Ever the Hunted

by Erin Summerill

  He stands. “Your time is short, Britta. Is this how things will end for you? Is this what you want? Or what she would’ve wanted?”

  “What do you know of her?” I stare at him stonily. He has no right to talk to me about Enat.

  “I know you loved her,” he says, and I turn away, needing the darkness to dull my pain. “Life hasn’t been easy for you. But there are people who care for you and are willing to help. You’re a fighter, Britta. That’s why I let you go in Celize. I knew you would find your father’s killer and make this situation right. Don’t give up now.”

  I rest my chin on my arms and stare blindly into the shadows that echo with moans and clanks until Leif leaves.

  The door at the top of the dungeon stairs creaks and then clangs shut. Anger sweeps through me, and yet, as furious as I am, Leif’s comments plague me. He let me walk away in Celize. It’s a shock that might amuse me if my entire soul wasn’t black.

  Cohen’s still out there with Finn. If he hasn’t already, soon, he’ll reach our tree and know something is wrong, but if he comes for me and the guards catch him, he’ll be hanged.

  I grip the roots of my hair, welcoming the biting pinch.

  To survive these woods, a man has to be strong as the trees.

  If Enat were here, I’m certain she’d fight. I didn’t believe her when she said I was like her. But I want to be. I want so badly to be like my grandmother that I push up off the hardened grime when Leif returns with a dish of gruel.

  “So you saw through my disguise?”

  A faint smile registers on his lips.

  “When you were here earlier, you said not to give up,” I say, my coward voice shaking. “Can I trust you to help me? Answer me aloud.”

  His eyes work back and forth over my face. “Yes, you can trust me.”

  Truth. I have never been more grateful for the warmth under my skin.

  “I want to escape from here,” I admit, feeling winded like I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice. “When I was caught with . . . with Enat . . . we were on our way to the castle for two reasons. First, to tell the high lord who the real murderer is. And second, to break the spell on the king.” I explain everything we know about a bind on the king and the war.

  When I finish, Leif’s brows are drawn together.

  I glance over the top of the bowl as I eat the terrible-tasting mush. “I know it sounds mad, but if what you say is true, that I can trust you, then you must trust me as well.”

  He blows out a breath. “I’ve had some suspicions about the king’s behavior and recent orders. This is just a lot to take in. Do you know who’s controlling the king?”

  “I think so,” I say, purposefully evasive. Once Leif finds out about the captain, I fear his loyalty will stand in the way of him believing me. Or at the very least, it’ll keep him from helping me escape.

  “Tell me. If I’m going to help you, I need to know my enemy.”

  I don’t want to tell him. Though he’s right, he needs to know. “It’s the captain,” I say quickly, spitting it out before I talk myself out of it. “He killed my father and is likely working with the Spiriter controlling the king.”

  Leif pulls back to look me in the eyes, his expression full of shock and doubt as his hands wrap firmly around my shoulders. “You’re certain?”

  I tell him about the Archtraitor, the murder at the tavern, the witnesses, and the captain’s coat. Leif rocks back on his heels.

  “You believe me?” I hold the bowl in my lap, unable to finish the last half. A herd of elk could be thundering through me for how my heart beats with hope.

  “Yes, I believe you,” he says. “So if the captain is truly controlling the king, it’s my duty as the king’s guard to protect him, which means I must do what I can to break the bind.”

  I’m so relieved by his answer, I could kiss him.

  “I have a plan,” I say. “And it requires my death.”

  Chapter

  38

  LEIF RETURNS A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER WITH Enat’s leather pouch.

  “Where’s the boiled water?” I ask Leif after he pushes the pouch through the iron rungs.

  His eyes cut to the side. “By the door,” he whispers, and then darts back, his face shifting into a stoic mask a moment before a guard approaches from the depths of the dungeon.

  A scowl shows through the guard’s greasy beard. “What are you doing here, Leif?”

  “Just checking the prisoner,” Leif says coolly.

  The guard turns and, after noticing me, presses his bulging belly up against the bars of my cell. “So what, you hunted down the scrant and now you get special privileges?”

