At least, she wanted to imagine it was possible.
Doing nothing became too much, and finally, after another hour, she began to move about her prison, forging and gathering water, all her senses alert to the threat lurking above. Though the rancor did nothing but watch her, every move she made crackled with caution. Anytime she had to step closer to the creature, she shook, and she charted the quickest route back to her tiny wall of obsidian.
Adrenaline kept her awake the rest of the day and all through the night. She was hyper aware of its presence. Of the thousand questions straining her mind—why was it watching her, could it get out of the malsite?—the most important one was this: Was it going to kill her?
By the next morning, the answer seemed to be no.
The rancor hadn’t shifted from its place. In the stillness of the forest, she could hear its breath rasping in and out, hear lines of saliva as they dripped and hissed against the leaves, its spit acid.
Then, as the sun worked its way toward noon (inside the time slip, not outside), the rancor spoke.
That voice.
It was the crunch of a cockroach carapace underfoot. The keen of a dying creature. The sense of standing over a vast, black emptiness. Overwhelming and uncompromising madness.
Hanne slapped her hands over her ears and shrieked. Tears squeezed from her eyes, and her head felt as though it would explode.
The rancor closed its mouth and the pain stopped.
Hanne doubled over, her breath coming in quick, frantic gasps as she struggled to reorient herself in the world. “What do you want?” she choked, even though she didn’t want it to speak again. “Why did you trap me?”
She supposed she couldn’t be sure this was the same rancor as before, but sightings were rare. Rare as in nonexistent for hundreds of years. Surely she wasn’t unlucky enough to meet two rancor in her lifetime.
The maddening cacophony of its voice struck again, this time with the black buzzing of a swarm of cicadas, the scrape of claws on iron.
Hanne cried out and pressed her palms against her ears, but it wasn’t enough. Another sound came through as well, almost like words. Almost: “Do you want to live?” But she couldn’t be sure. And when she pulled her hands away from her head, blood dotted her skin.
She sank down into her bedroll and tried not to sob, but never had she been forced to endure this level of fear for so long. Never had she felt so much like prey.
Tuluna, she prayed, tell me how to survive this.
But if the patron Numen of Embria was listening, they didn’t respond. They hadn’t said anything to her since she’d been trapped in the malsite.
Now is when I need you, she tried, but only silence answered.
For several tense minutes, nothing happened between Hanne and the rancor. Then the creature opened its mouth again and made the maddening noise, but now it was…not more bearable, because her ears rang and bled, but more understandable. Now, she clearly heard words.
“Do you want to live?” it asked.
The question hit her in the gut. Of course. Of course she wanted to live. Who wouldn’t, especially when the alternative was being mauled to death by a rancor? What was more, she needed to get to Brink, where Nadine was likely imprisoned. If Hanne didn’t survive this, what would happen to her cousin? Rune might not harm her, but Queen Grace and King Opus had dark reputations. Even if she were traded back to Embria, there were Hanne’s own parents, who had never liked Nadine….
The rancor stared at her, unblinking, and suddenly Hanne remembered the Winterfast Accords, the alliance, and the peace she intended to build. Salvation was eating itself alive, but Hanne could bring an end to the warring—if she lived.
“Answer,” the creature demanded.
Hanne pushed aside a whisper of concern. The cost of yes was a worry for tomorrow; the cost of no was immediate death.
With a shuddering breath, and blood dripping down her jaw, Hanne nodded.
“Then listen,” it said, “to everything I have to say.”
Limbs shaking, mind rebelling from this idea of conversation with a rancor, Hanne climbed to her feet and made herself as strong and steely as possible. “I’m listening.”
“Your enemies seek to destroy you.”
Every word the rancor spoke was torture. It must have been fully aware; that was the only reason Hanne could think of as to why it was telling her things she already knew.
“Your enemies in the south are creating a device that captures malice. Transports it.”
Hanne’s breath caught. This was it: Ivasland’s betrayal of the Winterfast Accords. No kingdom, not in all of recorded history, had dared use malice against another. It was simply inconceivable. But not to Ivasland, apparently. Queen Abagail and King Baldric had no shame, no morals or decency.
“The machine is not yet complete. At the current pace, it will be finished by the autumn equinox.”
Then there was still time to stop it—if only she could get to Brink, marry Rune, and lead her armies south.
Slowly, as though making an effort to avoid startling her, the rancor shifted its weight. The tree groaned. “You will help Ivasland finish the machine.”
“What? No!” She must have heard it wrong. She intended to prevent Ivasland from using malice against Embria. There was no way she would help them achieve their goals.
“You said you want to live.” The rancor’s tongues flickered out. “You will do as I say.”
Hanne shuddered, but kept her gaze pinned on the creature. “I won’t help my enemies break the Winterfast Accords.”
“Your treaty was breached years ago. Centuries ago.” The too-wide mouth curved up into a terrible grin, and the air around it seemed to stutter. “You will do as I say.”
It was a bad idea to argue with a rancor, she knew that, but no one ordered Johanne Fortuin about. No one. (Aside from the king and queen of Embria, but that was different.)
“Kill me if you wish,” Hanne said, “but I will not do your bidding.”
The rancor’s jaw unhinged, giving Hanne a view of row after row of teeth. Drool slid out of its mouth, ropes of it dripping onto the tree branch and blackening the bark.
Bile rolled in Hanne’s stomach.
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me.” Her voice shook, but she said the words, and she meant them. “I will never help my enemies destroy my kingdom.”
The space between them flickered, and before Hanne could so much as summon a scream, the rancor stood over her.
Hanne held her breath, heart pounding, torn between running and freezing. But she couldn’t outrun the rancor, and anyway, she was trapped in the malsite; there was nowhere to run. So she stayed as still as she could, like a rabbit hoping to avoid a hawk’s talons. The rancor’s breath was hot and sharp, cutting through her lungs as she took in a shallow gasp of air.