Hunted(61)

She moved on, and paid for a night in an inn with a handful of quail’s eggs and an archery lesson for the innkeeper’s son, and was so thrown by the feel of sheets and linens against her skin that she ended up sleeping on the rug before the fire with Doe-Eyes.

She reached the outskirts of town on a gray afternoon, fits of rain bursting from the sodden clouds to wet Yeva’s hair and weight her cloak. She was aching to find someone who might know of where her family went, or what had befallen them, but after the farmer’s wife’s reaction, she did not want to start rumors of a crazy madwoman associated with them—for on the chance that her family was alive and well, she wanted them to stay that way.

It wasn’t until she spotted a familiar face that she darted out from the alley into the street. “Galina!” Yeva exclaimed, shocked by her old friend’s face. She looked so young, her skin so light and clean, not a hair out of place. Even the line of mud edging her skirt from the street was orderly, and civilized—everything Yeva had lost over the past year.

Galina jumped, startled, and then stumbled backward upon seeing Yeva. Yeva knew she must look alarming: muddy, scratched, weatherworn, and wet. Her arms and legs were lean with muscle now, and her hair was coarse with its own oils and dust from leaves and wind. Her clothes were still the bloodstained ones she’d worn when she’d tried to slay the Beast, and though the stains were old and brown, they were not hard to identify. The dog at her side was as wet and muddy as she was, and stiff with the tension she was picking up from her mistress.

“I—I carry no money,” Galina said, fear written clearly across her face. “Please, I am with child—for his sake, don’t . . .”

Yeva blinked and lifted a hand, freezing when the movement seemed to frighten Galina more. “Galina—” She stopped, registering the utter blankness with which her old friend regarded her. She didn’t recognize Yeva at all. She swallowed. “You’re married?”

Galina nodded, wide-eyed, arms hugging herself. “This past spring. Who—”

“I mean you no harm,” Yeva said. She wondered who Galina had married, tried to think if she’d ever mentioned a passing fancy. With a pang, Yeva realized she knew very little about her friend, and almost nothing about the secret desires of her heart. She’d always been so eager to get away from the baronessa’s entourage that she’d never truly gotten to know Galina. She tried to stifle the sting of regret and softened her voice. “I only want information.”

Galina’s fear had subsided only enough for her to breathe. “How do you know my name?”

“I . . . I asked someone.” Yeva thought quickly. “You look about the age of the people I seek, and I thought you might have heard of them. Do you remember the merchant Tvertko, who lived here until last fall?”

“Of course,” Galina said, the fear ebbing and leaving room for sympathy. “But I am sorry to tell you that he is dead.”

Yeva’s heart flinched. “I know. I wanted to ask if you knew where his daughters went. After the cabin. They went to the cabin, Tvertko’s hunting cabin, and then . . . ?”

Galina’s brow furrowed as she inspected Yeva, this dirty, bloody, wild thing that had stepped from the shadows and onto the bustling street, and who was attracting stares and oaths from passersby. “Two of his daughters live here, in town. They live in Tvertko’s old house, up on the rise.” Galina swallowed, face flickering with an old, remembered pain. “The other, his youngest—she is dead, too.”

Yeva stared, too numb and dumbfounded to answer or to conceal how much Galina’s words had affected her. So her sisters believed her dead. Not surprising, given Yeva’s disappearance in the middle of winter with no sign of her for nearly a year. But to learn that they were alive and well, and living in their old house again, was beyond what Yeva could have hoped for them. She felt her eyes filling, a little of that tight, cold, hard thing in her chest easing.

When she saw the tears, Galina leaned forward, her breath catching. “Why do you ask me these questions? Who . . .” She trailed off, her brow still furrowed. A spark, the tiniest flicker, of recognition ignited behind her blank gaze.

“Thank you,” Yeva mumbled, and hurried away with Doe-Eyes at her heels before Galina could have a chance to see through the months of wilderness and cold stone floors to find the girl beneath. She didn’t know why she ran—except that it would be hard enough to face her sisters, who believed her dead and had been mourning for her and her father both all these long months, and she did not want to run through it first with Galina.

Walking up the rise to their old house left Yeva with the most curious quiver in her heart, a mix of fear and anticipation that made her hands jittery. She wanted to reach for her bow—her hands kept twitching with the desire to pull her weapon off her shoulder—but there was no enemy to fight other than her own nervousness. Doe-Eyes seemed to remember the way, her steps growing lighter with excitement.

Yeva halted several paces from the door, her eyes sweeping the house as Doe-Eyes investigated the shrubbery lining the path. Her father’s home looked exactly as it had a year ago, spent peonies littering the ground cover by the kitchen door, vines climbing up the trellis by her old bedroom window. Instead of reaching for the door knocker she stepped off the path and peeked in a window. There was the furniture they’d brought from the cabin, though some of it had been replaced with newer, nicer pieces. She saw someone move from one room to the next—a servant, she thought, but could not tell who. She circled the house, peeking through window after window until, without warning, her sisters were there.