Snow White and the Huntsman (16 page)

T
he men descended on them. One galloped toward the dwarves with his sword drawn. Duir ducked, the razor-sharp blade clipping off a tuft of his hair. Another launched an arrow at Eric’s neck. It missed, instead whizzing by the side of his head. Eric searched the trees, looking for only one face. Then he spotted him. Finn was on horseback, riding through the woods, pursuing Snow White. His greasy hair fell into his eyes. A bruise had formed on his cheek where Eric had struck him.

Eric took off after him, his axes drawn. He would finish what they’d started in the Dark Forest. As long as Finn was alive, Snow White would never be safe. Finn would follow her to Carmathan. He’d wage a war on the duke’s castle and burn his land, not satisfied until he had the girl’s heart.

He ran through the thick undergrowth. Shadows spread out around him, withering the leaves and grass, shriveling flowers, and sending the fairies scattering into the sky. The
creatures of the forest disappeared. The foxes went underground, the turtles burrowed beneath the moss. When he finally stopped running, the woods were completely silent. Finn was nowhere in sight.

He scanned the space between the tree trunks, but it was hard to see anything in the growing darkness. His breath spread out in a cloud before him, the air suddenly much colder than it had been before. Somewhere behind him, a twig snapped. He whipped around, seeing Finn’s horse emerge from the woods. He raised his axe, but the horse flew past without a rider.

Eric watched it disappear behind the trees, realizing just a moment too late that it was a trick. He turned as Finn charged out of the woods behind him. Finn brought down his sword, but Eric dodged it, the blade nicking him in the arm. His biceps stung. He glanced down at the wound, which trickled blood onto the shriveled grass below.

Eric didn’t hesitate again. He lowered his axe and ran at him. Finn pulled a tree branch back until it was close to snapping, then he let go. The massive limb ricocheted off Eric’s chest, sending him flying into a massive oak. The back of his skull met its giant trunk, nearly knocking him out. He could barely move. His breaths were short and painful. The blood streamed down his arm and spread out on his shirt, turning it a deep red.

He watched Finn’s face. The weasel smiled, looking so sick and satisfied. He must have loved seeing him like this, his energy drained, a gushing wound in his side. He reached
for his axes, but they’d fallen from his waist. They sat on the ground a few feet away.

“I’ve captured many girls,” Finn said, stalking forward. “But your wife was special.”

Eric stood up straight, a surge of energy reviving him. “What did you say?” he asked. He eyed the axes in the dirt, knowing he couldn’t retrieve them without making himself vulnerable to another strike.

Finn cocked his head to the side. “She fought. When it was clear it was over, she begged. You should know that she called for you. Your Sara.”

Eric could barely breathe. A fiery rage ripped through him. Finn was lying—he couldn’t have been there. They’d thought it was one of the looters from another village. They’d told him that upon his return. So why was Finn saying differently? Why was he toying with him now?

“How do you know her name?” Eric yelled. He glanced over Finn’s shoulder, spotting a fallen tree. Its dead roots stuck up from the ground. The shadows had killed it from the inside out, making the roots dry and sharp. They looked like the pointed wood spears Eric used to hunt with.

“She told me,” Finn hissed. “Just before I slit her throat.”

That was all Eric needed to hear. He came undone, that day returning to him all at once. Her neck—that beautiful neck he’d held in his hands so many times—had been cut open, the blood crusted black around the wound. He’d run his hands over her dress, feeling the gash in her side, just below her ribs. He kept looking into her face, wondering
what kind of monster could hurt a woman like that. What kind of soulless, gutless man could take Sara’s life?

Now he knew.

He charged at Finn, not caring about the sword raised in the creep’s hand, its blade sharp enough to behead him. He just lowered his shoulder down as he ran, landing a blow in the middle of Finn’s abdomen. They went flying into the uprooted tree. Finn landed on its roots with great force, the sharp wooden posts digging into his skin. The bastard howled in agony.

His screams only fueled Eric’s anger.
This man killed Sara
, he kept thinking as he pushed Finn’s shoulders back, impaling him on the giant tree roots. He didn’t stop until they broke through the front of Finn’s shirt. Finn writhed in agony, trying to break free of the branches, but Eric held him down.

“Sister!” Finn screamed. He threw his head back. “Heal me, sister!”

The shadows swirled around them. The black smoke curled around the ends of the sharp tree, trying to heal his wounds, but it was impossible. The roots kept them open. Finn bled, the gashes raw around the wood.

Still, the black cloud circled. “Sister?” Finn gasped. Eric never let go of his shoulders. He kept pushing down on him, watching him die, the tears escaping the corners of his eyes. This man had taken his wife. Would he ever be able to love someone as much as he had her?

