Page 46 of The Queen's Huntsman
But… it was… only broth.
Confused, Gwendolyn peered down at the few small bits of mushrooms and grass in the bowl, then turned to peer at Málik. He grinned, revealing his elusive fangs. It was the first time in so long time he’d bared so many teeth.
“Thank you,” Gwendolyn said to Emrys, nodding, smiling, reaching again for her pastry, thinking that she’d best eat every bite because that broth would not sustain her.
“Eat hardy,” said Málik, tearing a piece of his own pastry, then shoving it into his gob. Surprised to see him eat, she did the same, concealing a grimace when it tasted like burnt parchment—not that she’d ever consumed burnt parchment. But that was precisely how she imagined it would taste.
ChapterTwenty-One
Time slowed.
Voices melted together.
Smoke rose to spin away everything in Gwendolyn’s presence.
She had been fairly certain she was eating a bland, distasteful stew, but now, it appeared, she was no longer at the table. She was somewhere… else… on her mare… the one lost to her in Chysauster… Gods, how much she’d missed the sweet beast.
This was Trevena, on a market day. Everyone scrambling to prepare their booths. So many familiar faces—the baker and the cordwainer.
Gwendolyn waved as she rode by, cantering toward King’s Bridge. Usually, this was where the merchants congregated, just inside the inner gates, hawking wares to anyone who ventured past. “Early spears!” called one merchant.
“Nettle tops!” cried another. “Nettle tops!”
It was a day like any other day. The sun shining. The air was full of sweet pollen. Children rushing about. Laughing. Giggling. Lifting kites into a clear, blue sky.
One particular kite caught Gwendolyn’s attention… it was emblazoned with the Loegrian serpent, yet in gold, not red.How strange. How strange.
Gwendolyn reached down to pat her mare, so grateful for her return.
When was she lost? Why did it seem she’d been gone so long?
And now, though she couldn’t recall why she was riding toward the city gates, she gave her mare a gentle heel, and made for King’s Bridge, passing a few small carts, then several men with packs on their backs, and finally a petite young woman with a little girl. “Myttin da,” said the girl, but there was no smile in the child’s dull brown eyes.
The mother’s face was bloodless, her lips grey.
“We’ve come to sell morels,” said the child without emotion, pointing to her mother’s basket.
“Oh!” said Gwendolyn brightly. “I love morels.” She reached into the pouch at her belt to produce a silver coin, ready to toss it at the girl, but when she peered back at the pair, they were transformed, giving her a fright. The mother’s face was pale, with circles beneath her eyes, her eyes themselves black as coals, her pupils lost amidst the blackness. And then, when she pulled back the lid of her basket, it was filled with maggots wriggling over the King’s decapitated head.
Gwendolyn gasped, swaying backward, and for an instant feared she might tumble from her horse as her gaze returned to the girl to find the child smiling with a mouth lacking teeth. Her flesh, too, was pale as death, and when she blinked, her blue eyes turned black.
Gwendolyn might have screamed, but then, quite suddenly, she was peering into a smallish room, no longer seated upon her horse, staring at the form of a weeping girl…
Ely?
Was it Ely?
The girl’s feet and hands were bound behind her back, and she was sobbing disconsolately, peering up suddenly, her pink lips quivering, as Gwendolyn walked into her room. “Oh, Ely!” Gwendolyn said, rushing to her side. “Please tell me! What is wrong?”
For a moment, Ely didn’t speak. Her lovely blue eyes were red-rimmed, her face encrusted with filth and mud. “Gwendolyn?” she sobbed. “Is it you?”
“It is!” Gwendolyn said. “I am here!” Flinging herself atop the bed, she groped about for some means to set Ely free, but the ropes binding her hands had no beginning or end; they couldn’t be loosened.
“Have you found Bryn?” Ely asked. “Please, tell me he is not lost?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ely. I’ve not seen Bryn—not since you left me.”
Ely shook her head, fat tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, no! Gwendolyn! We did not leave you—can’t you see?Youleft us. Bryn went in search of you and never returned.”
