chapter sixteen

when i wake, the first thing i notice is the growling of the hounds. i sit up quickly and turn toward the sound. the hellequin with the spiked vambraces is fighting-no, playing with?-the hellhounds. either that or they are trying to kill him.

an older man with sorrowful eyes sits by one of the small fires next to the lanky youth i saw last night. the older man appears to be teaching the younger one how to do something with a knife. many of the hellequin sit around such fires, oiling their harnesses or sharpening their weapons.

"it gives them something to do with their hands." i nearly jump at the deep voice behind me. when i turn, i find balthazaar still leaning against the wall, watching me with a heavy-lidded gaze. "they do not use their weapons any longer. they are simply pieces of their past they carry with them."

"do they not need sleep?" i ask.

"no."

which means that, despite what he said, he does not either, yet still he chose to sit by me through the night. i pray that i did not drool or snore. to cover up my embarrassment, i speak, although rather more tartly than i intend to. "i am sorry if i delayed your departure."

"you did not. we won't leave until night has fallen, so we were stuck here whether you slept or not."

unsure what to say to that, and acutely aware of his eyes on me, i pull my saddlebag closer. i reach inside, rummage for something to stick in my empty belly before it begins rumbling. my hand closes around one of the round, hard cheeses, and i pull it from the pack. i break it in two, then begin pulling the wax from one half. like a ripple moving across a pond, the quiet hum and murmur around me ceases. when i look up, i see that nearly all the hellequin are watching me.

"cheese," the lanky youth says, somewhat wistfully.

he is so very young that it is hard to imagine what he could have done to earn time with the hellequin. discomfited, i glance at balthazaar. "do they not eat either?"

he shakes his head. "hellequin do not require food, but we can eat it if we like. for many, it is either a painful or pleasant reminder of our mortal years."

suddenly my throat closes up and my hunger evaporates. not knowing what else to do, i take the second half of the cheese and hold it out to the boy. "would you like some?"

he looks at me with equal parts disbelief and longing, then cuts a questioning glance to balthazaar. whatever he sees there reassures him. he leaps to his feet, crosses the distance between us, then reaches out hesitantly to take the cheese. i only wish i had enough to give all of them, for the face of every man here holds some measure of hunger, although what exactly they hunger for, i will likely never know. "thank you," the boy says. he stares down at the cheese as if it were a sparkling jewel as he hurries back to his place by the fire. however, instead of shoving the cheese in his mouth as i expected, he breaks off a small piece and hands it to the older man who had been showing him how to carve wood. other hellequin begin crowding near, and he breaks off more and more pieces, handing them out until all he has left is one bite of cheese. he pops it in his mouth, savoring it as he chews.

when we ride out that night, balthazaar takes the van and the rest fall in behind him. the only exceptions are miserere and two other hellequin who have been assigned to ride at my side. one is the lanky youth-begard, he is called-and the other his companion of earlier, a former stonemason they call malestroit. they are my protection, balthazaar claims, but i cannot help but wonder if their true purpose is to prevent my escape.

although he need not worry about that. not yet. i am watched much too closely. not only out of suspicion, but because i am something new. a diversion. mayhap even a reminder of what they have lost. i see that in malestroit's sorrowful eyes every time he looks at me.

however, not all hellequin feel that way. some cast bitter glances in my direction, as if it pains them to have me in their midst. still others wear expressions of awe and try to draw near, as if my presence offers them some hope or plucks some chord of fond memory.

it is all most disconcerting, frankly.

as fortuna canters through the forest surrounded by the hunt, trees tower on either side of us, obscuring the moon. we ride so fast i dare not look up at the stars for fear i will fall off my horse and be trampled. not to mention that the roads chosen by the hellequin are rough and little used, often barely more than wagon ruts.

when the path opens up again, i find that the cluster of hellequin around me has grown. miserere keeps to my left and malestroit to my right, but others press in close.

"you have drawn a crowd, milady." begard's voice is cheerful, as if i should be proud of such an accomplishment.

"so it appears," i murmur, suddenly very glad for balthazaar's caution.

"there is no need to fear. most are not as terrifying as they seem. you've met miserere." the boy glances to the giant who rides silently beside us and lowers his voice in an exaggerated manner. "he is not nearly so frightening as he looks."

unable to help myself, i too glance at miserere, who stares straight ahead and pretends we do not exist. "i fear i may need more than your word on that for me to believe it," i say.

miserere's grim mouth twitches. i would like to believe it is in amusement, but it is most likely in annoyance. or anger.

begard ignores him and continues with his prattle. "malestroit here used to be a stonemason. he's teaching me to whittle."

"gives him something to do with his hands besides steal things from others," the stonemason explains. "a bad enough habit among the living, but especially stupid when surrounded by men such as these."

begard looks sheepish. "i am-used to be-a thief," he says by way of explanation. while i am not surprised that he is a thief, i am surprised that such a small crime would earn him a place with the hellequin. to turn the subject from him-and his discomfort-i ask