He’d met Sara one day at the village fair. Tiny rosebuds had been nestled inside her braided bun. She’d been dancing
with the others. It was her laugh that he had loved most—that bubbly, buoyant laugh—it’d filled the air, infecting everyone around her.

“You took her,” he whispered. He watched as the light left Finn’s eyes. “You killed my wife.”

When Finn was finally gone, his body limp against the tree roots, Eric turned away. He didn’t feel powerful or brave. He wasn’t pleased with himself or overjoyed at what he’d done. But there was a quiet consolation in Finn’s death. And it wasn’t about his own life, for once. Eric thought of Snow White instead.

Maybe Finn’s death meant now that Snow White could live free. Maybe she could live in Carmathan in peace.

When he returned to the forest, Finn’s men were all dead. The dwarves, fierce warriors themselves, had taken them out one by one. Eric spotted Snow White and the others crowded around someone. As he neared he could see it was Gus, the youngest one. His face was pale. The arrow was still lodged in his chest, right above his heart.

Eric looked around, counting the other dwarves to be certain they were all there. That’s when he noticed a young man crouched among them. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Eric swore he’d recognized him, though he wasn’t sure from where.

“Who is this?” he asked.

The boy stood. He puffed out his chest like some silly bird, trying desperately to appear bigger than he was. “My name is William,” he said. “I am Duke Hammond’s son.”

Eric shook his head.
The duke
. The coward who’d been hiding in Carmathan all these years. Of course this was his son. “What is the duke’s son doing riding with the Queen’s men?” he asked, looking to the dwarves for an answer. Coll and Duir were huddled over Gus, too upset to speak.

William stepped forward. “I was looking for the princess.”

“Why?” Eric barked. They had enough trouble as it was. They didn’t need some aspiring soldier tagging along with them.

William rested his hand on the butt of his sword. “To protect her.”

Eric couldn’t help but laugh. “The princess is well protected, as you can see.” He gestured around at the seven dwarves, pointing to their crossbows and knives.

William looked Eric up and down. “And who are you?” he challenged.

“The man who got her this far, your
lordship
.” He spit the words at him, hating the boy’s sense of entitlement. He was a child. Eric stepped forward, getting within inches of his face.

Snow White looked up at him. Her hand was resting on Gus’s chest, her face streaked with tears. “Leave him, Huntsman,” she said softly. “He’s our friend.”

Snow White bowed her head, her tears soaking Gus’s shirt. Eric stepped back, his face in his hands. The dwarves broke into a funeral chant. Their expressions were tense and sad as they sang. They belted tunes of love and friendship, of
life and death. Their songs swelled in the ruined forest. Nothing could warm the air. The animals would not come out from below the earth. The fairies had disappeared. The black cloud that had descended on them still lingered there, circling them in dark, curling wisps.

When the song ended, Coll and Duir brought armfuls of wood to burn in the funeral pyre. Quert laid stones on the ground in a giant rectangle, making a bed for Gus to sleep on. They moved his tiny body, stacking the dead branches on top of him, crisscrossing each one until he disappeared beneath the wood. Beith worked at a piece of flint, finally lighting it.

They stood there together, watching as it burned. The flames grew. The logs popped and crackled as they were engulfed. Some of the dwarves cried. Who, Eric did not know. All he could hear were Snow White’s sobs, her sadness enough to send shivers down his spine. He kept staring at the side of her face, wishing he could take her pain from her. But as night fell, their sorrow only grew. This was not the end of their battle—this was the beginning.

For their twisted, evil Queen was still alive.

R
avenna lay in bed, studying the back of her hand. It had returned to normal, the brown age spots gone, the horrible puckered skin now so smooth and taut. She rested her delicate fingers on her sternum, trying to slow her breaths. A full hour had gone by since Finn had passed on. This was the longest it had ever taken for her to feel young again.

Two girls. Not one—two. She had consumed both quickly and hungrily, sucking the energy from their tiny, sweet mouths, feeling it fill her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Her strength had returned. But even their beauty, the softness of their hair or their creamy, porcelain skin, wasn’t enough. The grief still ripped through her. An emptiness had filled the space beneath her ribs. She felt as if someone had scooped out her insides.

Her only brother. What had she meant to him, and he to her? They had been the only two left who remembered that
day at the camp when the king’s troops had swarmed the wagons. They’d played together in the forest, darting behind the trees, hiding from each other. Finn was the only other person who’d known their mother’s face.

She’d been in the bath when she heard his first scream. She was below the surface of the milk, letting the smooth liquid cover every inch of her skin, softening it. His shrill cry echoed inside her, as if he were right there in the room with her. She twisted and turned, feeling the sharp tree roots bury themselves in her back. The Huntsman gripped her shoulders as he had gripped Finn’s, pushing her back into the wooden knives. She felt the soft tissue inside her chest tearing. The pain ripped through her, so strong her toes curled under and her hands balled into tight little fists.