Chapter 9 #3
Turner’s jaw ticks but he finally turns and follows the group.
The rest of us watch in tense silence as he goes, but a strangled cry of warning escapes my lips when he stops a few yards away, whirling and throwing a knife.
The bright moonlight glints off of the blade as it flies towards Blackheart, end over end.
In a movement that shouldn’t be possible, Blackheart shifts his body to the right and catches the hilt as it sails past his cheek.
“Holy ruddy fucking fuck,” I whisper. I see Odessa turn to gape at me from the corner of my eye, as if me cursing is the astonishing thing here and not Blackheart catching a fucking flying knife like it was nothing.
If he hadn’t moved, that blade would have gone right through his skull.
Turner’s eyes bulge and a dark smile spreads across Blackheart’s face.
He flips the knife, pinching the tip of the blade between his thumb and forefinger, and throws it with far more force than Turner had managed.
He can’t move the way Blackheart does, and the knife finds its target: right through his left eye.
He’s barely able to grunt before his body goes limp and he hits the ground.
In the moonlight, the blood spreading across the snow looks black as pitch.
The rest of the men being turned out from the camp stare in utter shock before taking off, running as best as they can through the snow drifts until their torches look like fireflies dancing within the trees.
Blackheart says something about a scout team following them, but I can’t imagine they’d dare come back after what they just witnessed.
“What the hells just happened?” I whisper to Odessa.
“We have rules. They broke them,” she says simply, as if that even begins to answer my question. “Come, I think it’s time for bed.”
As soon as she says the words, exhaustion settles over me like a heavy blanket and all I want to do is crawl into bed and perhaps never come out again. So, I nod and we follow the rest of the soldiers as everyone files back to the cabins.
“Thank you,” Odessa says again at my door.
“There’s nothing to thank me for,” I tell her honestly.
“Can I ask you something?”
I tense.
“I can’t promise I’ll answer…”
“That’s fair. But…where did a spoiled princess locked away in her ivory tower learn to curse like that??”
I huff out a laugh, completely surprised by her question and she smiles back.
I can feel that something shifted between us tonight.
Perhaps we aren’t friends, exactly, but I believe we could be.
Or we would be, if our lives were different, if we were on different paths and I wasn’t pretending to be someone I’m not to have a chance of escaping the master she serves.
I sigh just as Blackheart mounts the stairs.
Odessa straightens but doesn’t snap to attention like she does when we’re out among the rest of the soldiers.
Perhaps they really are together, and I wonder if it’s against some rule and that’s the reason they keep it hidden.
I make a note to watch next time we camp, to see if she comes to his tent during the night. Inquisitive, not nosey.
She flashes me another smile before heading down the hallway.
“Nice move with the dagger, showoff,” she tells him as she passes, and I don’t think I’m meant to hear it. Blackheart’s lips twitch.
“Goodnight, Dessa.”
I wait outside my door and once Odessa has disappeared down the stairs, Blackheart turns back and meets my gaze, brow arched, clearly waiting for the question he seems to know I’m going to ask. He shifts and leans his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Spit it out, Red.”
Part of me wants to leave without a word just to defy him, the thought sending a strange, ridiculous thrill through me, but I have to know. So, I cross my arms over my own chest, mirroring his stance, and turn to face him fully.
“Why would you do that?” I ask.
“You’ll have to narrow that down.”
“Cast them out like that.”
“Are you upset that I sent them away?” he drawls, that sharp edge beneath the velvety smoothness. “Would the princess rather I had them drawn and quartered? Line them up and let the archers use them as target practice?”
I clench my jaw. Makers, he really is a prick.
“No,” I say slowly, trying desperately to keep my annoyance in check. “I just meant, why would you send your own men out into The Perilous to die because of…well, as Turner put it, a Gifted cunt like me?”
“Those were not my men.” My brows draw down.
“They are Hunters who had hopes of grabbing you, but arrived on the heels of your capture. I allowed them to travel with the army as a courtesy—and in exchange for information about the Alliance. Traveling with an army across The Perilous is far safer than going at it with a group of only a few. But there are rules within my camp, rules that are very clear and that I expect to be obeyed, even by guests.”
“Rules?”
His gaze shifts to my torn, blood-stained sleeve, the spot where a gaping wound had been not even an hour ago, before he meets my eyes again.
He stares for an endless moment before he says, “Things are not taken here. Not by me. Not by my men. And certainly not by fucking pricks like that who are treading upon my hospitality.” I know exactly what he’s saying and while I appreciate this rule for myriad reasons, I don’t understand.
“But…but you serve a monster. You’re delivering me to a monster. How can you care if people are raped or abused or Makers know what else in your camp?”
His jaw ticks and I search his stormy eyes, suddenly desperate to figure out this man.
“Dorian may run his kingdom however the fuck he chooses. I decide what happens in my camp with my army.” There appears to be no love lost between Blackheart and his king and I wonder if perhaps he doesn’t serve him willingly after all.
But he speaks again before I can say a word, ending the conversation.
“Get some sleep. We’ll be heading out early and tomorrow will be a long, rough day on the road after this storm.”
With that, he pushes off the wall and goes into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.
I sigh and go into my own room, pulling off my dress and trying not to look at all of the blood, trying to ignore the sharp, tangy smell of it.
I ball the fabric up and toss it in the corner where it can stay forever for all I care.
I pull on the satin nightgown that has become my favorite, and settle into the bed.
It feels so good to sleep in an actual fucking bed that I nearly whimper.
I don’t want to think about what happened. I will, at some point, but not tonight. It’s too fresh and real right now. So, instead, as sleep gently pulls me into its embrace, I try to solve the puzzle that is Blackheart.