Page 12

Never bargain.

An impatient knock came at the door. Rook’s muffled voice called, “Are you decent?”

“I’m clothed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The door pushed open, and Rook entered with a bucket. “This is hot—”A wave of smoke trailed the poker that arced through the air. Throwing up a hand, Rook caught the make-shift weapon before it struck him in the nose. Rook’s brows furrowed at the soft sizzling coming from his palm.

Shock parted his lips.

“Guhh!” He tore the poker from me and threw it on the floor. The handle bounced and sent the hot end springing into his trousers. Silvery smoke trickled up as the fabric scorched. “Ugh!” Rook slammed the bucket down and snatched the poker.

Anticipating a fight, I raised my fists.

Rook sidestepped me and went to the balcony.

After an unintelligible shout, he threw the poker into the air.

Impressively, it cleared the veil and disappeared into the far-off trees.

Storming back inside, Rook screamed, “Are you mad?!” He held up his hand, where a bubbling welt spread across his palm.

From behind my fists, I shouted, “Tell me how you bypass the wolves!”

Body trembling, Rook’s eyes bulged. His shaking hands reached for me, but they stopped, clenching in mid-air. I stuck my chin out, daring him to strike. Rook’s breathing quickened, like the panting of a sick animal.

I was so taken, my fists drooped.

“Ugh!” Rook shook his head and refocused on me. Though he still seemed intent upon strangling someone—well, me —his hands fell to his sides. With great effort, he whispered, “Wash yourself.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Ha!” Rook laughed with such enthusiasm he may as well have spit on me.

“You have nothing to tempt me.” Rook kicked the water bucket.

“Let me know if you need anything else. Soap, perfume—an etiquette tutor.” Scowling, Rook bent in an exaggerated bow.

“For I am just an obedient servant.” Rook shot me a nasty glare while he confiscated the remaining fire implements.

He paused at the door, leaning back to snatch a decorative bronze pineapple from a side table.

He probably thought it could be used to bludgeon someone. Crossing my arms, I stewed in silence.

Why hadn’t I thought to hide the pineapple after I’d practiced swinging it?!

“When you resemble a human again,” Rook growled, “join me in the hall.” On his way out, he slammed the door with such passion, a splinter of wood chipped and bounced along the floor.

I scoured the room for something else I might use as a weapon.

The pillows were reasonably heavy, but unless Rook was asleep in the hall, I didn’t think they would do the trick.

Tucking that idea away for later, I started cleaning myself.

I considered not doing it, if only to offend Rook further, but the blood on my arms was beginning to itch.

And so, I wiped the grime from my cheeks, picked bits of bracken from my hair, and replaited it.

Then I sat on the bed and took my time removing each speck of dirt from beneath my nails.

After the better part of an hour, I met Rook in the hall.

Leaning on the railing, Rook was so enraged he wouldn’t even look at me.

“In regard to your little stunt earlier”—he breathed deeply, reigning his fury—“if you’re going to attack someone, you might be certain to land a killing blow the first time.” He side-eyed me. “Lest you be hurt in the aftermath of their survival.”

Smoothing my trousers, I replied, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Rook shook his head and resumed glaring at nothing. I enunciated every word when I said, “Tell me how you escape.”

Beneath Rook’s fingers, bits of stone crumbled from the railing. Through gritted teeth, he ground out a, “Follow me.”

Bristling against the order, I asked, “Why?”

“Do you want to know how I escape or not?” Rook headed down the stairs.

“By all means, remain here with your ignorance.” After a moment of annoyed hesitation, I accompanied him.

Rook avoided the cracks in the steps. When I came to the same pitfalls, I caught Rook’s eyes in various gilded mirrors, watching that I navigated the steps properly.

He probably thought me too stupid to trace his path and avoid careening to my death.

I fought the urge to push him down the remaining steps.

Rather than head to the foyer, Rook entered his bed chamber. When Rook was wounded, I had no problem entering the room. Now that he was healthy and of sound mind, I hesitated. Rook caught me looking at the bed.

“I assure you,” he said, and scoffed. “ You have nothing to worry about.”

I heard his words.

But I saw his eyes. They lingered on me, carrying with them the same far-off look I recognized from my own reflection, when I saw beautiful fabrics in a shop window. I longed to reach out, to touch the threads, and always wondered to myself…

How do they feel ?