  “If by privileges you mean I have to smell her rotting carcass when I throw dinner at her feet, then yes.” Leif chuckles and makes another comment about how disgusting I am. It’s slightly mortifying to hear, even if it’s an act.

  The guard must have accepted Leif’s excuse because he leaves after muttering a few more unsavory comments. I’m relieved to watch him go.

  “Sorry about that.” Leif returns with the cup. “I, uh, didn’t want him to think I was showing you any kindness.”

  “Are we clear? No more guards will be coming down here?”

  “Only Jorgan, the guard who was just here, and the dungeon master. If your diversion works, they’ll both be occupied and you’ll have your escape if you wake in time.”

  The promise sounds bittersweet.

  “The body bearers usually come at night. I—​I’m nervous for you. Have you tried making this herbal brew before? What if you don’t wake till tomorrow?”

  I press my lips together. The day in the forest when I found out I was a Spiriter, Enat had me gather these leaves. While we were traveling, she said if they’re crushed and steeped in water with bark-gnarl grindings, they make a sleeping concoction. There are so many ways this plan could fail. “Enat said the effects only last a couple hours. Once I drink the tea and it takes effect, my heart will slow, and I’ll look dead. You’ll have to move fast. I don’t want it to wear off before the dungeon master has taken me out of here.”

  I sort through Enat’s pouch and find the leaves, grind them between my fingers, and then drop the pieces into the liquid. I have no idea if I used the right amount. For all I know, too little might not do the trick and too much could kill me. I pray it works. It’s the only way to get out of this dungeon.

  “Where will I wake?”

  “There’s an area at the far end of the dungeon where the corpses are placed until the bearers come. They’ll put you there. I would have the guards take you elsewhere, but that would be suspicious. I promise I won’t let the bearers take you away.”

  “Yes. I don’t want to be buried alive. Will you be there when I wake?” The words jitter from my cracked lips.

  “I’ll check on you and try my best to be there. If I’m not, I’ll make sure the dungeon master’s keep just beyond the dungeon door is open so you can grab your belongings. Once you’re in the courtyard, find the north hall. It’ll take you right to the high lord’s study.”

  “You’re sure it’ll be clear?”

  Leif reaches out and takes my hand. The warmth of his fingers is such a contrast to the dank, chilly dungeon. “I’ll make sure of it. Even if I have to create a diversion.”

  All I can do is nod.

  Clearly, I’d be a fool not to acknowledge the many possibilities in which this plan could fail. But in the short time left before the war begins—​before Cohen realizes I’m not at our tree and is then possibly caught and hanged for murder—​this is the only plan I have. Regardless of the risks, it’s what I must do for Cohen and myself. And for Enat and Papa.

  “Thank you.” I push the words out past the hard lump in the back of my throat.

  The bitter brew lodges in the back of my mouth, and it takes gagging to get it all down. Leif’s eyes are pinned to me, studying my face as if the effects will take place instantaneously. I open my mouth to tell him to stop starin
g when the metal bars blur before me.

  “I think it’s work—” My lips fumble over the words that catch on my tongue. The cell’s bars spin around me. I shut my eyes and fall under the tea’s hold.

  I should be grateful for the dungeon odor. The moment it burns my nostrils, I’m certain I’m alive. Hopefully the plan has worked and the dungeon master has fallen for the ruse. An uncontrollable shiver works through me, dragging me the rest of the way from sleep. I move to stretch when my hand hits something cold and solid.

  Eyes wide open, I take in my surroundings. Beside me, partially covered in muslin, the corpse of a man is surrounded by the smell of death. I bite my lip and scurry away. Yep, the plan worked.

  Only the small crack of daylight coming from the door at the top of the stairs provides light in which to orient myself. I’m in the dungeon, but not in a cell. I rise on unsteady legs. Where’s Leif? What should I do now?

  I consider waiting and immediately ignore the notion. The corpse stinks. The dungeon master could return at any time. Or the body bearers may come. Down here there’s no way of knowing what time it is. Or how long I slept. I have to act now.

