Hunter's Moon (8 page)

My mouth opened, as if of its own accord, and I heard a scream pierce the silence. One scream, and another, and another. Screams tearing me apart. From a distance,
I heard Verakina and Rasmus begging me to stop, trying to comfort me. But I could not stop, and I would not be comforted.

It wasn't the grotesque revelation that I'd been awarded a crown I'd never sought. It wasn't the memory of a half-seen magazine, discarded on the floor near Belladonna's dressing table. It wasn't the barefaced lies told by Belladonna, the thought of all the people she must have bought off to make the story stick, the thought of all the effort she had gone to in order to construct her sinister conspiracy.

It wasn't any of these things that formed my screams. It was that Belladonna had wanted my heart as proof of my death and that she had gotten what she wanted. She had torn my heart apart as surely as if Drago had cut it from my chest.

When my screams stopped at last, I was exhausted. Every muscle ached. Every pore in my skin exuded a cold sweat. I sat with my head in my hands, shaking, only dimly aware of Verakina and Rasmus looking at me, anxiously. Slowly, the shaking stopped and I grew calmer.

I lifted my head. ‘I must go.'

They stared at me. My voice felt hardly my own. It was cold, clear, flat.

‘I must go to Lepmest at once. From what the paper says, my father's funeral is tomorrow. The Duke and all those who loved and respected my father will be there. At the funeral I will accuse Belladonna. I will tell the world the truth. Have her arrested. She will hang for this.'

‘Are you mad?' said Verakina. ‘Do you really think that Belladonna has not planned every step of this? She will have informers everywhere. Do you not think that if you put one foot in Lepmest, she will find you?'

‘She thinks I'm dead,' I replied, ‘so that is my chance.'

‘She won't think so for long – when you leave this place, her informers will see you. They will see you, they will tell her, and she will kill you.'

‘She has already killed me,' I said, hollowly. ‘She has taken everything from me. My father, my home, my hope, my future. I have nothing left to lose.'

‘Only your life!' snapped Verakina, fixing her green eyes on me.

‘And I will use it well. I will use it to avenge my father,' I said, staring back at her. ‘My mind is made up.'

‘You must be patient! Not only do you need to wait for your feet to heal, you need to know more, a lot more, before you begin such a dangerous mission,' Verakina implored.

‘I've already sent a message to the Prince,' Rasmus put in, eagerly.

‘He knows where to go,' added Verakina. ‘He knows who to ask for information, who to trust, where the safe houses are. I have asked him to find out as much as he can. He is the only one who can help you.'

I was angry. How dare they pass on my secret, my story, to the Prince of Outlaws? It was not their story to tell, their secret to give. Who was this man, really? How was I to know if he could be trusted?

‘I never asked you to do that,' I said, stung.

‘You need time. To think things through. To make your plan carefully. Or you will stumble and Belladonna will find you. And then, Bianca, Belladonna will find everyone who helped you. You will draw her to our haven and we will all be in great danger.'

Rasmus looked at me. ‘Please, will you give us your word that you will not go until you have spoken to the Prince?'

I looked at Verakina. ‘How long will it be until he comes?'

‘A day. Two at the most.'

It was true that they had helped me. And I owed them at least the protection of the haven they had worked so hard to create.

‘Very well,' I said. ‘I give you my word. I will wait until I can speak with your Prince. I will wait to see if he has any information that will help me.'

‘Thank you, Bianca. And if there is anything we can do while you wait …'

‘There is nothing,' I said, adding, quickly, ‘thank you.'

‘You will tell us if there is, won't you?' said Rasmus, awkwardly.

‘I will.' A pause. ‘Actually, there is one thing. I … I need to be alone, just for a while. To gather my thoughts. To pray for my father's soul …'

‘Of course,' said Verakina, getting up. ‘Come with me.'

