“Oh?” It’s a fight to keep the strain out of my voice. “Have you been on any hunts recently?”
I don’t remember seeing him at the Winter’s Eve Ball. Although I don’t keep track of all the Hunters, it’s possible he was on business instead of attending the celebration.
Maybe he doesn’t know about the events that transpired that night or about Wren. That would be a gods-damned blessing, a stroke of good fortune we desperately need.
“I’m coming back from one.” Hedran lifts a shoulder, his posture one of ease. “An escaped convict.”
In a show of good faith—and hoping to hurry this along—I return my sword to its scabbard. Pointedly avoiding looking at the grove of evergreen trees hiding Wren from sight, I move towards Hedran. “I take it the hunt went well?”
These types of conversations are normal amongst Hunters, and a short while ago, it would’ve felt good. Now, it’s been tainted by everything I learned. There is nothing normal about this, or anything else. How can life continue as usual when one’s worldview has been built on a series of lies?
Until we get to the bottom of why the Given are killed and why the Giving Season exists in the first place, nothing will ever be the same.
But to find out why the gods-blessed are being sacrificed, we need to survive.
“Very well.” Hedran smirks, and my skin crawls at the wolfish, predatory expression. “The fucker thought he’d had a bad time of things before, but I returned him to Greyrock Prison in far worse shape than he’d left it.” He pats his wolf on the head. “Isn’t that right, Slate?”
The familiar’s ears twitch in reply.
“It’s his fault, really,” Hedran continues, his tone conversational. “If the convict hadn’t run, Slate wouldn’t havehad to rough him up and drag him back to me. I doubt he’ll walk again, even if the wounds in his legs don’t get infected.”
His casual cruelty has my stomach roiling, and I dig my nails into my palms. Even among other Hunters, Hedran is known as being exceptionally cruel and coldhearted. It’s no surprise that he’s one of the king’s favorites.
“Well, I’m sure you did what you had to do,” I say, hoping to bring this awful conversation to an end.
“I always do.” Hedran’s smile morphs into a serpentine grin.
Chaos whinnies, stomping his hoof. Silently, I agree with the steed’s assessment. Hedran gives me the same feeling as my father and half brother.
There’s something wrong with all three of them, a missing piece that doesn’t allow them to connect with others. It’s as if they see people as playthings, not living beings with their own wants and needs. They lack morals, and without that guiding compass, they’ve become these evil, dark monsters.
“Well, that’s good.” I try to mask the revulsion in my voice as best as possible. Gesturing towards Chaos’s saddle, which is still on the log where I left it earlier, I raise a brow. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
To my eternal dismay, Hedran doesn’t take the hint and go. Instead, he ambles towards me, Slate keeping time with him.
The wind picks up, branches shaking, and a cool breeze slices across my cheeks. Is darkness falling more quickly, or is it just me?
“Leaving so soon?” Hedran tilts his head. “But Hunter Moreau, you haven’t told me whatyou’redoing here.” The gleam in his eyes darkens, and it feels like ants are crawling over my skin. “I thought you would’ve been back in the capital by now, celebrating your promotion.”
The one I threw away when I told Wren to run.
The reminder of my failure is a fist colliding with my gut. It’s hard to believe that thoughts of becoming a Master Hunter used to consume my every waking moment, because I’ve barely had time to think about it over the past few days.
It turns out that finding out your world is based on lies and you’ve been dragging people to their deaths can alter your priorities.
“I’m spending a few days alone, trying to reorient myself,” I say. “Unfortunately, my last hunt didn’t quite go as expected, and I haven’t received my promotion yet.”
I’ll never get it, now.
“Such a shame,” Hedran says, almost gleefully. Gods above, if I didn’t already dislike the man, this would do it for me. “Maybe you’ll get it this year.”
Seeing as how my priorities have shifted to safeguarding the gods-blessed hiding nearby, that won’t be happening, but I don’t say that.
“Maybe.” I move closer to the saddle, hoping that Hedran will take the suns-damned hint and continue on his way.
I make it a few feet before I hear it.
A twig snaps, coming from the direction of the evergreens. The sound resonates through the early evening, a lion’s roar in the otherwise silent forest.