  The blaze of daylight beyond the dungeon is nearly blinding. I squint and blink and then slip into an adjacent door of the dungeon master’s keep that’s been left ajar, wherein I find Papa’s dagger. Holding the handle once again gives me a push of confidence.

  As my eyes accept the light, I scan the courtyard. A group of men stand a dozen paces away, with their backs toward me, shouting and jeering at a commotion. A glimpse of auburn tells me Leif is in the middle of the action. Perhaps this is his distraction.

  It’s time to move.

  Adrenaline pumps through my limbs as I dart across the corner of the courtyard from the dungeon door to the stairwell that will take me to the north hall, praying no one will see me. I scurry beneath the arcading and stumble into the door that leads to the stairwell. The brew isn’t entirely out of my system. It makes my legs hard to command. Luckily, the stairwell is empty, stirring a little remorse for having doubted Leif. Taking the steps as fast as I can manage, I enter the north hall in no time.

  The corridor is long and marked with more than a dozen doors that I recognize from my time here before. Though the hall is vacant, my steps stay light and soundless, only pausing once to allow time for my tea-fogged head to clear. When my fingers are wrapped around the high lord’s shiny doorknob and no guards are in sight, I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

  I’ve made it all the way here. Unseen.

  Now all I have to do is convince Lord Jamis of the captain’s guilt.

  I crack open the door and slip inside.

  Chapter

  39

  “SEIZE HER.”

  Captain Omar’s icy command stokes a blaze of adrenaline in me, enough to shake off more of the tea’s haze. His glare is sharpened with shock and fury. No doubt he thought me dead. I scramble back and pull my dagger from my boot. I turn to go back out the door when two guards rush to my side. I cannot give up now. As I rise, my elbow lifts up and slams into one guard’s nose. He grunts and I punch again, hearing a crack of bone. The second guard reaches for me, but the point of my dagger slows his advance.

  With his blade unsheathed, his slashing moves are swifter than I’ve the energy to combat. I’m still too foggy to think clearly enough to fend him off. Stinging heat zips down my arm. The bludger’s cut me. Beads of blood break out across my skin as I trip back for space. Our fight has turned me around so I’m in the middle of Lord Jamis’s study.

  The two guards hunker into fighting-ready positions, one glaring over a bloody nose and the other shifting closer with his blade pointed at me. Beyond them, the high lord sits behind his desk watching the scene unfold.

  Where’s Captain Omar?

  A quick glance over my shoulder and I freeze.

  The point of Omar’s blade is pressed into Cohen’s neck. Cohen. Crimson drops blossom at the point of contact. Enat’s final moment pops into my vision and just as quickly vanishes. My skin turns to brittle leaves at the sight of Cohen, captured by the man who killed my father.

  “No.” I find my voice. “Cohen, what happened?”

  “Hand over your weapon or he dies now.” Captain Omar’s command allows no option for Cohen to speak. Instead, Cohen stares at me hard with an equal look of apology and fear.

  I spin to face the high lord, my eyes pleading for his mercy.

  “Now!” Omar yells.

  I jump and rip my gaze away from Lord Jamis. My fingers shake with fury as I deliver Papa’s blade to the bloody-nosed guard, who sets it on the desk.

  The guard tugs my wrists behind my back, and a wave of unexpected dizziness hits. Blood stains my tunic and slithers down my arm from the gash near my shoulder. I shake my head to clear the pain.

  Defeat kicks through me.

  “This isn’t how I imagined us meeting again, Miss Flannery.” The high lord finally speaks. Like the first time we met, his tone is formal and composed in such an elegant way it makes me take stock of my filth. He crosses the room, coming to stand by his desk in nearly the same pose he held when we first met. The irony that I’m in the man’s study with Cohen by my side isn’t lost on me.

  “Did we not have a deal?” He steeples his fingers.

  “We—​we did,” I say.

  “You were promised sovereignty and the ownership of your father’s cottage if you led my men to capture Cohen Mackay. Was this not our agreement?”

