“You’re the one who’s imagining things, Roy,” she managed, as steadily as she could. “There’s no way you could possibly evenknowsuch things!”
But that glint only sharpened in his eyes, that laugh again scraping ice up her spine. “Isn’t there?” he asked, so cold. “If you must know, love, my best men have been tracking that sneaky orc bastard all over Dunburg formonths. Until he suddenly disappeared, about three weeks ago. Which, in retrospect, is precisely whenyouleft!”
Wait. Roy had been tracking Joarr? And Joarr had been in Dunburg? Formonths? For…her?
Gwyn’s shock surely read true on her face, her head wildly whipping back and forth — and Roy laughed again, and came a smooth step closer. “We tracked him down here,” he continued, “and my mennearlycaught him on his way to Orc Mountain. Which was, oh so coincidentally, on the same day thatyoufirst disappeared!”
Good goddess. So not only had Roy’s visit to Gwyn that day been about huntingJoarr— but those men in the forest had been specifically chasing him, too? And had Joarr — had Joarrknownthat?
Something new plummeted in Gwyn’s belly, shouting more chaos in her thoughts, and Roy’s laugh abruptly faded, his eyes darkening on her face. “But obviously, I gave you the benefit of the doubt,” he said thinly. “There was no sign of the bastard having someone with him, and no sign of struggle at your house. And there was word of you in various villages, and” — his eyes flicked down to the table — “all these damned notes. And I would never have dreamed that mybetrothedwould voluntarily join forces with a vile, viciousorc!”
Gwyn was not speaking, wasnotreplying to that, and Roy came another step closer. “Do you know the shit that foul orc has caused, Gwynevere?” he demanded. “That orc — that lanky creeping spy of theirs — gets intoeverything. He was acrucialcontributor to Lord Norr’s untimely death. He broke into Duke Warmisham’s house in broad daylight, anddruggedhim with a deadly mushroom. We’re quite sure he let a flock of wildgeeseinto the lords’ last Council meeting in Wolfen. And last time my men nearly caught him, he set their horses loose, went for a joy-ride on apricelessstallion, and then dumped their supply-wagon off acliff!”
And curse her, but even in the midst of the constantly rising chaos, Gwyn felt her traitorous mouth twitch up, an irrepressible bubble lurching in her throat, while the all-too-vivid vision of that — of Joarr doing all that — flashed across her thoughts. And Roy caught it, the utter bastard, his eyes widening, his hand jerking down to clutch at the sword hanging at his side.
“So that’s how it is, is it, Gwynevere?” he continued, his voice soft deadly danger. “I’ll grant you, it’s been total silence from that brute for weeks now — and now we know why, don’t we? He was holing up in Orc Mountain withmybetrothed, and makingdamnwell sure he knocked her up with his spawn! But believe you me, Gwynevere” — he snapped one step closer, his lip curling — “his leavings will be dealt with by morning, and so will he. And so willyou!”
The last of Gwyn’s mirth had thoroughly vanished, and flooding its place was more ice, more cracking pouring fear. And she had to say something, Roy was waiting for her to say something, what, what would escape this, what would save this, goddess, please…
“You have,” she began, halting, “no right to speak to me like this, Roy. No right tothreatenme. And no matter what you say, I am still Lord Anton’s daughter, and he willnottake kindly to you harming me!”
And was that true, that had to be true, her father did still care, somewhere — but Roy was laughingagain, the sound curdling in Gwyn’s belly. “Luckily, fair Gwynevere,” he purred, “your father is on his way here as we speak. And I assure you” — he stepped toward her again, now standing just on the other side of her table — “he will be fully on my side in this. Not only that, but he will give meanythingI want, to make sure I keep this quiet, and follow through on actuallymarryingyou!”
No.No. Goddess, please.Please. But Roy was still talking, more dead light firing through his eyes. “And,” he continued, cold, terrible, “just on my way here, I received word that my men made another capture. Another pregnant chit, whose disgusting orc barely escaped our clutches. Woman by the name of Hannah. Sound familiar, Gwynevere?”
Hannah. They hadHannah?! No. It wasn’t possible. And it wasn’t possible that Roy’s men had been orchestrating those attacks against women, supporting those attacks, leading those attacks?!
The hell. Thegall.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Roy continued, his voice thin, merciless. “And when we haul up this Hannah before your father — maybe make a few threats about that littleverminshe’s growing inside her — what’s she going to tell us, Gwynevere? What’s she going to say about you, and what you’ve been doing these past weeks?”
The swine. The complete and utterscum. And Gwyn was shaking all over with shock, with rage, with the rising, jolting urge to hurl her kitchen table at Roy’s smug, mocking face. But he had a weapon, and she didn’t, and she couldnotafford to expose Stella and Silfast, how would she escape this, how would she rescue Hannah, what thehellwas she supposed to do —
“You willnot,” she gasped, without thinking, the words hitching from her throat. “He won’t let you.”
He.He, meaning not Gwyn’s father, not even Hannah’s mate Fulnir — but Joarr. Joarr, who had to still be listening. Joarr, who had to help. Who had to save Hannah. Please, goddess, please…
And Roy’s eyes, Roy’s harsh rolling laugh, said that heknewthat. Hewantedthat. And wait, he wantedJoarr, he wanted to draw him out, he’d been hunting him formonths, he’d said…
“Hewon’t let me?” Roy asked now, brows raised, that dreadful smile still curling at his mouth. “Surely you don’t mean your slippery orc lover ishere, fair Gwynevere? And if he is” — she could see the thought collecting, hardening — “he must be listening, don’t you think? I wonder what he’d do, if I were to remind him who you really are? Of whoreallyowns you?”
Of whoownedher? The shock flashed again, dark and dizzying, and Roy was still coming closer, now moving to step around her kitchen table. “What would that brute do,” Roy continued, his voice lowering, “if I decided to have my way with my own betrothed? If I made her scream for me, while he listens?”
No.Never. But Gwyn was trapped in ice, in sliding deadly cold, in bitter frozen fear. She couldn’t move, Roy was walking toward her, he was going to touch her. He was going to goad Joarr into breaking the treaty, she was backing away toward the stove, please, please —
And she — stepped on something. Something that crunched, oddly, beneath her foot. And when her frantic eyes flicked down toward it, there was…
Heat. Life. Hope. Because it was a pinecone. Apinecone.
And there was no way a pinecone could have appeared in here. Impossible,impossible, except — her eyes darted left, right, up, around — for the window. The small, glass-paned window, just over her stove, and below the window was —
Hercrossbow?!
But yes. Her crossbow. Sitting there, silent and innocuous, as though it had been lying there, all that time. But Gwyn had taken it to Orc Mountain, it and all the bolts, and then entirely forgotten about it. But two bolts were lying there beside it, waiting…
Gwyn had again frozen in place, staring down toward it, for a breath too long — long enough that Roy finally looked, too. His eyes swiftly widening, his body suddenly lurching toward it, his gloved hand reaching for it, no, goddess, no, no,no—
And Gwyn didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. Just snatched for the bow, loaded the bolt, and aimed it straight for Roy’s heart.
