Page 84 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

But then, there won’t be a fight. Only an execution.

Whisper quiet, I ease up behind him. He bends to touch the cook pot and murmurs, “Still warm,” to himself.

When he straightens, I strike, slicing my dagger sideways across his throat. Hot blood jets from the wound, and he presses both hands to his neck, gurgling as he fights for life. If there are others nearby, he might survive.

Unlikely.

“Let’s move,” I call.

Thea skirts the fallen hunter and retrieves her pot, shoulders hunched. I wish there was time to comfort her. But we cannot tarry. The others give me a wide berth, and I cannot say I’m surprised.

It’s one thing to know someone is deft at meting out brutality, quite another to witness that firsthand. I hope this doesn’t change how Thea feels about me. In unwilling service to my cousin, I have done so many dreadful things.

Olive passes me as Rosa leads the way from our campsite. Thea’s sister lingers long enough to say, “You did what you had to. To keep us safe.”

It helps. Possibly because Olive doesn’t know me well, and she’s under no obligation to comfort me. I scan the site one last time to ensure we’ve left no traces other than the body, and then I follow the group.

At our first break, Thea draws some water from a brook and washes the cooking pot. I pause beside her, not knowing what to say. She feels distant, and I can’t tell if it’s the stress of our situation or—

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“For what?” Of all things, I never expected an apology. Not from her. She’s done nothing wrong. I’m biased, but I hardly think she’s capable of wrongdoing that would warrant such a profound expression of remorse.

Her eyes are wide and tearful. “You’re in this situation because of me. But I’m also sorry you’ve had to live this way. Doing bad things for that bastard.”

“Not to argue with you, but I’m in this situation because of my father. And I didn’t mind playing my role. I’m good at it.”

“You hate it,” she snaps.

She’s right. I loathe putting weapons to flesh. It’s part of why I’m obsessed with using blades to create beauty instead.

“It’s better killing people I don’t know,” I say softly.

Thea sucks in a sharp breath. “He…he made you…”

I only nod, because if I start talking, I might never stop. And I don’t see how she could feel the same if she knew. If she knew everything.

Suddenly, her arms are around me, tight about my waist. “As the wild spirits are my witness, I will see him brought low for what he’s done to you.”

Sweet and tender Thea vowing vengeance in my name—what does it say about me that this feels like a declaration of devotion? Moved beyond any ability to speak, I press a quick kiss to her forehead.

“This spot is too open,” Rosa says. “We have to keep moving.”

I glance around, stepping away from Thea. “True. We march on. And look for a safe place to rest for a while.”

If there is such a place.

The next seven nights are nightmarish.

Once, we left an entire group of hunters for dead, courtesy of the poison-mist potion we apparently bought from Tempest. Twice, we fled in the middle of a meal. Three times, we scattered and regrouped after my wards sounded the alarm as we tried to sleep.

We cannot continue this way.

There has been no peace. Liskaal grows ever more desperate, throwing all his resources at capturing us. Everyone is worn to the bone, weary beyond bearing, and we barely escaped the last time. They’re getting better at predicting our movements, and the others are losing hope. Only my tricks at obfuscation have kept us safe thus far, and I have little faith that I can prevail against my cousin’s relentless soldiers.

Visits from Zeph’s coterie of crows have kept us supplied with information, at least, and we know that we’re in the wildlands halfway between Summer and Autumn. Not that the knowledge helps.

Morale is low.