Page 37 of The Huntsman's Heart
When I’m certain he cannot escape, I go to him and untie the gag from around his mouth. Then I draw my blade.
I want to hear him scream.
Alaric watches me, but his expression is impassive, calculating. I’m certain he still has no idea how far I intend to take this—to be honest I’m not sure myself. I know what I have planned, but I’m not sure how much of it I’ll be able to carry through with.
“Is my father dead?” I know the answer already, but when he inclines his head, it cuts me all the same.
I look away, blinking back tears as I reach for the iron poker to set it in the bonfire the gargoyles made for me.
The three hounds gather around, sniffing at Alaric’s feet, growling at his every movement. Évandre, Corvin, and Raban hover, watching to make sure he can’t escape.
I’m composed by the time I turn back to Alaric. I straighten my back and put on my best regal tone. “Did she kill him?”
His jaw tightens. “You saw for yourself how sick he was by the end, princess.”
I frown. “That’s not an answer.” Neither of us needs to ask who is meant by ‘she’.
“She could have put him out of his misery earlier, but she chose not to. If you’re asking whether or not she made him sick, then of that I’m less certain. It’s certainly possible.”
Gods, I hate him. The way he says this so impassively, as if it is of no more importance than what color dress I might wear to dinner. “Why did you take me?”
“Because she ordered it,” he says simply.
I want to scream. Instead I keep my face impassive as his. “Of course. And you are her dog and never question her bidding.”
A knot forms between his brows. “I warned you not to cross her. You should have taken the marriage she arranged for you and been rid of her. Rid of this place. You could have started afresh.”
“With an old man!” I step close, pressing the blade of my knife to his throat in anger. He does not flinch.
“Who would have died, leaving you as free as she is.”
How dare he? How dare he throw in my face the way she used my father! I pull the knife from his throat, dragging the tip down his chest, cutting open his shirt, and scoring a long harsh line down his bare skin. It does not bleed. Perhaps I needed to score deeper.
He watches me cooly. “Are you angry with me, princess, for telling you the truth? You never liked to hear it.”
“Do not try to make this about me,” I spit. “This is about you. The monster that dragged an innocent girl into the woods and ruined her. Ruined me. You thought you’d left me for dead, didn’t you?”
“I made sure of it before I left you.” There’s nothing but ice in his veins.
Well, a fire burns in mine. I toss my knife aside, reaching for the iron, holding the red hot metal up to his face. “Enough talking.”
When he doesn’t turn away, impulsively I press the hot iron to his skin. There’s a sizzle. He holds completely still, but I’m pleased to see the muscles jump in his cheek.
When I pull the poker away, there’s an ugly black mark on his skin.
“You mean to make me suffer, then.”
“Like I said, I mean to make youpay.”
“Then do your worst, princess, but you will not kill me this way.”
I ignore his words. I don’t want to kill him anyway. Not yet. “Turn him.”
The gargoyles leap into action. Évandre unties the ropes that bind Alaric to the stake, and Corvin and Raban drag his wrists around it until he’s bent over for me.
I step close, reaching around him to the fastening of his belt. Does he know yet what I have in mind? I wonder if he guesses as I unlatch the belt and let his trousers drop to the ground, kicking his legs apart and looking down at him spread open for me. I’ll repay like for like until I tear the heart from his chest and leave him in the forest as good as dead.
I hold out my hand, and Évandre hands me the wooden cock Corvin carved for me. “Are you sure, Guin?”