I followed her, hobbling on the crutches. I must have been in shock, but I did not feel it. I felt strangely calm. Whatever Verakina and Rasmus suggested, my mind was not confused at all, but absolutely clear. My eyes were dry. I would not weep – I could not weep – for my beloved father. Weeping drains your energies, makes you weak. And I must be strong. I needed to be strong if I were to avenge my father, if I were to make Belladonna pay for what she had done.

Hatred, hot and bright as the midday sun, surged through me again, and I welcomed it, for it would fill me with the strength that I needed. It would turn me from the
hunted to the hunter, so I could crush Belladonna without mercy. I pictured Belladonna hanging from the gallows and the image filled my soul with a savage joy. I would not rest until the woman was dead, until she lay lifeless before me. But before her death, I would make sure that she was unmasked, shown for what she was. I would make sure that everything would be ripped from her, just as she'd ripped everything from me.

Everything Belladonna had ever said or done had been a step towards her ultimate goal. Everything had been a lie. She had never cared for me or my father, not one whit. What she had wanted was our deaths, not our love. What she'd wanted was to take everything: my father's money, his business empire that he'd worked so hard to establish, his home, his life, my life, my future.

I remembered thinking, after the ball, that I was becoming myself at last, stepping out from the hollow shell of that which I had been. I'd had dreams of friendship, of love, of a new life. I could see now that they were nothing but the foolish illusions of a little girl who did not see the world for what it truly was. Now I knew. There would be no more dreams, no more illusions. Only the grim determination of revenge. I was no longer the girl of a few days ago, the girl brought up in peace and comfort. I was no longer even the helpless, bewildered girl found by the outcasts in the woods. I was a woman. A woman who understood that the world was a pitiless jungle.

I would take my revenge.

Verakina took me down the corridor, well beyond the area that I'd explored, and stopped before a small curtained archway. Beyond the curtain was a very small room lit
by a single golden lamp, with small cushions on the floor facing a niche that had been cut into the earthen wall. In the niche, resting on a blue velvet cloth, was an icon of St Fleur of the Snow, patron saint of the outcast, painted in the traditional fashion, as a sweet-faced beggar girl with flowers growing from the imprint of her bare feet in the snow.

Verakina said, looking at me, ‘There is great pain in your heart but I see that you do not wish to speak of it. I see that you do not even cry. I understand why that is, but it will eat you like a cancer if you do not let it out.'

She paused, as if waiting for me to say something, but when I didn't, she went on.

‘But even if you cannot speak to us of the pain in your heart, you can tell our dear St Fleur. She will bring you peace if you let her.'

‘Yes,' I said, with an effort. I just wanted her to leave and she must have felt that, for she sighed and left the room without another word.

As soon as Verakina had gone, I hobbled to the opposite end of the room and sat with my back to the icon. It wasn't peace I needed, it was justice. And that came from strength. From power.

It was said that the soul of a murdered person could not rest until justice had been done, and that until that happened, they were condemned to wander in the grey-lands between this life and the afterlife. How could I allow that to go on? And how could I allow Belladonna to live her false life, continuing to deceive those who worshipped her? I could not allow myself to grieve yet. There would be time for that later.

Two things Verakina had said were correct, though. First, that I was not yet strong enough to leave; my feet had not yet healed. Second, that I would need to stop to think clearly and make sure that my revenge would not end in my own death, that Belladonna would not find me and kill me. Both of these things required patience. Belladonna must not know I was still alive. Not until it was too late. She had to think that Drago had killed me, that she was safe. I had to strike precisely when she least expected it, at exactly the right moment. It must be public. I needed solid evidence of her crimes and she had to be accused and arrested in full view of everyone. She had to be shown publicly for the cold-blooded killer and traitor that she was …

What evidence might I find? I thought about how I might persuade Drago to testify that he had been ordered to kill me. But it was unlikely he'd agree. Yes, he'd spared my life – but he had told me never to return. If I did, I was certain that he would be my enemy once again. No, I could not go to him … The poisoning. How had that been done? Who had carried it out? How had Belladonna lured Father to Aurisola in the first place? Did Belladonna still have family in that city where she had grown up? From what I had been told, her only family, her elderly grandmother who had brought her up, had long since died, her house had been sold, and Belladonna had cut all ties to her native city well before her marriage to my father. But what did I really know about Belladonna? Only what she'd told us. She clearly still had connections in Aurisola, whatever she'd claimed.

