Hidden Huntress
Page 108
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“Tristan, she’s dead.”
He shook his head, expressing utter denial of my words. “Help her.” Grabbing Esmeralda by the shoulders, he pulled her up off the ground, and I almost gagged at the sight of the gore beneath her. “Help her!”
I didn’t know what to do. Someone would have heard the gunshot, and it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. Never mind that we knelt next to a corpse, there would be no explaining the manner in which she died. We had to get away. “Tristan, we need to go.”
Standing up, I caught hold of his arm, trying to drag him up. But he was intractable. Moving him against his will would be impossible. “I didn’t mean…” he said. “I didn’t know it was her.”
He kept trying to say that he hadn’t meant to kill her, but the lie wouldn’t pass his lips.
“Tristan, it was in defense. Whether she wanted to or not, she tried to shoot me.” My feet slid in the slurry of blood and snow, but he wouldn’t let go of her. He was covered with blood, and in the distance, I could hear the sounds of horses coming this way. “We have to run!
None of what I was saying seemed to register with him. The notion that now would be an opportune time to use his name crossed my mind, but I shoved it aside. Making a fist like Fred had taught me, I pulled my arm back and swung, using the strength of my shoulder. My knuckles collided with his cheek and pain burst through my hand. Tristan jerked away, but more in surprise than in pain.
He stared up at me. “I don’t want to leave her like this.”
“We have no choice,” I said, wishing I didn’t need to be so callous. “We need to flee.”
We ran through the blizzard and darkness, my skirts pulled up to my knees with one hand and my heeled shoes in the other. My stockings were soaked through in seconds, and not long after the bottoms tore through, exposing the soles of my feet. I was too afraid to feel the discomfort. The city guard would have found Esmeralda by now, and they did not need to be quick-witted to follow tracks in the snow. We needed to get where other people were and then inside so that we could wash away the evidence. Not that it mattered much. Both Aiden and Fred would know who had killed her, and this might well be the opportunity the Regent’s son was looking for.
“This way,” I hissed, pulling Tristan toward a main boulevard. When we were closer, I slipped my shoes on my numb feet, dropped my skirts, and took his arm. “Smile,” I ordered as we stepped out into the traffic of people on the walkways. There I was able to flag down a cab, neither of us saying anything until the horse was trotting in the direction of the hotel.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” I said. “But you weren’t listening. You were in shock.”
He didn’t reply. We passed through the bubble of light from a lamp, and I saw the white of his cravat was stained with blood. Fingers numb and shaking, I untied it, shoving the fabric into the pocket of my cloak. He was covered in blood, I was sure, but everything else he was wearing was black, so hopefully no one would notice. I squeezed his hand, the leather soaked and sticky. “Tristan, are you all right?”
His jaw tightened, and he pulled his hand out of my grip. “I should take you home first.”
“I’m staying with you,” I said. “I don’t care what people say.”
“Do what you want.”
I bit my lip. His words sounded like an attack, and in a way, they were. But not at me. He was attacking himself. His guilt and grief made my heart hurt, and I knew he was pushing me away to punish himself. “Don’t do this.”
The cab pulled to a stop. “We’re here.” He didn’t wait for the hotel footmen to open the door, instead flinging it open himself and stepping down. I started to follow, but he blocked my way, his gaze fixed on my feet. “You should go home. I’ll pay him to take you there.”
I lifted my chin. “No.”
“Do what you want. You always do anyway,” he snapped, turning to pay the driver and leaving a footman to help me out. Without looking at me once, he offered me an arm and escorted me up the steps into the lobby. It was lovely and grand, with crystal chandeliers and lush carpets, massive framed landscapes and seascapes hanging on walls papered in silk. A man played a piano for a handful of onlookers holding drinks, all of them noticing us while pretending not to as we walked toward the staircase. My presence here with him was scandalous in their eyes, but I was far past caring.
Up and up we walked, my feet burning where my shoes rubbed against scrapes and blisters. My skirts were soaked and I was freezing, but I was far more worried for Tristan than I was for me. He’d let guilt over this consume him.
His suite of rooms took up a third of the top floor, and they were warm from the glow of banked fires and lit with lamps of green and gold glass. Pulling my cloak off, I draped it over the back of a chair to dry. Tristan strode across the room, the fire flaring up with magic as he approached. With vicious jerks, he removed the gloves from his hands and threw them into the flames. His coat and shirt followed suit, then he dropped to his knees to watch it burn, the smell of the smoke acrid and horrible.
“How will I tell Élise and Zoé that I killed their aunt? After all the other hurt I’ve caused them, and now this?”
He was a dark silhouette against the orange glow of the fire. I stayed where I was, afraid to speak and afraid to stay silent. “Tristan, I was there when Esmeralda made her bargain with Reagan. She did it so that she could talk to me.” I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the moment. “She wanted to tell me about the injustices the half-bloods faced because she believed I was in a position to help them. At the time I was too concerned with myself to appreciate the risk she was taking, but I did not fail to notice how much she cared for her nieces. Helping them was what she cared for most – what she’d dedicated her life to. And you gave her a chance to do that.”
