The Mirror Said Poison by Annabel Ames

Author:Annabel Ames [Ames, Annabel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2017-02-08T05:00:00+00:00

8: Nighttime Visit

Dania raised her fist and hammered on the door.

“Ow!” she exclaimed. She shifted what was in her hand to the other, hammered again, and waited. While she waited, she studied the huntsman’s home. It was sturdy enough, she guessed. It was more house than cottage, square in structure and built of thick logs. On one side stood a separate structure on which several hides were nailed up in various stages of tanning. Between that and the house ran a long rope upon which hung his most recent catch of quail. The rope ran all the way to the edge of the forest which began not far from his home and was secured on the outermost tree.

She eyed the quail. There they were, dead and ready for plucking, in spite of her orders that Cook stop making quail. They were all against her.

She hammered.

“I’m here, wait!” Rhafe shouted from somewhere beyond the far end of the rope.

So she waited, facing the door.

“Is that—?” His boots rustled heavily, scattering the fallen leaves, as he trotted from the edge of the woods.

“It’s me, Rhafe,” she answered his unfinished question. “Let me in.”

“Quick, then.” He undid the lock and held open the door, allowing her to precede him. In an undertone, evidently surprised at her sudden appearance, he said, “You know, you shouldn’t just come here like this. It’s very dangerous, especially now that everyone’s out looking for Snowy.”

She entered his house with a bitter smirk and listened as he secured the door. How easily he said the girl’s name. He clearly wasn’t troubled with anything like a guilty conscience. Dania swept the cloak’s hood from her head.

“No wonder you said it was like someone else’s life,” she murmured. The place was a hovel compared with her chambers, to say nothing of the castle as a whole.

“Huh?”

“Where were you just now?” she asked, turning toward him. He was still at the door, his back to her. Dania shifted her bag and returned the item she held to her right hand, rotating it within her fist.

“I was—oh, shit!” he blurted when he at last turned to face her. His broad shoulder blades hit the door, and the scar on his bicep jumped as his muscles contracted in shock. “What’s on your face?”

Dania laughed sharply. She squeezed the item in her hand until it stung.

“Why am I not surprised you have to ask?” she replied. She raised her arms, and her cloak sleeves slid to her elbows, revealing the intercrossing pattern of fresh cuts. “It’s blood, Rhafe. Human blood. Never saw it before, did you?”

“Of course I—but—how did you get it on your face?” The first shock was gone, but he clearly had to forcibly repress his horror as he came toward her. He reached for her wrists. “What happened to you?”

She pulled away from him.

“What have you got in your hand?” he asked.

“You always looked at me like that, didn’t you?” Dania asked. “You hid it in the dark, you sneak. Just like I hid from you.

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