Quinn glanced over his shoulder and slowed his pace. “Forgive me.” Then he pointed toward the provisions tent. “In racks along the east wall. It’s easier to guard the food and weapons in one central location.”
That made sense.
They were only a few tents away from their destination when a snarl sounded, and Quinn jerked to a stop, turning his head and gripping the spear with both hands.
Two red eyes glowed from the brush at the edge of the forest, and the beast snarled louder. Neither Quinn nor Amelie spoke, but she held the cudgel at the ready, waiting for the inevitable charge. But then Quinn shifted positions and the moonlight glinted off the head of his spear.
The wolf’s red eyes moved upward, focusing on the spear, and without warning, the beast dashed inside the trees, vanishing from sight.
“No!” Quinn shouted, running toward where the wolf had disappeared. He didn’t look back, and Amelie stood rooted to the ground, but he kept running, crashing through the brush, and she realized he was going after the wolf on his own.
Without further hesitation, she bolted, running after him, breaking through the brush herself. Out here, as she had an easier time passing through the trees and brush—due to her smaller size—she had little trouble keeping up with Quinn. Once her wool skirt did get caught, but she jerked it free, wishing for her breeches. Still, the skirt was loose and easy to move in for the most part, and this dress reached only her ankles, so she was in no danger of tripping.
Up a little ways in front of her, Quinn stopped and knelt. “It’s bleeding,” he said, picking up a leaf.
“Oh . . . yes, Marcus injured its throat earlier. But I couldn’t see how badly.”
“Marcus? That gypsy hunter?”
Amelie didn’t answer. Quinn’s tone sounded as arrogant as Keegan’s when he spoke Marcus’s name.
As Quinn was about to move forward, he paused uncertainly and looked back at her. “I didn’t mean for you to follow me.”
“You can’t fight that thing by yourself.” She hefted the cudgel. “Trust me. One good swing, and I can stun it long enough for you to use that spear.”
Though he seemed inclined to argue further, he also seemed driven to press on before the trail grew cold, so he turned and moved forward, studying the ground and the surrounding brush. Amelie followed as quietly as she could, but she heard no growls or sounds of a large creature moving in the trees, and she couldn’t help thinking of their original mission—to get more spears for the soldiers.
“Quinn . . . ,” she whispered, right behind him. “What if we’ve lost it? What if it’s run for the miners’ camp and it attacks there? Half the men aren’t properly armed.”
He was so focused on studying the ground that he barely seemed to hear her. “We haven’t lost it,” he said absently, smelling a leaf. “This trail is too fresh. I know what I’m doing. I trained with the hunters of Kimovesk, and they are the finest trackers in the nation.”
“Kimovesk? That borders Shetâna. Were you serving under Prince Damek?”
She asked this more out of curiosity than anything, as it was not uncommon for soldiers to sometimes move within ranks inside of noble families. But from the back, she saw Quinn’s entire body go rigid at her question.
“You know Shetâna?” he asked.
In that instant, Amelie realized that he’d made a mistake in mentioning Kimovesk, and she’d made a mistake in mentioning Shetâna. Quinn believed she was a lady of Anton’s court in Sèone, who would have no familiarity with Damek’s province.
Turning his head slowly, he looked back at her, and even in the darkness he was close enough for her to see the depths of his light blue eyes. She didn’t answer his question, but she was suddenly very aware that he had not intended to give her any kind of clue that he’d ever served under Prince Damek.
Was she alone out here with a man willing to destroy the soldiers who served under him?
Her mind rebelled against the prospect. It couldn’t be Quinn. He was the only one here who’d even tried to assist Jaromir, the only one in whom Jaromir had placed any trust.
But then . . . he was also the only Pählen soldier who’d known that Jaromir had been hiding in the barn watching Graham. Rurik had told her that much earlier. And . . . the beast tonight had somehow appeared inside Amelie and Céline’s tent when Jaromir had been across the camp and unable to protect them.
Had Céline’s announcement regarding Graham proven they weren’t charlatans? Had Graham indeed been the next intended victim? If Quinn was the one responsible for these horrors, had he then decided to get rid of the two seers from Sèone?
But if so, then why was he so determined in this hunt? He clearly wanted to track down the beast.
Unless . . . he’d known full well that if he ran into the forest after the wolf, she’d follow him. He’d seen enough of her over the past few days and nights to realize that much. What if he’d intended for her to follow him, to help him track down the beast, so he could let it kill her and be rid of at least one sister—the one who could see the past—without calling any suspicion to himself?
No, again, she couldn’t accept any of these far-fetched notions.
What possible motive could Quinn, a mere corporal, have for closing down a mining operation?
Unless . . . for some reason, Damek had wanted it closed down, and Quinn was still working for Damek.
“You have a very expressive face,” he whispered.
She started to back up. He’d been holding his spear flat against the ground, and he let go of it, freeing both his hands, but Amelie still gripped the cudgel. She’d always depended on the element of surprise, on letting others underestimate her until it was too late, and she had a sick feeling in her stomach that her life was about to depend on this tried-and-true tactic.
So she kept still, waiting for him to make the first move—which would be to try to take her cudgel.
Instead, he swung with his left fist, moving so fast that she had only a second to pull back, and he clipped her across the chin. Even then, the strength in his fist was staggering, and she was knocked aside, hitting the damp ground and rolling.
He was on top of her in seconds, tearing the cudgel from her grip and throwing it to one side.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pinning her with his weight and grabbing her by the jaw with one hand. “You shouldn’t have come here. I’ll make it quick.”
Was he going to snap her neck? A mix of fear and rage took hold of Amelie. How could it be Quinn? How could none of them—not she, not Céline, not Jaromir—have gotten a single hint? Falling back on the only defense she had left, she grabbed his wrist with both hands.
Instead of pointlessly trying to pull his hand off her jaw, she demanded, “Why?”
And in a flash, she reached out for the spark of his spirit, trying to rip his awareness from this moment, to trap him in the mists of time. His spirit was strong, and she latched onto it.
Why?
The first jolt hit, and she focused as hard as she could on whatever had brought him here. The second jolt hit, and they were both swept into the gray and white mists, moving backward. Again, she fought to keep pulling him along with her but to remain separate. She didn’t want to see through his eyes. She would remain an observer and allow her gift to show her what she needed to see.
He was fighting back, trying to break free, but she held on. In here, she was the stronger one.
Why?
The mists cleared.
Chapter Thirteen
Kimovesk: One Year in the Past
Amelie found herself in a vast windowless room with walls of stone. Small braziers lined three of the walls, providing a good deal of light. Spears and crossbows lined the fourth wall.