He shook his head, expressing utter denial of my words. “Help her.” Grabbing Esmeralda by the shoulders, he pulled her up off the ground, and I almost gagged at the sight of the gore beneath her. “Help her!”
I didn’t know what to do. Someone would have heard the gunshot, and it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. Never mind that we knelt next to a corpse, there would be no explaining the manner in which she died. We had to get away. “Tristan, we need to go.”
Standing up, I caught hold of his arm, trying to drag him up. But he was intractable. Moving him against his will would be impossible. “I didn’t mean…” he said. “I didn’t know it was her.”
He kept trying to say that he hadn’t meant to kill her, but the lie wouldn’t pass his lips.
“Tristan, it was in defense. Whether she wanted to or not, she tried to shoot me.” My feet slid in the slurry of blood and snow, but he wouldn’t let go of her. He was covered with blood, and in the distance, I could hear the sounds of horses coming this way. “We have to run!
None of what I was saying seemed to register with him. The notion that now would be an opportune time to use his name crossed my mind, but I shoved it aside. Making a fist like Fred had taught me, I pulled my arm back and swung, using the strength of my shoulder. My knuckles collided with his cheek and pain burst through my hand. Tristan jerked away, but more in surprise than in pain.
He stared up at me. “I don’t want to leave her like this.”
“We have no choice,” I said, wishing I didn’t need to be so callous. “We need to flee.”
We ran through the blizzard and darkness, my skirts pulled up to my knees with one hand and my heeled shoes in the other. My stockings were soaked through in seconds, and not long after the bottoms tore through, exposing the soles of my feet. I was too afraid to feel the discomfort. The city guard would have found Esmeralda by now, and they did not need to be quick-witted to follow tracks in the snow. We needed to get where other people were and then inside so that we could wash away the evidence. Not that it mattered much. Both Aiden and Fred would know who had killed her, and this might well be the opportunity the Regent’s son was looking for.
“This way,” I hissed, pulling Tristan toward a main boulevard. When we were closer, I slipped my shoes on my numb feet, dropped my skirts, and took his arm. “Smile,” I ordered as we stepped out into the traffic of people on the walkways. There I was able to flag down a cab, neither of us saying anything until the horse was trotting in the direction of the hotel.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” I said. “But you weren’t listening. You were in shock.”
He didn’t reply. We passed through the bubble of light from a lamp, and I saw the white of his cravat was stained with blood. Fingers numb and shaking, I untied it, shoving the fabric into the pocket of my cloak. He was covered in blood, I was sure, but everything else he was wearing was black, so hopefully no one would notice. I squeezed his hand, the leather soaked and sticky. “Tristan, are you all right?”
His jaw tightened, and he pulled his hand out of my grip. “I should take you home first.”
“I’m staying with you,” I said. “I don’t care what people say.”
“Do what you want.”
I bit my lip. His words sounded like an attack, and in a way, they were. But not at me. He was attacking himself. His guilt and grief made my heart hurt, and I knew he was pushing me away to punish himself. “Don’t do this.”
The cab pulled to a stop. “We’re here.” He didn’t wait for the hotel footmen to open the door, instead flinging it open himself and stepping down. I started to follow, but he blocked my way, his gaze fixed on my feet. “You should go home. I’ll pay him to take you there.”
I lifted my chin. “No.”
“Do what you want. You always do anyway,” he snapped, turning to pay the driver and leaving a footman to help me out. Without looking at me once, he offered me an arm and escorted me up the steps into the lobby. It was lovely and grand, with crystal chandeliers and lush carpets, massive framed landscapes and seascapes hanging on walls papered in silk. A man played a piano for a handful of onlookers holding drinks, all of them noticing us while pretending not to as we walked toward the staircase. My presence here with him was scandalous in their eyes, but I was far past caring.
Up and up we walked, my feet burning where my shoes rubbed against scrapes and blisters. My skirts were soaked and I was freezing, but I was far more worried for Tristan than I was for me. He’d let guilt over this consume him.
His suite of rooms took up a third of the top floor, and they were warm from the glow of banked fires and lit with lamps of green and gold glass. Pulling my cloak off, I draped it over the back of a chair to dry. Tristan strode across the room, the fire flaring up with magic as he approached. With vicious jerks, he removed the gloves from his hands and threw them into the flames. His coat and shirt followed suit, then he dropped to his knees to watch it burn, the smell of the smoke acrid and horrible.
“How will I tell Élise and Zoé that I killed their aunt? After all the other hurt I’ve caused them, and now this?”
He was a dark silhouette against the orange glow of the fire. I stayed where I was, afraid to speak and afraid to stay silent. “Tristan, I was there when Esmeralda made her bargain with Reagan. She did it so that she could talk to me.” I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the moment. “She wanted to tell me about the injustices the half-bloods faced because she believed I was in a position to help them. At the time I was too concerned with myself to appreciate the risk she was taking, but I did not fail to notice how much she cared for her nieces. Helping them was what she cared for most – what she’d dedicated her life to. And you gave her a chance to do that.”
