Cinda Chima - The Gray Wolf Throne

She took in the stringy brown hair, the cruel slash of a mouth, the tobacco-spit eyes. He was the same soldier who had gashed Switcher’s shoulder, but this time she recognized him.

Blood of the demon! Raisa thought. Can things get any worse?

One side of his face was puckered and scarred, evidence of a serious burn.

Raisa had been responsible for that.

He was clad in what looked like army-issue winter garb, but there was no signia on it anywhere. A discolored stubble covered the lower half of his face, lorded over by a broken nose.

Raisa knew where and how it had been broken.

Mac Gillen, she thought, and all the hope drained out of her.

She’d last seen Gillen at Southbridge Guardhouse, when she’d rescued members of the Raggers street gang from the dungeons where he’d been torturing them. She was the one who’d smashed a burning torch into his face. The other gang members had beaten him badly, payback for the treatment they’d received at his hands.

His belly cascaded over his sword belt, but Raisa had no illusions. He’d be all muscle underneath. He smelled of horse and sweat and general poor hygiene. He grinned wolfishly, revealing intermittent teeth stained with kafta nut in a jaw swollen and discolored where her boot had connected the night before.

Raisa looked about. They stood in front of a kind of rude cave, created where two slabs of rock leaned together. His horse was an upland breed, shaggy and wiry enough to negotiate mountain trails. Standard issue for the Queen’s Guard.

A dozen wolves sat on their haunches in a semicircle around them, whining uneasily.

Gillen stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak. Raisa said nothing, knowing that nothing she said could possibly do her any good.

Finally, Gillen couldn’t stand it any longer. “You wondering why you an’t dead yet, girlie?” he said, scratching his privates.

None of the possibilities that came to mind were appealing. Raisa stood, feet spread slightly apart, and said nothing.

“I’m curious, y’see,” Gillen said. “That’s why I carried you off. I wanted to ask a few questions—just you and me.” He took a step toward her, and she took one back. “We was told the Princess Raisa would be riding through here. But the only girlie that’s come through here is you.” He lifted his hands, palms up, in mock confusion. “The thing is, I know you, but you wasn’t no princess when we met before.”

Raisa shook her head. “You’re mistaken,” she said. “We’ve never met.”

“You sure?” he said, crowding her back toward the entrance to the cave. “Maybe I looked different when you saw me before.”

The gray wolves swarmed in around them, growling and snapping their jaws.

Right. I’m in danger, Raisa thought. Like I couldn’t figure that out on my own.

“You sure your name an’t Rebecca? Rebecca, sister to Sarie, the Ragmarket streetrat?” He pressed his palm against his ruined cheek. “The Rebecca what did this to me?”

Raisa continued to back away, shaking her head.

“You know, the girlies don’t like me so well as they did,” Gillen said, “with my face all scarred up like this.”

You couldn’t have been all that charming before, Raisa thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

“I’m not who you think I am,” she said. “Surely you can see that.” She’d decided it was best not to be Rebecca just now. The only thing she could do was deny it, and keep denying it.

“You do talk different than before,” Gillen said. He gave her a push, and she stumbled backward, barely keeping her feet. “You’re like a whole different person, know what I mean?”

The wolves set up a chorus of yips.

Raisa glared at them. Either shut up or attack, she thought. Make yourselves useful.

“So what were you doing in Southbridge, Your Highness?” Gillen breathed, his hand closing around her throat. He pushed her back against the rock slab, pinning her. “You go down there to see how the other half lives? You got a soft spot for streetrats, is that it? You one of those blueblood ladies likes to walk on the wild side?”

Raisa pulled at Gillen’s hand, trying to release the pressure. “If I’m like a different person, maybe it’s because I’m not who you think I am.” It wasn’t easy to force her voice past Gillen’s grip on her throat.

Desperately, she sorted through the street moves that Amon had taught her. Gillen’s clothing was heavy enough to deflect some of the body blows she knew. And anything she did, it would have to take him down for good. She’d find no escape or rescue in the middle of the woods. She couldn’t risk making him angrier than he was.

All this thinking took no more than a fraction of a second. Time seemed to have slowed to a creep, as if to stretch out what little remained of her life.

“Our orders are to kill you, Your Highness, but there’s no reason I have to do it right off,” Gillen said, his foul breath washing over her face. “So long as you end up dead, it don’t matter. I think you owe me for what you done, and I’m going to make you pay.”

“Sir. Whoever you are. I am not without resources. If you free me unharmed, my family will make it worth your while,” Raisa said.

Gillen released a loud bray of laughter. “Your family? How do you know they an’t the ones that hired us?” He slammed her head against the rock to emphasize his point.

Stars circled in front of her eyes. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and a bitter, metallic taste swelled in the back of her throat.

“Listen to me. I don’t have much money with me, but if you take me safely home, there’s a reward in it for you. If you kill me, you won’t have a moment’s peace for the rest of your life.”

He laughed. “I know better than to cross the one that hired me,” he said. “I learned my lesson on that. I’ll take my reward here and now.”

“Who hired you?” Raisa asked, thinking maybe he’d actually tell her.

Gillen just shook his head, grinning.

“Well, whoever it was, he won’t be happy when he finds out you killed the wrong person,” Raisa said.

Gillen gazed at her, brows drawn together, and she could see the wheels turning behind the piggy eyes. “I’m gonna take my time on this, know what I mean? I don’t want them others to come and interrupt.” He turned to his horse, dug into his saddlebag, and pulled out a coil of cording.

“Come on.” He shoved her roughly, sending her stumbling toward the cave. Another shove and she was inside, on her hands and knees, the rock and ice on the floor of the cave slicing into her palms. She quickly turned and gathered herself into a crouch. He loomed in the doorway, blotting out what little light there was.

“I’m going to tie you up and come back later,” he said, walking toward her, slapping the coil of cord against his hip. “I want to give you time to think about what’s gonna happen.”

Raisa debated, her thoughts seeming to reverberate inside her skull. There was the unlikely chance she could get free before Gillen returned. There was also a chance she’d freeze to death before he came back.

Freezing to death wasn’t a bad way to die. It seemed preferable to what Gillen had in mind.

But if she allowed herself to be bound up, she’d have given up any chance of fighting free. She was the descendant of Hanalea, the warrior queen. She would not die bound hand and foot in a cave. Or ravished and tortured to death by this traitorous lowlife.

She lifted both hands in appeal. “All … all right. Just don’t hurt me.”

Gillen focused on her left hand, on the heavy gold wolf ring on her forefinger. “Gimme that ring,” he said. “I need something to take back, to prove you’re dead.”