Bring Me Their Hearts(59)

Fione’s blue eyes are shocked. “You—you didn’t have to do that.”

“I can’t stand nasty people like that,” I snort. “Which is unfortunate, because it seems that’s the only sort of person the king stocks this court with.”

Fione is quiet, and then, “Let me repay you with a word of warning; in this place, be careful how much kindness you give others. There are some who can and will use it against you.”

“Like you?” I ask lightly. “You could betray Y’shennria and me any time you please.”

Fione swallows, her eyes settling on Archduke Gavik as he emerges from the palace. Her face transforms in an instant; shy, tender. Easily frightened. But her whisper is strong.

“If I betray you, Lady Zera, then I lose everything I’ve been fighting for.”

Without another word she turns, her cane tapping out a staccato rhythm against the marble floor as she walks over to Gavik. He barely acknowledges her before he walks down the steps to their silver carriage, never once offering her help inside. I watch them go, cursing the man in that carriage with everything I have in me.

“A whisper on the wind tells me you chastised Lady Steelrun and Lady d’Goliev?” Y’shennria murmurs as she draws aside me. Hearing Grace’s and Charm’s real names throws me off momentarily.

“‘Chastised’ is a bit of a strong word choice,” I say. “Personally I’d go with ‘verbally spanked.’”

“Any particular reason you ‘verbally spanked’ them, or are you just determined to become as unlikable as possible?”

“They were being terribly—how do I put this—unladylike about Fione’s leg.”

Y’shennria’s glare, hard before, softens minutely when I say that, and she doesn’t bring up the subject again during the carriage ride home. I tell her about the Priseless twins, about Malachite intervening. She looks pleased.

“Prince Lucien sent his personal bodyguard to check on you. How remarkable.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, hush. As if those two hellions could’ve done anything to you.”

“They would’ve seen me heal.”

“Not likely—they tend to favor hit-and-run tactics. I have no doubt they were…encouraged to target you by Archduke Gavik.” Y’shennria frowns. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s encouraged them to scare off a Bride or two. He thinks the whole Welcoming tradition pointless—would much rather have Prince Lucien arranged into a marriage and be done with it. Regardless, it’s good the prince is so worried about you. If this keeps up, he may even take you on the next hunt.”

“I’m thrilled. I love hunting…what? Foxes? Wolves?”

Y’shennria breezes past my question. “If the prince wishes to, he takes a small entourage with him on his hunts. He’s never done so before, of course, but if he does now, it’s a sign he truly wishes you to be close. It’d be the perfect opportunity to take his heart. You and him, alone in his tent. You could escape so quickly once the deed was done. The more I think about it, the more perfect the opportunity becomes.”

“You still haven’t answered my question, Auntie.”

The carriage halts before Y’shennria’s dark, looming manor, the shadow of it obscuring her face for a moment. She gets out, saying nothing as she retreats into the house. I open the carriage door to dash after her, the insistent question lingering on my lips, but Fisher’s faster to answer from his driver’s seat.

“Witches, milady.”

I turn slowly, and he tips his hat to me.

“Prince Lucien goes into the woodlands and hunts witches every few months. Keeps trying to find the witch and Heartless who killed his sister, if you ask me.”

I go still. Fisher sighs deeply.

“Lotsa people say it’s for revenge. I just say it’s a godsdamn tragedy—killing only makes more killing. Killing only makes more hate, and the world’s got enough of that right now.”

Five men. Ended by my hand.

Two parents. Dead and gone by theirs.

I swallow the bitterness suddenly welling in my throat, and hurry inside as if the darkwood walls will shelter me from the memories of the day I lost everything.





9


Monsters

of us All



Verdance Day looms, closer on the fire-calendar with every sunrise. I struggle to swallow my impending panic attack each time I look at it. Ten days. That’s all that stands between me and the end of everything.

The prince’s hunts, thankfully, don’t last ten days. They last exactly three, according to Y’shennria—one for travel to the suspected area, one for the hunt itself, and one day for the ride back. He prefers to kill witches in their animal shapes. But of course he would. They look too human otherwise. Thinking about him doing such a thing sends waves of nausea through me. How did I ever hold a civil conversation with him—with a murderer? But the hunger taunts me; I’m no better. I’m also a murderer, though I’m sure my body count is much lower. How can he care so much for the poor of his nation and yet ruthlessly hunt witches? How many has he killed? I try to put myself in his shoes, perhaps uselessly; if my mother and father’s killers were still out there, would I ever rest? Or would I hunt every bandit I could get my hands on until I found the ones who killed them?