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Usually, people become desensitized after seeing one horrible thing after another. The Canciller had capitalized on that effect with Guardia violence.
It was tragic, but I wished that would happen to me as panic washed over me in spurts.
When I tried to swallow, my throat was on fire. It had been one day since the Dreg had given me a sandwich, and now my stomach growled in protest. I tried to focus on my breathing, hoping to still my fear and regain some sense of control.
When was the last time I had urinated? Dehydration in the winter was deadly, and my measly handful of partially melted snow hadn’t quenched my thirst.
Tall, snow-covered trees surrounded me. Their icy branches seemed to reach out to me like a thousand icy fingers. It was a miracle I hadn't fallen off my branch while sleeping. Hibernation could temporarily paralyze, apparently.
When I looked down to inspect my ankle, I found a bright purple scar. It no longer hurt, but the scar was prominent like the first time I’d ever healed myself. My eyes strayed a little further down toward the ground, and I saw the brown, red, and gray mess. My heart raced.
Brilliant sunlight was softening the snow. I needed to either find a puddle or build a fire. What presented an increasingly larger problem was food, because there was no way I could walk with my head pounding and my limbs shaking this violently.
My eyes landed on the dead wolf, carefully avoiding the human remains next to it. I slowly made my way down from the tree and searched the patchy, wet ground for sticks to make a fire. It would be harder if the kindling was damp, but everything got wet when the sun shone this hot.
There was still a long way to go before I reached the city. The wolf was my only guaranteed food source.
I studied my surroundings and found a large, flat rock with a smooth surface that could act as a makeshift stovetop. Antonio had taught me how to cut four pieces of a log and create a hot-burning flame, but I wasn’t carrying my pack. I had no weapon. The snow crunched underfoot as I gathered twigs and pinecones.
I needed to find a knife to slice off a piece or two of fatty wolf meat to cook. With trembling hands, I held my breath and crouched down in front of the human remains.
The cold had refrigerated the body, and I went straight for the general location of his belt. There were several pockets visible, but the utility belt was covered by a piece of hanging skin.
After a moment of hesitation, I took a deep breath and reached for the belt, wiping away the melting frost from the leather as I searched the pocket.
My fingers connected with something long and sharp inside so I pulled it out with a shudder. It was a standard hunting dagger with a steel and leather handle. The blade was well kept, and it slightly reflected my dirty, ragged appearance. I cleaned the handle by scrubbing it with snow, trying not to gag, and moved over to the wolf.
My stomach rumbled, and I took a deep, calming breath.
I can do this,I told myself.I have to do this.
Slowly, I followed the few instructions I remembered from Antonio and made an incision into the skin of the wolf. Exposing the inner flesh, I sliced off a piece of muscle and fat.
It was time to make a fire. First, I put some distance between me and the body. There was no way I would eat so close to it. Returning to my small pile of resources, I propped the flat rock onto two other rocks to create a space for the pinecones below. A spark shot out from my two rocks and the meager kindling went up in flames and burned out in the blink of an eye.
“Maldita sea,” I murmured, and then glanced around to make sure that there was no one nearby.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a ragged-looking branch. After a few minutes of clumsy effort, another spark shot out from between my rocks, and my last pinecone smoked. Fanning the small black-gray cloud furiously, I tried to ignite the other wood and hoped that no one would see the inky vapor and come looking.
It was strange that the Guardias hadn't returned yet.
Once the stone was heated, I laid one of the uneven filets on top. The smell of cooking meat filled the air, and my mouth watered. While waiting for the piece of meat to sear, I enjoyed a symphony of sizzles and pops.
There were several puddles around me now, but most of them looked grimy and filled with dirt. Unsure of what else to do, I fisted a small snowball and brought my hand near the fire. Near enough to stay warm, but not near enough to burn myself. The snow melted quickly, and I slurped the mouthful while my throat ached.
I repeated the process over and over, only stopping so that I wouldn't get sick. The fire waned, but the meat was mostly cooked, so I started eating. I gingerly tore into it with my own fingers. Though it had a strong iron taste, it still filled my belly and energized my senses.
The sun was more than a quarter into the sky when I kicked snow over the remaining embers and grabbed a stick to scramble footprints.
I walked onward, irritated to find that my ankle protested every step despite the wound having healed through. The only way was forward.
If the Dreg was right, I would reach the city by nightfall. Now that I had eaten, I was positive I could do it. I would sell my jewels to the Comerciante Nocturno, and get the hell out of Arrebol.
The woods were silent except for crunchy footsteps and the occasional flap of grouse wings. I kept my head up, constantly scanning the woods, searching the shadows for signs of the Guardias. Canciller Duarte knew I had killed Martina de León, likely believed that I had killed Isaac, and had uncovered I was the descendent of royalty.Why wouldn’t he have figured it out?
Martina had enough papers in that room to convince anyone.
My cheeks heated, and I mentally berated myself for not thinking to bring… anything. The picture of my mother was burned into my mind.
