Wicked Hunt

Chapter Ten, Part III

Halle: Alone

For a long time after, Halle paced the upper wall of the keep, passing the guards on patrol, who paid her no mind. She was of little consequence to them, an annoyance. She did not care. The chilled air helped clear her head and lessen the dull ache of her arm where long purple bruises had begun to splotch.

She debated whether or not to run to Hector and tell him more of what Clive was about. Surely, his brutality toward her last night would be enough to warrant her escape back to Rodantha. But she could not consign herself to that decision. Back to Rodantha? For what? The chance to be felt sorry for? Treated like a glass vase about ready to tip and shatter? Sympathetic glances? Hushed whispers?

Would she really be willing to trade the horror of her husband for the cage she was sure to go back into in Rodantha? At least here, she believed she would now be treated as the lady of the keep. Soon, Halle would be a queen and hold real power. Her sons would be kings.

She sighed, drawing up to the edge of the wall. Halle pressed her fingers against the cool stone and looked down at the drop of brown and grey cliffs below her. The frigid wind ripped through her wavy hair, and she shivered. It was always cold here, something she would have to get used to because, despite Clive's irritation, Halle wasn't going anywhere. The plans had been laid out, the army prepared, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he had broken her. Her fingers twitched, and she longed to grip her sword she'd kept hidden away under her bed since she'd arrived in Verlic. Adrian had warned her not to bring the weapon, but Halle had felt like it was a part of her. Long days spent training had been her routine in Rodantha. Here, if she revealed the weapon, it would be confiscated. Eventually, she would bring it out, curl her fingers around the worn hilt, and swing it through the air. She did not trust anyone here yet to show that side of herself. So, Halle would remain the pretty little figurine until she felt more comfortable in this new kingdom of hers. Until then, she was alone.

"All alone," she murmured absently, her eyes fixing on the dark Shadow Wood in the distance. She thought of the Black Stag she had seen there and couldn't recall if it was real, or if it had been her mind playing tricks on her. "Ryker help me." Halle looked up at the clouds swirling around in the sky and hoped that her god, the saint of wisdom, and his three sons Brigan, Bastian, and Bell were watching over her.

"Your god does not dwell here," came a sharp voice behind her. Halle turned around and saw Bruce leaning against the stone wall. Carefully, he stepped out of the shadows, his blue and green eyes blinking at her curiously.

"Ryker can reach all realms," Halle protested. "He sees all and knows all."

"Tell me then," Bruce rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, "if he's so powerful, why does he not whisk you away from this place?" He gestured around as he came beside her, the wind tearing at his dark hair.

"We offer the gods prayers, and they watch over us, occasionally intervening," she told him. "He has more important things to be seeing to than helping me." Halle studied him as he stared out into the highlands encircling the keep. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Easy for you to say now," Bruce offered. "You've only barely gotten a taste of Verlic's brutality."

"There is beauty here." Halle flicked her wrist toward the mist shrouded mountains in the distance. She didn't know if she was trying to convince him or herself of that.

"All I see is hostility," Bruce pursed his lips, "masquerading as beauty." He pointed at the peaks. "Where you see the lovely blues and greys of the mountains, I see jagged slopes, eagerly waiting to pitch a man to his death."