The Last Huntsman: A Snow White Retelling

by Page Morgan

  Ever stopped eating the apple. It tilted unsteadily in her limp hand, her shoulders drooping forward. Sorrow flickered across her expression, but she didn’t say the customary “I’m sorry.” The two words could often be meaningless. Did she see it that way, too, or did she just not care about what I’d lost? That perhaps, I deserved it? I couldn’t tell as I stared into her eyes, glassy in the firelight.

  “You were friends with Princess Mara?”

  That word again. Friends. It had meant something to the princess. I suppose, in the end, it had to me, too. “Yes.”

  I cleared my throat after an awkward, silent moment.

  “Are you still hungry?” I asked, retrieving the leather bag from her side of the fire. Inside, I grasped the netted, cured pork. I unsheathed the blade from my belt and sliced away the top of the net, carving into the pork.

  “Have you killed people with that knife?” she asked.

  Surprised, I sunk the blade straight through the pork, the tip grazing the palm of my other hand. Ever stared at me, waiting for an answer.

  I’d already decided not to lie to her again. “Yes.”

  “I’m fine with just an apple.” She took another crunching bite.

  I carved off a hunk of pork and ate it without warming it over the flames. All Ever had done was reject something touched by my blade, but it stung. It was inane, and yet it humiliated me.

  “What do we do tomorrow?” she asked once she’d whittled her apple down to the core. She tossed it behind her. Almost instantly, a cawing hawk swooped overhead. It scuffed the pine needle-covered ground with its talons as it snatched the apple core and then soared back into the sky. Ever stared after the hawk until it was invisible in the treetops. She tossed the blanket over her head, wearing it like a hooded cape.

  “Frederic is gone from Havenfeld by now. I want to follow him,” I answered.

  “But he’s going to keep moving. He won’t find what he’s searching for, and then he’ll ride on. And if we ever do manage to catch up…Tobin, how will you get to him?”

  It did seem like an endless strategy, but I had nothing else lined up. Ever, Bram, her father, Rooks Hollow…they’d all been smothering my thoughts. Distracting me from what I was supposed to be doing.

  “If you don’t want to come with me, I can leave you in the next Morvansk town. You can take on a new identity there,” I said.

  She scowled at me. “I want Frederic dead as much as you do. I can’t go home until it’s done. My father won’t rest—I won’t rest—until he’s no longer searching for me.”

  True enough.

  “Are there any others out there with the mirror magic, like you?” I asked. “Could Frederic possibly find someone else to do what your mother used to do for him?”

  Ever kept smoothing out the blanket, but each time she pressed down a crease, another appeared. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the magic. I don’t even know how to control it.”

  “You seem to do well enough.”

  She said a simple command to begin, and an even simpler command to end it. She could see anyone at any time; she could know what they were doing, hear what they were saying. The greed over such a gift wasn’t hard to imagine, especially for those with designs for power.

  “Maybe,” Ever said. “But the compact that belonged to Trina Petrev...do you remember finding me unconscious? The magic of that mirror was different. I couldn’t control it.”

  Yet the mirror from the loft, and this shard broken from it, worked well. I didn’t understand it, either.

  “You should have stayed in Rooks Hollow,” she said.

  I was so stunned, I laughed. “It would have been suicide.”

  “Bram brought Frederic to your door. He lured him back to Rooks Hollow with the promise of something—you. You could have killed him if you’d just stayed put.”

  “I didn’t have the advantage, Ever. He expected me to be there. He was ready for me,” I said. “I can’t believe I’m defending my decision to save your life.”

  “My life isn’t yours to save,” Ever said. “Maybe you should have just looked out for you.”

  “Maybe I should have.”

  It would have been far less irritating. How much time had I wasted? I didn’t know how I was going to get to Frederic, but sneaking up on him would be next to impossible. It would be exactly what he was anticipating, too. I needed to surprise him. Act in a way he’d never expect. I needed a lure to draw him in, just as Bram had done.