  “Yes.” I grit my teeth together. I want to tell him more, explain who the real killer is, but the guard has my arm twisted in restraint and a blade pressed into my side. If I say anything, he may slide the metal between my ribs before I can finish my sentence.

  “And yet you led my men to the town where Mackay was hiding, and then you teamed up with the very man I contracted you to capture. You consorted with the enemy and assisted in his escape.” He pulls the matching dagger out of the desk and sets it beside mine in a controlled manner that reminds me of the peace before a winter storm. “When you stood in here and agreed to the deal, was it your intention to deceive me, Britta?”

  I shake my head. “No, sir, I—”

  “I hope not. You see, I don’t like being made a fool.” His left eye twitches.

  This conversation is spinning out of control. If it continues, my fate along with Cohen’s, and possibly now Leif’s, will be the noose by this time tomorrow. I cannot let that happen. “I—​I can explain,” I plead.

  Lord Jamis cocks his head to one side, jerking like a falcon. “Explain? What could you possibly say to excuse such grievous acts? On top of poaching, you’ve now committed treason and aided an accused murderer. Please do explain. I’m sure it’ll be amusing.”

  My throat closes up. He won’t be sympathetic to my plea. He won’t believe me if I tell him the captain’s the murderer. My problem lies in the proof, of which I have none.

  “Go on, girl.” The guard prods my shoulder with his blade. I arch my back to scrape more space from him.

  “I . . . I, uh, left Captain Omar and went with Cohen because I found out he’s innocent,” I say, wincing at the wobble in my voice. “I went to find the real murderer.”

  Lord Jamis stares at me blandly. Behind me the guard mutters his disbelief, though thankfully doesn’t press his point with the blade.

  The high lord seemed kind enough to suffer my presence when we first met. I pray he’ll listen to me now. Revealing my Spiriter abilities may be suicide, but there’s no other way to prove Cohen’s innocence and the captain’s guilt.

  My time is up and there are no other options. For Cohen, I must do this.

  “You sent me to find my father’s killer, and I went because I believed you when you said Cohen was a murderer. I believed you because I can tell when someone is speaking the truth.”

  “That’s a lie.” The outburst comes from Captain Omar. His hand is gripped on the pommel of his sword. I glance from him to Lord Jamis
, whose eyes have widened a fraction. A good sign.

  “It isn’t a lie,” I forge on. “When someone tells the truth, I can feel it.”

  “Interesting.” Lord Jamis taps his fingers together before pulling them behind his back. I’m surprised no one in the room has called me a Channeler. “How can you stand here and argue that you have the ability to tell the truth when you say you believed me, and now you’re saying I am wrong?”

  “When you said Cohen killed my father, you must’ve believed what you were saying. And because you thought you were telling the truth, I felt it. I can prove it. Tell me something that I wouldn’t know the truth about. And I’ll tell you if you’re honest or not.”

  “And how do I know you’re not merely good at guessing?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit with a frown. “But you can keep testing me. I assure you I will get it right every time.”

  Captain Omar mutters beneath his breath as the high lord appears to be considering my offer. I take note of the grip around my wrists. The guard has slackened his hold.

  “Did you know that I was once a skilled hunter like yourself?” Lord Jamis asks. “Your father and I trained together.”

  This isn’t the type of comment I’d expected. First, because it is true. And second because it’s personal. Lord Jamis does not strike me as the type of man to let many people close to him.

  “Truth,” I say.

  His brows lift in appraisal.

  “She guessed.” Omar moves between the high lord and me. “She’s lying to save him.”

  I rip free of the guard and dart forward. “No! You killed my father.” I point at the captain. “You turned evidence over to Lord Jamis to set Cohen up. You even tried to silence everyone, but there was one witness you didn’t silence. He saw the five stripes on your coat. Only you wear five stripes.”

  The other guards move behind me. Captain Omar puts out his hand to stay them. “You accuse me? You fool girl,” he hisses. “Saul was my friend. I didn’t kill him. But I will kill his murderer.”

  Truth. It licks through me, a fire blazing through my body.