Rook batted aside curtains and headed to the balcony, which offered the best view of the path to the veil…

and the wolves perched on the other side.

Leaning on the railing, Rook said, “You said you found me outside the castle. That’s not true.

You found the Hound outside the castle.” He fidgeted with a bit of lichen on the railing.

“When I change… They’re fearful of the Hound, the wolves.

” It struck me, how Rook referred to the Hound in third person, as if he were as separate from the beast as the rest of us.

Rook couldn’t fool me.

Escape was the only thing on my mind when I said, “So, you can get me out?” I crossed my arms. “Change into the Hound and scare them off?”

Rook pointed to his wounded side. “Thanks to you, I won’t be changing any time soon. Not until this heals up.” Perhaps delighted at the thought of my suffering, Rook’s voice was pleasant when he said, “You’re stuck here.”

Our eyes met.

All at once, I realized I couldn’t kill Rook.

I needed him. I needed the Hound to get me out of here.

Fury for my father and Lysander burned fresh in my chest. Rage rose up and warmed my cheeks.

The pain, the grief, it threatened to possess my body.

I resisted the urge to throw myself at Rook.

I wanted to bite and punch and maim—but I didn’t.

I couldn’t let Rook know why I was here.

If he knew I sought revenge for my father, or his heart to save Lysander, he’d never trust me. And I needed him to trust me.

So, I buried it. The suffering. The agony.

I hid it all beneath a timid smile. My intuition told me I could convince Rook to trust me.

While his features were warped by feral hostility, he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering back to me.

Even when he believed I wasn’t paying attention, I caught him in the mirrors, watching.

And although the words he uttered were contemptuous, there was an undeniable eagerness in the way he said, “You’re stuck here. ”

You’re stuck here… with me.

While Rook assured I had nothing to tempt him, I think that was a lie—concocted to protect himself from loneliness and the ravishes of desire.

Could I exploit those feelings?

Under the guise of affection, I might discover Rook’s weaknesses, and in doing so, learn how to kill the Hound for good.

Once free of this place, I could come back with Lottie and finish the job.

My weakness in sparing Rook the first time would not happen again.

I was strong, and I would not fail my family a second time.

Unfortunately, my planning was interrupted, betrayed by none other than my own stomach. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d eaten even a scrap, and my stomach growled. Loudly.

Rook frowned. “You’re hungry.”

Who was Rook to tell me what I felt? Crossing my arms, I replied, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I have food in my bag.”

“For how long?”

“What?”

“How long can you survive on what you’ve brought?”

“I don’t know, a day or two?”

“That’s no good.” Rook pointed back the way we’d come. “Walk.”

I wanted to spit on Rook and tell him to burn.

I resisted. In my sweetest voice I said, “Show me the way.” Rook offered a curt nod and left the balcony.

There was a lightness in my step as I followed him.

For the time being, I’d play nice. Contain my wrath and tell Rook what he wanted to hear.

I’d offer civil conversation and false companionship.

I would be Rook’s friend…until I held the Hound’s heart.

***

We moved silently across the castle grounds.

Rook seemed unaccustomed to small talk; I was simply disinterested in speaking to him.

A dark strand of Rook’s hair came loose in the wind, and his slender fingers tucked it behind his ear.

His presence was calm. As if this was just a normal day, and we weren’t prisoners, and he weren’t a monster.

Lying was Lottie’s strength, not mine. I must confess, I was worried my fear and hatred for the Hound would leave me in a state of vigilance beside Rook.

But, as he strode through the grass in his cream flannel shirt and suspenders, Rook seemed so terribly human.

We paused at a stream, where a two-step bridge allowed crossing.

With a tilt of his head and a wave, Rook indicated for me to go ahead.

I did so, and I realized, to my horror and relief, that pretending Rook was an ordinary man… took no effort at all.

We skirted the large pond, and I scanned the bank, looking for anything lurking in the reeds.

Arriving at the edge of the trees that backed the castle grounds, Rook entered a small stone hut and returned carrying several baskets.

We walked along the wood edge until we approached a bramble of blackberries.

Rook plucked a few berries from the bush, and put them in a basket, showing me how it was done.

“Fill this,” he said, and handed me the basket.