Chapter 33 #2
If he really does know how to save the Disciples, that could change everything. The Sol would be stronger and less vulnerable. They’d not only get their people back, but they might even stand a chance at getting their home back too.
Glancing around the room, I note the dreary wallpaper, the shattered chandelier that at one point probably glittered. Drapes with frayed edges that used to be pristine, and an estate that held more light. More joy. More life.
Freeing the Captures is only one battle, but retaking Streatham would mean winning the war.
But my dilemma lies in all the things he isn’t saying. I believe he’s knowledgeable, and I believe he does want to help—not because of what he’s said but because of what he’s already done to assist me in this first step. In taking down the ward.
Etis once made a deal with the Hound—her soul for his help. Could I do that? If it really came down to those terms, could I make that sacrifice? For the Sol? Would he keep his word?
This is bigger than me, and if I have a chance to save an entire people….There are few lines I won’t cross. But I certainly won’t cross them blindly.
“This…theory that you have…” I start, and his attention sharpens. “How exactly does it involve me?”
He exhales a full breath, breaking my stare to mull over the question. The Hound watches the liquid he swirls in his glass, and more logs crackle in the fire behind him.
“Well, Lucina,” he says finally, knocking back the rest of his drink. He holds my attention as he swallows. “I believe that you’re the cure.”
Silence stretches between us.
My laughter breaks it, bursting out of me without warning. He’s instantly puzzled by the sound. “And I believe that you’re drunk.”
The Hound becomes visibly frustrated, a line forming between his dark brows. “I’ve answered every. Single. Question—honestly. And that’s the one you don’t believe?”
“Yes?” I throw my hands out. “It’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all night!”
“Lucina.”
“No.” I shake my head, backing up towards the door. “No, that’s insane—”
“Lucina.” There’s panic in his voice now.
Before I can surge towards the exit, he snatches my wrist and pulls me away from the door. I slam into his chest, and I’m about to start kicking and screaming when he holds a finger up to his lips.
It isn’t the order to be silent that stills me. It’s the plea in his stare.
Not even a heartbeat later, there are footsteps in the hall. Sharp heels. Whoever it is, they’re walking with a purpose.
“Fuck,” he mutters, searching the room for a good place to put me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him frantic.
His attention lands on a set of double doors by the bed. “Here.” He pulls me towards them, pushing them open and urging me inside. “Stay here.”
As soon as I’m over the threshold, he closes the doors behind me.
Stunned, I face the closed entrance for a few long seconds before turning in the dark room. My eyes adjust quickly. Enough that I can tell it’s a closet. A big one.
Hesitantly making my way through it, I’m careful not to trip over anything, my knuckles brushing embroidered fabric as I search for a corner to hide in.
The sound of a woman's voice spills from beneath the closet door, and I freeze.
“I know why you are here,” she accuses the Hound. The Countess.
“You do?” I hear his reply. His voice is perfectly calm. Meanwhile, I feel my heartbeat in my throat.
“My father sent you to spy on me,” the Countess sneers. “He sent you to make sure I’ve not run this place into the ground or killed too many of our little sacrifices. It’s so typical of him,” she rambles on. “Of course he doesn’t trust me. He’s never trusted me.”
There’s no response to her accusation. He lets her fester in his silence.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she snaps.
“My business with the King is confidential.”
Deflection. He doesn’t deny her accusation because he doesn’t want to tell her the real reason he’s here. He doesn’t confirm that she’s right because then he’d be lying.
I hate liars and refuse to become one—it causes me physical pain to do so.
“Confidential?!” the Countess raises her voice. “I’m in charge of this side of the continent! And you—” She stops abruptly, and when she speaks again, her tone is venomous, “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
More silence.
Then, so quiet I almost don’t hear it, “So have you.”
I don’t think he’s talking about her presence in his doorway.
There’s another long stretch of silence before I hear the slamming of a door, and a relieved breath spills out of me at the distant echo of the Countess stomping back down the hall.
My next inhale is cut short when the closet door opens and warm light spills into the dark room.
His towering silhouette fills the threshold, and then he shifts to the side to let me through. I cautiously step back into the bedroom, and he follows, moving to stand by the fireplace.
His demeanor has shifted into something heavily guarded. Before the Countess, most of his emotions were evident on his face. He wasn’t deflecting anything—he was answering my questions fully—but in her visit he found some kind of reservation.
