters. They came into my father’s land and slaughtered him in his own garden – an old graying man who had never wronged a human in his life. Is that brave? They mutilated his body, cutting out his eyes. Is that heroic? They carved ‘monster’ across his chest with a dagger. Does that encourage you to praise them further?”

I grab my own hands. That can’t be. Ivan’s not a killer. My brother’s not a killer. They protect people. I take a step back.

The door slams shut, breaking my trance. Rahlan’s closed himself in the bedroom.

There are many Huntsmen. Jacob couldn’t have been involved. Sure, he acted tough when negotiating with strangers, but he was sweet, not the kind to sneak up on someone to murder them. How would he even know how to use a sword? He wouldn’t be able to hide such a terrible deed from me, let alone live with it himself. It’s impossible.

But Ivan’s their leader. How could he have not known about an assassination by his own men? I remember him always being kind to me, but I was eleven the last time I saw him. I’m just fooling myself pretending that I know he’s above something like that.

I hurry to the bedroom door, listening for any sound from Rahlan. The huntsman who escaped down the river called Rahlan a monster, and I called him a monster too. I knew it upset him, that’s why I said it. He wasn’t simply insulted. I was mocking his father’s death. What kind of a person does something like that?

I knock my knuckles against the door, but there’s no answer.

“Rahlan- Rahlan, I’m sorry.”

Silence.

I try twist the golden doorknob, but it’s locked. Pressing my ear against the wood reveals nothing. I slide down the door, still listening.

There’s not a word, not a step on the floor, not a creek from the bed, nothing to indicate his presence.

I should never have said those words. I should never have pushed him. He shouldn’t have to agonize because of my thoughtlessness.

“My mom died when I was thirteen,” I say to the door, not knowing if he can hear me. “It hurt. I pushed everyone away. Despite that, my brother consoled me, and though I hated to admit it at the time, it helped. It helped a lot.”

I pause for a moment, listening for any sound of him.

“Rahlan, I’m here. Don’t push me away.”

My head leans back against the door as I give up trying to listen for minute sounds. He’s in there by himself, grief-stricken, because of my insensitive words. I curl my knees to my chest and huddle up to keep warm.

A latch clicks, and I jump to my feet. The door opens, and the firelight reveals that his eyes are misted over. He looks nothing like the man I’ve known for the past few weeks. There’s no smug smirk or arrogant demeanor. He looks tired.

I take his hand in mine and tug him back to sit on the couch near the fire.

He watches the flames, his face expressionless, his gaze dull.

I lean my head against his side. All this time he’s moved with such conviction, so sure of his actions every step of the way. He’d just convinced himself that making Ivan pay would make things better.

He lifts his arm, wrapping it around my side and pulling me close to him. I know he’s my captor, but that doesn’t mean I want him to be unhappy.

A log cracks in the fire, splitting into smaller pieces. I glance up at Rahlan. His head lays back against the couch with his eyes closed. He drove Mittens through the night while I slept. He needs rest.

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