  Ever rustled angrily beneath her blanket and turned away from me, facing the forest outside the glow of the firelight. That’s when the gears, for so long unbalanced, shifted into perfect alignment inside my head. I needed a lure. I had a lure.

  I had Ever.

  23

  Ever

  It was the second day of our walk through the border forest and something was wrong. I didn’t know what it was, but it was turning every strange movement in my peripheral vision into a deranged black bear, or Frederic, or the warrior called Karev with his gore-covered spear. In reality, the movement turned out to be birds or lemmings, red-tailed squirrels or moths.

  Tobin wasn’t speaking to me. He was hardly looking back at me as we walked in what felt like an aimless direction. But I trusted that he knew where he was taking us. I trusted? How could I trust him? He was a murderer. An assassin.

  The previous night we’d talked a little, but after our argument, I’d shut him out completely. He hadn’t said another word to me, either. By morning, a heavy silence plagued us. It was better this way. The more we spoke, the easier it would be to trick myself into dismissing what he’d confessed to being.

  “Stop.” Tobin held out a hand to block me. He crouched behind a thin wall of scrub pines and motioned for me to do the same.

  “What is it?”

  He jutted his chin outward. I followed the motion and saw rooftops. A village. The homes were all constructed of stone and wood, thickly settled with small yards. The streets were winding and empty. Laundry snapped on lines and from a chicken pen came the flap of wings and a red burst of feathers as two roosters battled. There were no signs of life besides them and a few leashed goats.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked, looking back to Tobin. For a moment, I thought I’d caught him staring at me. But his attention was actually resting on something further beyond.

  “Smoke,” he said, and I followed the direction of his eyes.

  A billowing brown cloud mushroomed over the eastern edge of the village. Gusts of wind rippled the smoke, coloring it black and gray, before it folded back into muddy brown. Understanding raked down my spine.

  “Is this Havenfeld?” I asked. For a blaze like this, the Morvansk warriors and their leader must have left just that morning.

  “They stayed on here longer than I figured they would,” Tobin said.

  The warriors had been led away from Havenfeld, back to Rooks Hollow. Perhaps when they’d returned, the people of Havenfeld had been prepared? Had they put up some sort of resistance that had been smashed down? There didn’t seem to be any sign of Morvansk warriors still lingering.

  “Should we go help?” I asked, beginning to stand. Tobin yanked me back down.

  “No.”

  How callous was he? I ripped my hand from his.

  “Ever, there are still warriors stationed here. Don’t you see how subdued everything is?”

  I listened and looked again. It was quiet. I didn’t want to acknowledge any aspect of what Tobin was, but his past had most likely given him the ability to root out a trap.

  “So what do we do?” I asked.

  “We move around the village,” he answered.

  “And then what? We can’t just follow Frederic like shadows forever.”

  Tobin backed away from the scrub pines and stood to his full height. He reached out a hand to help me stand. I ignored it and got up on my own.

  “We’re not going to,” he said, lowering his hand. “I know what I h
ave to do.”

  He started into the forest before I could ask what he was planning. I didn’t know Tobin well. He’d lied to me most of the time I had known him. But I did know myself, and as he blended back into the trees, I had the overwhelming urge to run as fast and as far as I could in the opposite direction. Tobin was still lying to me. He was hiding something, but as much as it frightened me, I was also too scared to leave. How could I feel so afraid of him, and at the same time feel completely safe?

  I followed Tobin into the forest.

  His back shot in and out of view. He was walking fast, his shirt coming out from behind a tree, and then disappearing back in front of another. My eyes picked up on his dark black shock of curls, but he was blending so seamlessly into the forest. He was going to lose me if he kept up this pace. Was that what he wanted? I saw him about ten yards ahead, and then he shrouded himself in greenery once more. Damn him! I sped into a jog, swatting at flimsy needled limbs, attempting to watch my footing and stay focused on his fast disappearing body ahead.

  “Tobin!” I hissed, worried now that he’d brought up the possibility of Morvansk warriors nearby.

