Page 28 of The Queen's Huntsman
“Myhome,” he said. “Claímh Solaiswas ours before it was yours.”
As quickly as the tension between them had eased, it stretched taut once more. “And yet it would not burn for you as it did for my father. So I must argue it no longer belongs to your people. It belongs to mine, and you stole it!”
“To the contrary,” Málik said. “It was given to me for safekeeping, in case you don’t recall.”
“Oh, I do,” Gwendolyn said, her fury mounting. “But that sword was granted to you by a sickly man, who did not know what travesty was soon to come.”
“You must not give your father so little credit, Gwendolyn. He understood he was dying and did not believe his heir was up to the challenge of defending that sword. You cannot possibly imagine its worth.”
His words cut deeply. Gwendolyn pointed to her breast. “Icannot imagine its worth?”
Men died to defend that sword—men known to her since she was a child. The aldermen had guarded it with their lives. In the end, her father had sequestered that sword, leaving untold riches free to be stolen—gold, copper, tin. None of it had merited the place in her father’s vault.
Moreover, how could he imply she would not know her father? Or that she might underestimate his cunning? She better than most knew her father’s worth, but Málik did not understand how much he’d wasted, nor how much Gwendolyn had worried for him, searching for remedies, worrying incessantly about Porth Pool, even so far as to consider summoning those Druids. Gods, she’d married a rotten gobshite solely for his sake!
“You didn’t even know it was there,” he argued. “Did you?”
It was true. She did not know the sword was in her father’s vault. And this was a great burden to carry—to know her father had not even trusted her well enough to tell her.
Gwendolyn bounded to her feet, vexed again, though this time she had a good reason. And it wasn’t only about the sword.
She had a sense that Málik knew more about everything than he was willing to admit, and if he’d known what was about to happen to her father, why hadn’t he spoken up to warn her—or at the least, stay to defend the true conservator of this land?
After all, wasn’t that what he’d claimed he’d been sent for—to defend Trevena?
“I’m ready to leave,” she said, slapping a hand across her tunic to rid it of cony grease. Far from looking like a queen, she feared she looked and smelled like a homeless beggar. And perhaps she was, though if she doubted it, Málik’s next question emphasized the truth.
“Where would you have us go?”
Where, indeed?
Anywhere far from here—far from Locrinus, and for the moment, far from Málik, as well!
“North,” she snapped, and with that, she bent to lift his cloak, tossing it back to him, wanting nothing from him that wasn’t owed—and verily, he owed her nothing. Even his oath of fealty as her Shadow did not come without an expiration date.
Furious again, she turned and marched away.
ChapterEleven
Tired and hungry, her shoes damp and her heart feeling trampled as well, Gwendolyn refused to complain, nor did she wish for Málik to discern how much he’d hurt her feelings—how much he wounded her every time he opened his mouth.
Why was he so compelled to speak so forthright, with no thought for softening his words? Much as she wished to know the truth from him, and even respected it, he showed no thought for her feelings in his disclosures. It was as though he meant for her to loath him.
And yet, no matter that she desperately wanted to, she could not.
For now, it was better not to speak to him—not even to ask about the cake he said he had. By now, whatever vitality the morning’s victuals had provided was well and duly squandered, and still she trudged through these changing woodlands, lips pressed firmly together and teeth grinding with remembered fury.
Nearly spent, she followed as he led her through lands that were thicker with brush, and she wanted to ask where they were going, but Málik had never been less forthcoming.
Like hers, his lips were sealed tighter than a clam at high tide.
All the while, they traveled, not more than a few feet apart, she felt the distance grow between them, widening like a chasm. Along with a tumult of emotions, a multitude of questions marched through her head, all vying for a turn on her tongue. There were so many things she wished to know, not merely about her parents, about Málik as well.
Where had he been all these months? Why had he returned? Why now, when he didn’t bother to do so all those miserable weeks she’d prayed so desperately?
Whatever the case, he still hadn’t even told herwhathe’d done to her yesterday.
It was an astonishing feat. The entire time he’d held her in his arms by that tree she’d felt unchanged, as though she were still flesh and blood, but Locrinus and his men had looked straight through her.
