Five
It’s still dark when Scythe shakes me awake. Kicks, actually, the tip of his boot nudging my sore shoulder blade. Sleeping on a bed of rocks leaves something to be desired.
“Get up,” he says lowly. “It’s time to move.”
I curse him under my breath as I scramble to my feet. It is freezing inside the cave. He’s already doused the fire I fell asleep curled beside, my enemy’s cloak spread beneath me. I’d shivered for what felt like hours before I finally tumbled over the edge of consciousness. Through some small miracle, my fever did not return in the night.
Scythe bends to retrieve his cloak, shaking off the gravel in one rough jerk. Without another word, he stalks from the cave, leaving me alone in the dark. I limp after him, trembling with cold as I step into the predawn morning. Snowflakes drift down, blanketing the world like a thin coat of sugar on an apple tart. They catch in my eyelashes, cling to my hair, stick to the thin fabric of my gown sleeves.
The horse is already saddled, waiting patiently beneath the boughs of a squat tree. At Scythe’s whistle, he trots closer. I tense when the commander turns for me.
“Don’t even think about it,” I hiss, backpedaling out of his reach.
He freezes, brows raised.
“I am not a saddlebag to be lashed to your horse, nor a sack of barley to be tossed about without care.”
“True,” he mutters. “Barley would make for far more tolerable company.”
I glare at him. “If you wish for me to go along with you without putting up a fight, you will start treating me with respect.”
“Is that so?”
My cheeks flush with anger. “You can start by telling me where you are taking me. I think I have a right to know what fate awaits me at the end of this ride.”
He closes the space between us in one step, looming over me. It takes all my strength not to cower.
“My respect is something earned—not given away to sheltered little girls consumed by delusional naiveties about our world and those who inhabit it.”
“Sheltered?” I scoff. “You base your assessment on what? My age? My appearance? The handful of words we have exchanged over these past few days of silent flight?”
“I base it on the fact that you believe you are in any position to negotiate with me.”
I would negotiate with the God of Death himself if it meant getting out of the underworld unscathed, but I doubt I’ll garner any favors by openly comparing him to evil incarnate. I suck in a calming breath. “I merely wish to ride—upright, without shackles or rope. I will not run. I give you my word.”
“Your word?”
I nod.
His expression is flat, but I see a flicker of curiosity in thedepths of his eyes. There are snowflakes on his eyelashes. “And what, exactly, is the word of a halfling worth?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
“More than the word of a murderer, to be sure.”
His flinch is almost imperceptible, but I’m near enough to see it. His eyes glint like dark flame as he leans in. The breath in my lungs seizes at his proximity.
“It seems you are mistaken about something. You exist by my leave alone. Your heart continues to beat because I have seen fit to make it so. That means you have no say in where we are heading, or the manner in which I choose to take you there. It also means you are entitled to nothing—not information, not kindness, certainly not a nursemaid to soothe a fever you brought upon yourself through sheer stubbornness.”
My mouth gapes. “You make it sound as if I asked for sickness!”
“You might as well have! Out here, in the wild, one careless mistake can mean a death sentence. An injury left to fester will kill you quicker than any enemies who stalk these hills.”
“Shocking as you may find it, I did not get sick merely to annoy you. I assure you, the ride would have been much more pleasant if I were feeling well.”
“I’m not overly invested in what you find pleasant.”
“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.” I grit my teeth. “I suppose this means riding upright is not open to discussion.”
“Are you willfully obtuse or simply slow minded?” His pause is rife with tightly leashed fury. “Or perhaps you mean to provoke me with your obstinance?”