  Something hooked the toe of my boot and sent me sprawling to the forest floor. My palms scraped ruts into the earth ahead of me, debris flying inside my mouth and sticking to my lips. I was shaking with humiliation and the fear of being lost, when I heard the rustle of feet to the left of my outstretched body.

  Face swelling with a hot blush, I pushed myself up to my knees and wiped my hands on my trousers.

  “I’m fine,” I said. Tobin would no doubt be laughing at me.

  “I don’t think you are.”

  My legs froze before I could fully stand. My eyes swiveled toward a stranger, and dull plated metal was the first thing they registered. Chainmail and an arrow-headed spear next.

  “Escaped from the village, did you?” the Morvansk warrior asked. He was not alone. Another warrior stood to the right of me, a few paces behind. His spear was also raised.

  “I—I…I’m not from…” Instinctively, I shrank away from their pointed spears. The weapons followed me with fast thrusts.

  The first warrior grumbled out a chuckle. “Oh, no you don’t, boy.” His eyes flicked to the warrior at my right. “And here I thought perimeter duty was going to be tedious.”

  Their hollow sounding chuckles bounced around the insides of their helms. My pulse spluttered in my neck. And then a flash of silver took my breath as it sliced through the air, past my shoulder.

  Their laughter came to an abrupt stop. The closest warrior rocked back on his heels, his body shocked stiff, and then he collapsed. The ivory handle of a knife stood upright through the slim gap in his helm, the blade embedded in his eye.

  Tobin.

  My stomach heaved at the blood splatter, and immediately, the other warrior was on me, wrapping one armored arm around my waist and holding his spear outward. He took me with him, twisting in a circle as he searched the woods, which were still gravely silent.

  “Who’s out there?” he asked. His helm smacked me in the back of the head, and he gave me a shake. “Call him off.”

  His arm squeezed tighter when I remained silent, my eyes locked on the warrior, still twitching, just feet away.

  “I said call him off!” His voice inside the metal helm vibrated against my skull.

  He was using me as a shield. Tobin, hidden somewhere within range, wouldn’t be able to get a good shot. I squirmed, but he was too strong. My feet and heels wouldn’t be able to harm him, not with his armor. The only opening, the only vulnerability, seemed to be the space in the helm for the eyes and nose. I took stock of my height and the warrior’s, and realized we were nearly the same.

  With all my effort, I smashed my head backward, straight into the warrior’s nose. I heard a crunching sound, felt a blaze of pain rip through the back of my skull, and fell to my knees. The warrior stumbled, screaming profanities, and he lashed out with his spear, fast. I was too slow. The arrowhead plunged into my chest.

  Hot pain lanced through me, my mouth opening in a soundless, dry gasp as Tobin hurtled from the woods and slammed into the warrior. They rolled to the ground, the spear ripping from my flesh, just below my collarbone.

  I pressed a hand over the searing wound, blood dousing my shirt. I couldn’t look though. My eyes were riveted on Tobin and the blades he wielded, one in each surprisingly relaxed hand. Before the warrior could even find his footing and raise his spear, Tobin struck. In a blur of motion, one blade discovered a weakness in the armor around the ribs, and sank in. The second blade drew fluidly across the warrior’s throat, just beneath the chin of his helm. The warrior fell in a heap of metal and mesh.

  Tobin stepped back, his chest heaving for air—the only sign that he had exerted himself. His hands coolly wiped the blades against the hem of his trousers, clearing the scarlet from each. When he turned from the slumped warrior, his bright blue eyes were clear and—serene. The fact that he could look at ease after what he’d just done terrified me, but at the same time his serenity was a comfort. My heart beat wildly, my breathing short and ragged. I was shaking, and yet Tobin was solid and sure when he knelt on the soft forest floor beside me. I couldn’t stop my hand from latching on to his sleeve.

  “Keep your palm tight against it,” he said, the tranquility of his eyes faltering as he inspected the wound. “The perimeter is teeming with more warriors. Can you walk?”

