Page 76 of The Huntsman's Heart
I don’t like it. I could go on ahead and they could easily catch up. I’m about to argue, but I see the resolution in his eyes. I sigh. “Very well.”
They bring their stones into a circle and bind me between them hand and foot, and we wait. I squint through the canopy at the sky, which is hard to make out in the dense woodland. The pine trees have given way to birch and tall ash trees, and even during the daylight hours only a paltry amount of light will reach the forest floor.
We wait.
Eventually I cough. “How long until it happens?”
Raban frowns. “I sense that it is daylight, but I can still move. Is it possible that within the forest we will not turn to stone?”
Évandre slaps his forehead. “I cannot believe we did not think of these things before. Let us continue. The princess has already made much ground.”
They untie me and we continue, sticking to the densest part of the woods. Tharrok is tired, so I lift another stone from his back and add it to my pack until I am bent forward with the weight.
Raban’s hand settles on my shoulder. “Please let me help.”
I grunt. “Take the weight from my horse. He is suffering most.”
He does so, and Corvin rolls his eyes but takes one of the stones from my back. Évandre takes the third, and I straighten and stretch out sore muscles. “Thank you.”
“We are all on the same side.” the angelic gargoyle says. “Perhaps we should spend less energy fighting each other and save it for the true enemy.”
Guinevere
With relief I crawl from the tunnel when I hear the bells ringing for curfew. My skin still crawls with hundreds of tiny phantom feet, and I brush at my arms to try to rid myself of the feeling.
I make it to the stables without being noticed. The stable boy is already asleep in the hay. The horses whicker softly, flicking their ears, uncertain of me as I creep through the shadows. Even Eira, my father’s pretty white mare, snorts and stamps her hooves as I come near.
I whisper to her, hoping to quiet her. “You know me. You do. You have just forgotten.”
She tosses her head but stills and I’m grateful. I pass her stall without reaching in to stroke her nose lest I rouse the boy.
In the store I find an old tunic and exchange the rich cloth of my prince’s clothes for a stable hand’s, hoping I’ll go unnoticed for longer. I’ll be questioned if I’m found in the inner keep, but at least I won’t be instantly recognized as a potential intruder on the way.
A dog howls as I slide over the wall of the kitchen gardens, and I freeze, fingertips still clinging to the wall, feet dangling. I hear no other noise below, so I drop to the ground, hoping I haven’t been spotted.
I crouch behind the lavender, nervously listening. Silence.
With relief, I sneak around the wood pile, collecting a few logs to hold in front of my face. I hurry through the busy back quarters through the small opening and into the servant’s corridors within the main keep, all without being stopped.
When someone calls out to me from a corridor, I mutter, “Wood, for her majesty’s rooms,” and hurry on, grateful when I’m not followed. At this hour, the queen and her ladies and the lords and knights who attend them will be feasting in the main hall. Most of the palace servants will be busy there, fetching foodfrom the kitchens, clearing plates, preparing the next dishes. Then the servants will sit down to their dinner before clearing away. If I hurry, I can make it to the queen’s solar alone.
The queen’s room is dark when I push the door open. The fire has burned low in the hearth. I suppose that is why my excuse worked, for I see there is indeed little wood by the fireplace. I stack my bundle there, throwing one onto the embers and looking around for a candle.
I must hurry. I want to find the heart before I confront her.
I find a taper and light it, taking my first good look around the room, unfamiliar now as it has been redecorated. When the room was my mother’s it looked very different. I remember a carved wooden chair beside the fire where I would sit to let my hair dry, and she would tell me stories. I remember soft gold and rose fabrics, the scent of honey and citrus fruits, and sunshine streaming through the windows. The room was filled with shelves of books and little tables with sweets for me when I came in to see her.
Now it’s sparsely furnished, with large, imposing pieces. The dressing table takes pride of place, dominating the room. Though the large mirror is covered with a dark cloth. Tiny bottles of expensive powders and potions cover the table and fill the little drawers beneath it, but each drawer I open is too small for a box big enough for Alaric’s heart.
I pull at the table, but the top doesn’t lift. I slide my fingers underneath, but there’s no hidden latch. Disappointed, I move on to try the bed with a similar result. Everywhere I search I find nothing. The heavy mattress slides aside to reveal only ropes beneath. Nothing hidden there. Beneath the bed is empty. There’s a large wooden chest below the window, but it is locked. I could break it, but that will let Melantha know that someone was searching her belongings.
In her dressing room, which adjoins the main chamber, there are more chests, but all they contain are belts and shoes, shawls and blankets and furs. Instead of pulling them all out, I’m forced to slowly reach my hands deep into the bottom of each, questing with my fingers for a box or parcel that isn’t there.
Every moment I spend, I’m glancing back over my shoulder, worried I’ll be caught and I’ll have to make a choice about whether to harm the maid who catches me or let Melantha find out I’m here.
From the main chamber comes a sound and I freeze, snuffing out the taper and slowly closing the lid of the chest I’m searching. The squeak of a hinge as the door is opened, then footsteps as someone enters.
On tiptoes I creep to the door of the dressing room and open it a crack to peep out. Melantha’s maid carries a candle in and places it on the dressing table where its reflection flickers in the tiny glass vials beside it. Then she sets down a jug of steaming water.
