Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(65)

“Britta?” Cohen fixes on my silly grin.

Avoiding his curious gaze, I force myself to act natural. “Need a hand, Enat?”

“I could use some water.” She juts her chin toward the bucket by the door. “Fetch a pail from the well out back, will ya?”

The trip to the well and back is quick. Enat and Cohen are talking when I return; the deep notes of their voices echo through the door. I’m about to go inside when Cohen says something too clear to miss: “You told her. You should’ve let her go without knowing.”

“I had every right. I did what I thought was best.”

There’s a loud thump. Startled, my hold on the bucket loosens and water sloshes down my legs. Cursing, I smack the water droplets away before entering Enat’s home to find Cohen rigid as a board with fists at his sides and Enat standing beside the table, her eyes are slits directed at my travel partner. Then the scene breaks, and both of them resume talking as though things weren’t tense a moment earlier. As if they could hide the argument from me.

“What were you talking about?” I set the pail on the table. “Cohen?”

He shifts his weight. Straightens his tunic. Looks at the ground. A seed of unease lodges between my shoulder blades as I recall the words he spoke.

“What did you mean when you said, ‘You told her’?”

“Britt.” He gives a small, pleading shake of his head.

The emotions he usually excels at taming run with abandon across his features. Apprehension. Remorse. Guilt.

“I didn’t—” he starts. Stops and narrows his eyes on Enat, before shaking his head and looking up to the ceiling.

I’m confused. My scrutiny jumps from him to her. Then—?in the space between two heartbeats—?everything clears.

“You knew?” My voice a squeak.

“Britt, listen, I can explain.” Each word from his mouth could be a boulder for how it flattens me. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.” His tone is soft and gentle and pleading like I’m some damn horse to be tamed. He reaches for me. I rear back.

“The girl had a right to know,” Enat says.

He ignores her, peering at me. “Britt.”

I pull my lips between my teeth and blink until my eyes stop stinging and his towering height is in sharp focus. I won’t lose it in front of him. “How could you keep this from me?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I promised your . . .” He doesn’t have to complete the sentence for the pieces of this puzzle to fall into a complete and devastating picture. After all, I already suspected Papa knew. Just couldn’t bring myself to believe it till now.

“You promised my father,” I finish for him. It doesn’t need to be a question, for his speechlessness answers loud and clear. Fingers digging into the hard planks of wood, I steel myself against the edge of Enat’s table. “How long have you known?”

His hand strays to the scar, tracing it like always, only this time there’s a noticeable shake of nerves in the movement of his fingers. “Since before I left.”

My snap of a gasp echoes in the otherwise silent room as his confession strikes truer than a blade to my heart. Cohen knew who I was—?what I was—?and left me alone in Brentyn. His words eviscerate me.

Unable to stand in the cottage and face him, knowing how he’s held secrets about me, truths about me that I should’ve known first, I charge out of Enat’s home, tumultuous emotions seizing control of me like I’ve never known. I’m a blizzard, a thunderstorm.

Enat’s bow is laid up against the side of her home. It occurs to me how similar we are, though the moment is too bittersweet and tainted to appreciate it. I grab the weapon with its full quiver and charge out of the treehouse.

Before I can reach the edge of the trees, a door slams behind me and even before he speaks, I know it’s him.

“Britt, please.” He sounds small and lost. Though I’ve never heard Cohen like this before, I cannot yield to him because my heart is bleeding pain throughout my entire body. My lungs cannot draw air. My throat aches from dryness. Pressure builds behind my eyes. I blink rapidly to keep my face dry, knowing that if he moves any closer, he’ll see the wake of his destruction. What I need most is to just get away.

I hold up my hand. “Don’t—?please don’t come closer.”

“Talk to me, then.”

“No. Let me go,” I say so quietly, it’s a wonder he can hear me at all. He must, however, because he doesn’t follow as I swing the bow over my shoulder and dart into the lush, thick forest.





Chapter

29


I STRING ARROW AFTER ARROW, LETTING THEM fly into the trees in this remote corner of the forest. Aim and shoot. Again and again. Twang and thunk until the quiver is empty, and then, after gathering what’s reachable, I start again.

Know how to protect yourself, Papa said. You have to be strong. Strong as the trees.

I shoot, shoot, shoot, arrows landing into the knot of a tree, the rough curve of bark, a leaf as it floats toward the forest floor. Birds squawk and flap out of the treetops.

Strong for what? Papa taught me to track, hunt, fight, survive; never once did he prepare me for his lies. His betrayal weakens me more than any foe. And yet, even though my anger at Cohen and Papa eats at me, I feel as though I should just forgive Papa because he’s gone. Except then I remember that he kept Enat from me. This wonderful, somewhat mad, quirky woman who is my flesh and blood was held out of my life. And for what? So I could be alone? So I could be mocked?