“What did you bring us?” Wren asks.
I scan the forest, making sure we’re still alone before I kneel and return my attention to Wren, who is opening the bag.
“This must be Hedran’s pack,” I murmur. “Good find, Mist.”
My panther glances at me haughtily, as if sayingSomeone has to do the hard work around here.
Mist is going to be disappointed if she thinks I’ll ever apologize for that kiss. Still, I send a warm wave of affection to my judgmental cat, thanking her before I look inside the bag.
A new wave of anger crashes into me as I catalog the contents. Suns take me, I should’ve killed Hedran more slowly. He didn’t deserve a quick death, not when he was carrying these items.
“Oh, suns.” Wren hitches a breath as she pulls out a long length of braided rope from the bag. Several strips of cloth and a sharp hunting knife follow close behind.
She sets them on the ground in a line, her shoulders tensing with each new discovery. Blood drains from her face as she runsa finger down the hunting knife, shuddering. “He was going to hurt me, wasn’t he?”
My teeth grind together as I glare at Hedran’s corpse on the other side of the clearing. It takes a long moment before I compose myself enough to dip my head.
“Yes, it appears so.”
Hedran Erlet was the worst kind of Hunter because this wasn’t a job for him. He hunted for sport, delighting in other people’s pain. His dark desires just happened to coincide with his chosen path of employment.
And he had picked Wren as his next victim.
“But he’s dead,” she murmurs.
“Yes.” My voice is rough. “He won’t be hurting anyone anymore.”
Others will be searching for us, though. Protectors and Hunters. The king will be furious when he finds out Hedran is gone.
And yet, I don’t feel remorseful about his death.
My gods-blessed frowns, slowly running her finger down the flat edge of the blade before touching the sharp tip. Crimson blood beads on her fingertip.
“Did you know I wanted to be a healer?” She turns her finger one way, then the other, studying the blood sliding down her knuckle.
She’s not looking at me. I’m not even sure she’s talking to me or if she’s processing what happened earlier. But since these are some of the first words she’s said to me that aren’t laced with tension or anger, I don’t want to shatter the moment.
“No, I didn’t,” I say softly.
“It was my dream,” she confesses on a whisper.
“Oh?”
“The Given aren’t supposed to dream, but I... I couldn’t help myself. Before Amelia’s ceremony, before she was...”
Wren shudders and closes her eyes, taking in several shaky breaths. I don’t say anything, allowing her the space to work out her thoughts.
“I was going to heal people. Save them.” She sounds wistful. “And yet, here I am. Surrounded by death.” Her violet eyes open, and she stares at her bloody finger. “It’s always death, Gabriel. Always blood and pain and endless hurt. Never life.”
The agony in her words hurts me more than all my injuries combined.
“You can still be a healer.” If that’s what she wants, I’ll move mountains to make it happen.
The thought should scare me, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s acknowledging what I already feel in my soul—Wren’s happiness is incredibly important to me.
“Can I?” She stares at her hand. “I don’t know.”
“I do.” I wait until her eyes lift to mine. “You healed me twice, remember?”