My head hurt. I had too many questions; there were too many gaps in my knowledge.

Someone was coming. I could hear quick footsteps in the passageway outside. Turning to leave, my eyes fell on the icon of St Fleur. The painted dark eyes of the saint gazed sadly at me, making me feel ashamed.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I'm sure you can help other people. Just not me.'

Swishing aside the curtain, I stepped back into the passageway and almost ran straight into Lisbet.

‘Bianca!' she said. ‘I … I've only just heard …' She stopped abruptly.

I knew what she wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to help her. I didn't want comfort or condolences. So I just said, ‘It's all right. I feel better now. I … St Fleur, she …' I couldn't finish either, the lying words sticking in my throat.

‘She is the only one I can speak to, as well,' said Lisbet. ‘It really helps, doesn't it?'

I nodded, feeling another squirm of shame.

‘I know you don't want to speak about it to me, but if ever … Well, I'm here if …'

‘Thank you,' I said, through a lump in my throat, for these were more words than I'd ever heard Lisbet utter at any one time.

‘My mother … she … was killed, too,' she said. ‘She … tried to … to save me when they … when they attacked me for being a witch and my eye was …' Her voice was shaking. ‘If she had not … I would be dead … She gave her life for me.' A pause. ‘For a long time I thought I might as well be, for the only person who'd truly loved me was gone.'

Stricken, I stared at her. I could see the tears shining in her eye. I could feel the tears gathering in my own, and
a bitter bile rose in my throat. She was opening her heart to me, but I could not do the same. If I did, I would break down. I would weep for days. I would howl with the pain of loss, with the memories of my father that crowded in on me. I would be fatally weakened. I could not accept the gift she was trying to give me, the gift of mourning.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. It sounded stiff, inadequate, and I knew it. I added, rapidly, ‘I hope those evil people were punished for what they did to her, and to you.'

Her gaze downcast, she whispered, ‘No. They were not.'

‘Why not?'

She said, in a low voice, ‘Because everyone else agreed with them. I was a witch. I was conspiring against the village. I had put the evil eye on them. That was what they said. That was what everyone believed. Oh, they did not think quite the same thing about my mother. They even regretted her death. And as a token to her memory they decided I would be driven from the village, not hung as they'd intended. But even after that, everyone still believed the right thing had been done to me. So who would punish them?'

‘You!' I cried. ‘You! In the name of everything that's holy, why didn't
you
try to get redress?'

A faint flush appeared on her cheeks as she said, ‘At first I could not. I was broken. And then later … I understood that it was not what my mother would have wanted. I understood I had to live, you see. And live well. For her. For the sacrifice she'd made. It is the only way.'

‘For you, perhaps,' I managed to say, through the burning bitterness that was threatening to choke me.

‘It is the only way,' she repeated. ‘The Prince helped me see that.'

‘I thought it was St Fleur who helped you,' I said. I hadn't meant it to come out as the sneer that it did.

Lisbet went scarlet. ‘It was both,' she said, in a strangled tone, ‘and the others – oh, and this haven – so that now I can … I can be myself, without fear. Without hate. And you know, since then – since I found my peace – I see my mother. Every night, in my dreams. At first … At first, you see, I did not. I could not. She was lost to me.' Her eye lit up; her mouth curved into a smile. ‘In this place, I found her again. And I know she will never leave me again.' She put a timid hand on my sleeve. ‘If you let it happen, maybe you –'

‘It cannot be the same for everyone,' I said, trying not to show how shaken I felt but succeeding only in sounding hostile. I saw her expression and went on. ‘You honour me by your words, your trust. But what is your way cannot be mine.'

She looked at me with a sorrowful expression. Then she said, quietly, ‘I understand. I will not mention it again. Forgive me.'