The tight breath I’d been holding eases from my lungs. I suppose I should be grateful that he’s not the best sleuth in the realm. I can’t have him knowing all my darkest desires.
“The thing you have yet to tell me—” he clarifies, leaning against the small liquor table— “I’m assuming it’s pretty bad?”
“It is,” I tell him, grateful for the change in topic. “Your people have been disappearing, right?”
“Yeah?” He inches closer. “What have you learned?”
The words aren’t as easy to muster as I thought they would be. I know what these people—this community—means to Rowland. I don’t want to hurt him more than he already is hurting. But he needs to know.
“I’m afraid it’s worse than you imagined,” I say honestly. “Those two noctis I was with today? They said they were hunting humans.”
“So? Noctis are always hunting humans. That’s just what they do. Ever since they were created. Even after the Magistrate tried brokering a peace with them, they still—”
There’s no easy way to say this, so I just come out with it. “For the Hunt.”
Slowly, Rowland’s back straightens.
We’re close enough in height that we practically see eye-to-eye, but there’s something about the wariness in his gaze that makes me feel small right now.
He must assume I’m joking. That this is just another one of my exaggerations or paranoias.
The Hunt has always been a legend, a nightmarish bedtime story at best.Leave it to Charlotte Thorn to turn everything into a joke, he’s probably thinking.
But to my surprise, the wariness wanes. In its place, concern creeps in.
“The Hunt. You’re sure?” he asks.
All I can do is nod.
His voice is doing that aggravating thing again where the richness of it teases that strange ache deep in my belly. Making matters worse, he actually sounds like he believes me, for once.
“So, it’s true then. Exactly as we’ve been told.” Again, I nod, only realizing after that I don’t actually know. The stories we heard growing up might be true, but there might also be differences, nuances between what humans are privy to and what really happens. “But how? We’ve never experienced the disappearances like this before. If this has been going on for decades, wouldn’t we have known?”
I do my best to alleviate the guilt strangling his tone. “They said the Hunt normally takes place in Neveridge, but this year they’re doing it in the Shadowthorn. My guess is this is the first time they’ve poached people from Gravenburg.”
“The Shadowthorn…”
“Apparently, they’ve depleted their resources. They said they had to travel farther and farther to find any humans. They haven’t even been having great luck here, from the sounds of it.”
He snorts. “Well, of course not. For the most part, people stay in Valor’s Rest where they’re safe.”
“But I thought you said—”
“Therehavebeen disappearances. More than usual. Typically, I approve a handful of requests a week from folks who need to leave for whatever reason. Some are for business—the crews who tend to our wells, to go hunting and fishing. Others are for traders to visit the few communities remaining in the area. Some are mercenaries, like yourself. But the majority of those I allow to leave, return.”
I already know the answer, but I ask anyway. “And lately?”
His voice takes on an ominous quality. “Lately, fewer have been returning. Just this morning I received word that another of our scouting parties hasn’t come back yet, and they were due over twenty-four hours ago.”
“Fuck.”
It’s the best I can do for him. Commiseration is far more honest and productive than me lying to him, filling him with false hope that everyone will be okay and they’ll all be back safe and sound before he knows it.
That’s not the world we live in.
“Fuck is right!” he bellows, alarmingly loud, even for our spats. Frustration rumbles through him like a tidal wave. “This is just what I needed to hear today.”
Annoyance flickers inside me. “I’m sorry, are you actually mad at me right now—”