  He lifted me up, keeping me tight to his side as he bent to extract the blade buried in the first warrior’s eye socket. It came out with a wet slurp, and the sour bread I’d eaten at breakfast threatened to reappear.

  Tobin was right. We had to move. My legs didn’t want to work, but his strength was enough for the both of us. We raced past trees in a direction I could only pray wouldn’t have us crossing paths with more Morvansk warriors.

  Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Maybe more. I didn’t know how long Tobin ran, me stumbling at his side. But he didn’t let go until we’d ducked under a natural bridge made of two fallen tree trunks, strung with moss and ivy. I sat on a padding of moss and leaned against the banking of the slope from where the trees had uprooted.

  “You’re losing a lot of blood.” Tobin pulled down the collar of my coat and slid it around my elbows.

  “I’m all right,” I told him, but my ears were ringing and my head felt like it was floating skyward.

  He ignored my claim. “I need to pack it.”

  “Pack it?” That sounded painful. I thought about refusing, but Tobin’s fingers were already popping open buttons down the front of my shirt. Awareness slapped into me, and I jerked my hands up to stop him. But my coat, shrugged down around my elbows, acted as a pair of manacles.

  “Stop fighting,” he murmured. “You’ll be unconscious soon if we don’t stop the bleeding.”

  Black dots swam across my vision, and I relented.

  Tobin pulled open the top of my shirt. He took in my bound chest with a rapid fire of blinking. My whole body surged with heat and pain, and now, mortification.

  The wound was high on my chest, just above the binding sash, which was soaked in a new shade of red. It was sticky and wet, and I squirmed as he poured water over the wound.

  “Please, Ever,” Tobin said. “Sit still.”

  With one of his knives, he made a cut in the sleeve of his shirt and ripped it off, leaving him with an exposed forearm. He sliced a smaller strip out of the swath of linen and folded it into a packing of small squares.

  “This is going to hurt,” he said, his tone gentler than before.

  “I guessed as much.” I shut my eyes and waited.

  “Try not to cry out,” he added. I nodded, knowing there could be more warriors within hearing distance.

  I pinned my lips together while Tobin pried open the wound. He jammed the linen packing inside to stanch the flow of blood. The pain was worse than the actual arrowhead that had sliced into me. My lips stayed sealed, but the scream gathered in my
throat and the world went reeling.

  “Breathe, Ever.” Tobin cupped my cheeks. My eyes fluttered open.

  “It’s over.” He dipped his chin so his eyes could meet mine. “You’ll be fine, but we have to keep going. You have to walk, can you do that?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I asked, gasping for air. He smiled as he pulled my shirt closed and started to button it. I lifted my hands to the next button, but he was already there. Our fingers tangled together, and he was suddenly holding my hand securely in his.

  “You’ll be safe,” he whispered. “I promise you, no matter what happens from here on out, you will be safe.”

  I avoided his eyes and the intensity of his vow, and instead focused on how his fingers were woven together with mine. Safe. Tobin had saved my life twice now. But the red smears on his thumb and forefinger, and speckled across the back of his hand, brought me back to the way he’d so easily killed those Mors. His perfect, skilled aim guided the first blade into an impossibly thin target from a great distance; and the sinuous movements of the second kill could have only been achieved through practice.

  He must have felt me stiffening beneath his grip, noticing my lack of a response, because he let me go. Tobin straightened as tall as he could without hitting the underside of the natural bridge. My numbed fingers did up the rest of the buttons.

  “Do you need help walking?” he asked as I found my footing. My chest seized with pain, but I shook my head.

  “I can manage.”

  He pursed his lips, the dark shadow of his beard, untouched by a razor for days now, unable to conceal his frustration.

  “Keep up,” he said and headed back into the forest.

  We stumbled into the border road not long after noon. I only had time to take in the mashed appearance of the muddy road, trampled by shod horses and armored boots before Tobin yanked me back into the trees. The gash in my chest was a hot agony, and I wriggled free. I wished he’d stop pulling me around as if I was some sort of idiot.