The Hound runs his fingers across the grooves of his now empty glass, lost in thoughts I’m not privy to, and that wasn’t part of the deal.
“So, the Countess is a source and so was the Baron,” I clarify, but it doesn’t pull his attention. “Which means there are three more sources we need to find?”
His head lifts, blue eyes snapping to mine. Striking and anticipant. “We?”
I can see it in his stare—the hope inside it. It only makes me more suspicious of his proposition. The part he wants me to play in it is vague, but if the outcome is freeing the Captures and the Disciples…The risk is irrelevant. I’ll gladly pay the price.
“Look,” I exhale, letting my arms fall slack at my sides. “I don’t believe I’m the cure to the curse, but if you help me free the Captures, I’ll do whatever I can to help you break it.”
A grin escapes him, tugging at his lips, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t captivating. “You’re taking my proposition?”
“I’m considering it.”
He abandons his glass. “What else is there to consider?”
“For starters? Your deal with the King.” His brows pull together. “How are you planning on getting out of it? How do I know you won’t abandon our deal for his? For your freedom?”
His smile widens, and I can’t tell if he’s impressed by my question or just excited to answer it. “There’s a loophole in the bargain I made with Alaric.”
Of course there is.
“The deal is: I bring you to Onyile, deliver you to him, and I get my freedom. His only conditions were that, upon receiving said freedom, I leave his kingdom and his people alone.” At my narrowed gaze, he clarifies, “No slaughtering, reaping, or mass destruction.”
“Um…” I roll my lips together. “Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”
“The King thought so too,” he sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “Alaric said I had to bring you to Onyile…but he didn’t say anything about leaving you there.”
I blink back at him, stunned to silence for a moment. “You want to give me to the King…and then…take me…back?” If he didn’t look so serious, I would burst into laughter again. I’m still tempted to.
“Correct.”
He’s lost his fucking mind.
A laugh slips free anyway. “Gods,” I mutter, scrubbing my hands over my face. There’s no amusement in my smile. It’s pure disbelief. Bafflement. Exhaustion probably.
“You don’t believe me?”
“You’re fucking insane.” I don’t deliver it as an insult, but as an absolute fact.
“Lucina, we won’t get anywhere if you refuse to trust me.”
I laugh again.
He crosses the space between us. “Give me one good reason why you won’t.”
I don’t shrink before him. I stand taller. “Because you’re the—”
“Because I’m the Hound doesn’t count.”
“Says. You.”
He glares down at me, not angry, but frustrated. Jaw tight, shoulders tense, crystal blue eyes swimming with what’s left of his patience. He’s close enough that if he had any imperfections on his face, I’d be able to see them, but he doesn’t. It isn’t fair.
“What would you like me to do?” he asks.
My face falls at the question—at how softly he spoke it.
“You’re smart to be cautious of me, and I mean that earnestly,” he tells me.
“I could have taken you days ago. We’d be halfway to Onyile by now, and you would have had no choice in the matter.
I could have told the Umbra that Alesi is dead.
I could have left you in the hall with the Baron’s body and sent someone else to find you there.
You think I’m insane?” the Hound asks. “I think I am too. Fifty years is a long time—you’re my ticket to freedom—and I’m standing here bargaining for your trust. I don’t need to lure you into a trap, Lucina.
If my intentions were nefarious, you wouldn’t know until you woke up at Alaric’s feet. I can promise you that.”
I swallow, hoping he can’t see the dwindling of my defiance. The shrinking of my reservations.
“So what do you want me to do?” he asks again. “Take you to dinner? Swap secrets? Tell you every horrible thing I’ve ever done? I could draw up a contract, bind us to a deal, whatever you—”
“Yes.”
At my response, his expression sharpens. “Yes to what?”
I chew on my bottom lip, buying myself time to decide fully that this is what I want, but the longer I sit there, the more I believe that it’s the only thing that makes sense. The only way I can be sure he’ll hold up his end of the bargain. And I don’t necessarily need to trust him to do it.
“The contract,” I voice. “Bind us to a deal.”
The Hound’s head tilts as he tries to determine if I’m serious or not. “That’s what you want?”
Callan’s going to fucking kill me, but this isn’t about him. It isn’t about me either. It’s not about the Hound, or the King, or the Countess. It’s about the people who took me in, gave me a home, allowed me a chance to belong somewhere. It’s about my friends, my chosen family, my mother…
I’m playing chess—moving my piece with the intention of ending the game or, at the very least, changing it. Those were his words, not mine.