But surrounded by towering pine trees, she didn’t feel free. She felt like a coward, running from the first sign of danger.
With each step, the coins in the purse clinked together, and Lynet had to try not to flinch as she remembered the sound of the shattering glass in the chapel. She kept telling herself it wasn’t true—that Mina loved her, that she hadn’t sent the huntsman to kill her—but the weight of the purse the huntsman had given her was a constant reminder. She lost track of how long she’d been walking, but she knew if she stayed on the road south, she would make it out of the woods eventually, and then she’d arrive at the town of North Peak. That was assuming, of course, that no wild animals attacked her in the woods. Like my father, she almost thought, but she forced it to the back of her mind. There were too many dangerous thoughts, and she stepped around them as carefully as she could, like she was navigating through a field of traps.
Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would reach the town, but she wouldn’t stop there, she would keep going—
Go where?
South, of course. She’d go south, just as she had planned. She would put as much distance as possible between herself and the events of this night, until she forgot her old life and became someone entirely new. That was what she had wanted—the freedom to shape her own future. There was nothing to fear, nothing to regret. I wanted this, she reminded herself again. And every time she stumbled in the darkness, or wondered if she’d heard something growling, or remembered the look on Mina’s face in the chapel, she just repeated it once more. I wanted this.
She was still saying it to herself when she felt rough hands grab her, one arm encircling her waist while the other held something sharp to her throat.
He found me, she thought, but the voice that spoke didn’t belong to the huntsman.
“Your purse,” the voice said, low and frantic next to her ear. “I can hear the coins. Give it to me, or I’ll slit your throat and find it myself.”
Lynet remembered Nadia telling her that thieves hid in the woods, that she’d never survive on her own. She struggled to breathe—the blade was pressing into her, and a slow trickle of blood began to flow where it had nicked her skin. “Take it,” she said, fumbling for the purse tied around her waist. She held it up, silently praying that he wouldn’t decide to kill and search her anyway.
But as soon as the thief snatched the purse from her hand, he was gone, leaving Lynet terrified and penniless, but alive.
Lynet ran.
She was lucky, really, she told herself. The thief hadn’t seen the silver bracelet on her wrist, hidden by her sleeve, so she still could buy her way south. If she needed anything else, she would have to beg for it.
In her heavy boots, Lynet tripped over a tree root that jutted up through the snow, and fell on her hands and knees. Something inside her broke, then, and all the dangerous thoughts she’d been trying to avoid caught up to her at last. Her father, the chapel, the huntsman, the thief with his knife against her throat—they all descended on her at once, and she struggled against the tears stinging her eyes, her throat burning from the effort of not crying.
Lynet curled up on her side, holding her knees to her chest, clutching at her dress as she tried to stop the dry, heaving sobs that shook her whole body, each one making her hate herself just a little bit more. She pictured what she must look like now to an observer, and the image was that of frightened prey trying to make itself small and invisible.
It’s true, whispered a traitorous voice in her head. I’m not strong, I was never strong, I was only pretending. What was the use of climbing trees or high towers if she was just going to end up here, lying helplessly in the snow? She’d tried to convince herself that she wasn’t delicate, never understanding that the only reason she had to try so hard to prove it was because she had never really been tested. And now that she had been tested, now that she had failed so miserably, she knew that she had never been strong—only lucky.
She forced her eyes open and slowly sat up. She had left a dark stain in the snow that she knew was blood from the wound on her throat, and for a moment, she was entranced by the sight of it, a distraction from the thoughts that troubled her. The blood served as a reminder of who she was, what she was made of. She was not her mother’s child—she never had been. She was blood and snow, and so she would be like the snow, like the pine needles, like the winter wind: sharp and cold and biting. Snow didn’t break or shatter, and neither would she. All she had to do was be true to her nature.
Cold as snow, sharp as glass. Lynet rose to her feet. She still had a long way to go.
* * *
When Lynet first heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her, she didn’t hesitate. Immediately, she scrambled off the main road, diving into the maze of trees, knowing that she might become hopelessly lost as a result. There was only one reason she’d hear horses coming from the direction of Whitespring in the middle of the night—Mina had sent someone after her, to hunt her down.
Lynet thought quickly. What did it matter if she escaped her pursuer only to end up dying lost in the woods? She had to keep the main road in view somehow, even if just to know when the danger had passed and it was safe to stop hiding.
Lynet found a tree with low enough branches to climb and went up as high as she dared, until she had a decent view of the road stretching in both directions. She had acted just in time—only a few seconds after she was hidden in the tree, she saw two men on horseback riding past.
She had been right—they were from Whitespring and wore the uniforms of her father’s guards. But when the moonlight struck their faces, she knew these men didn’t belong to her father. One of them had a long scar running down his neck, and both of them had dark, blank eyes, like two reflective pools. Her stomach twisted as she remembered looking up into those same eyes, certain she was about to die.
The two men rode on, but soon others followed, Mina’s huntsman among them. They were riding more slowly, holding their lamps up to peer into the woods. A few of them were on foot, spreading out into the trees.
Lynet tried not to breathe, hoping that they wouldn’t come near her tree, that they wouldn’t look up and shine their lamps directly on her. She couldn’t do anything but wait—if she tried to climb higher up, she might make too much noise or attract their attention. Worse, she might slip and fall, landing at their feet with a broken neck. Their search would be over then.
She lost sight of the soldiers—she thought there were ten of them, not counting the two that had ridden on ahead. But then she heard a noise from below and saw the golden light from a lamp approaching her tree.
It was the huntsman who stepped out from between the trees, holding his lamp high. He was looking up, searching the pine branches for a frightened girl who might be huddling there.
Lynet was thankful for her dark brown dress and hoped that if she kept her head down, her hair hiding her face, she would appear as nothing more than a shadow. She heard her breath coming out in shallow spurts, and she put her hand over her mouth, waiting, waiting.…
But the huntsman didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about his task. The others had been searching with a single-minded determination, but the huntsman moved more slowly, turning his lamp from tree to tree after only a glance upward. When he came to her tree, Lynet’s heart pounding against her chest, the lamplight didn’t even come close to her, swinging in a low arc far below her perch.