“I hardly took your place. Don’t think anyone could, the way everyone’s talked about you.”
Hunter whistles. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. We’re all pieces on the same board.”
“Chess pieces have a hierarchy,” I reply. “With what the Order is giving up for your safe return, it’s pretty clear you’re not one of us lowly pawns.”
“Ah. Taylor didn’t tell you.” A perfectly arched eyebrow raises on her creaseless forehead. “I’m Theia’s daughter.”
I’m unsure how I didn’t see it immediately. The identical brown eyes, same cheekbones, my instant dislike. Probably because I didn’t want to see it, or because I’m too wrapped up in my lovelorn drama. “Oh.”
“So, no, not a pawn. Maybe a bishop. You, though, you’re at least a rook, eh? An heiress who should’ve been killed months ago, under the protection of the rebellion’s highest-ranking soldier?” Hunter links her hands in front of her. “How’s that going? Theia make a deal with your dad yet?”
“He wants to see me in person first.”
“I am sure there’s more to it than that,” she replies. “But Theia’s probably keeping her cards close, as usual. Surprised Taylor hasn’t spilled the beans. You seem close.”
I cock my head to the side. “You think that from the thirty seconds Taylor and I were in a room together?”
And I probably shouldn’t have been so defensive, considering the smirk I receive in response. “I think that because I know Taylor like the back of my hand.” She continues to pack, an infuriatingly smug look on her face. “I know the first time we saw you, you could have knocked her over with a feather. She ever tell you about that?”
“No. We did not have much time for long chats in between assassinations and getting shot.”
She pauses. “Taylor was shot?”
“Yes.”
This causes her to snap straight up, indignant. “And what did you do, stand there and watch?”
“I was not there,” I spit back at her. No reason to tell her I was shot too. You don’t expose your wound to a predator.
Hunter scoffs and resumes her task with less annoying joviality than before. “One day, it’s maybe mid-August and muggy and hot as hell. Taylor and I are cramped in an old apartment building observing your place. Taylor is relaying guard positions and the general comings and goings. Suddenly, she goes quiet.”
For dramatic effect, Hunter abruptly ceases speaking. I wave my hand for her to continue.
“And so, my taciturn partner, more neutral and wholesome than a glass of milk, looks like someone whacked her with a two-by-four. Naturally, I gotta see what’s got her so gobsmacked. Lo and behold, there you are.”
I furrow my brow. “Had you not seen me before?”
“Nope. You’re standing at the front door, wearing a thin, white summer dress that could’ve doubled as gauze. You looked great, don’t get me wrong, but it left little to the imagination.”
I remember that dress, and the way the flimsy cotton slid between my fingers. The way it infuriated Papa when I wore it. “I’m sure she was embarrassed.”
Hunter smiles. “Oh, I don’t think embarrassed is the word. I think smitten is more accurate.”
My face grows hot. “Smitten? Taylor?”
“I was as surprised as you are,” she says with a gentle laugh. “It was so cute. We never spoke about it, but she did take a particular interest in you after that. She snapped up any mission to do recon in New York before Theia could even finish a sentence.”
“That’s how she got information on me,” I reply. “She really did stalk me.”
“Maybe, but it looks like it was worthwhile for you. I mean, here you are, alive and well. She must’ve seen something worth saving during those months.”
“Saving? I was not some daring rescue. I was a last-minute smash-and-grab job when my—when the COs noticed her.”
Hunter stops and faces me. “Taylor botched a mission with an easy target and was somehow close enough to you to remove you from your own home without intervention? That doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”
Sure, when she phrases it like that, it sounds intentional. But Theia’s daughter would be well versed in spin. “They almost caught her. She could’ve died.”
“Right,” she says in obvious disbelief.
