Read Online Huntress by Malinda Lo - Free Book Online
Authors: Malinda Lo
Tags: General, Juvenile Fiction
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bedroll. “Don’t bother to stop your reading for me. But perhaps Kaede has a preference?”
Kaede shook her head. “Stay up as late as you like,” she said, and stood to change out of her traveling clothes.
Taisin looked away, trying to focus on her book. She shifted over to make room as Shae and Kaede climbed onto the creaking platform and settled in for the night. At home, Taisin always shared her sister Suri’s small bed; indeed, she probably had less space there than she did tonight, but it was not the same. She could have curled up against Suri’s back, sharing her warmth. Here, her body was tense, trying to avoid inching too close to Shae’s slumbering form.
Taisin sat up past midnight, feeling awkward and self-conscious, staring at the page before her but not reading a word. Her ears rang with the sound of Shae’s and Kaede’s breathing in that small room, and beneath it, the flutter of her heartbeat seemed as loud as a drum.
Kaede awoke very early, eager to get back on the road. Her eyes opened to dim light coming through the small window, and beside her she felt the warmth of Shae’s body. She sat up too quickly and winced; she was not used to riding a horse all day, and her muscles were paying for it. The hard bed hadn’t helped, either, and she gingerly eased herself out of it, trying to avoid waking Shae and Taisin. She dressed as quietly as she could, and after a moment’s hesitation she buckled the dagger that Fin had given her onto her belt. It made her feel a little self-conscious to wear a weapon like that, but the guards—and Con, too—were all armed. Feeling the hilt pressing gently at her ribs, she picked up her boots and took them outside to put them on. It was chilly in the courtyard, and from the color of the sky above she could tell that it was just barely after dawn. She decided to head to the stable and look for breakfast among their provisions instead of waiting for the others to wake up.
Just as she was rounding the corner of the hostel she heard the swift passage of an arrow followed by a thud as it struck its target. She flinched. Pol was standing in the stable yard and shooting at a tree. He looked over his shoulder at her and said, “You’re up early.”
“So are you.”
He went to pull the arrows out of the tree. “It’s too cramped in that room. Tali’s a big man.”
She smiled. He shot again and again, sending a series of arrows fleet and sure to the center of the trunk, just below a branching limb. She marveled at the way he made it seem so effortless: lifting the long bow, nocking the arrow, loosing the string so that his right hand arched back gracefully, echoing the flight of the arrow itself. She wanted to be able to do that.
“Will you show me how to shoot?” she asked.
He looked at her as if gauging her potential. “The bow is a bit long for you.”
“Let me try. At least it’ll be something to do while we wait for the others to wake up.”
“All right.”
The bow, made of a springy, yellowish-brown wood, was as tall as she was. Pol took off his shooting glove—an odd, three-fingered leather glove with a bulging, padded thumb—and showed her how to strap it onto her right hand. The first time she tried to pull back on the string, she could feel the muscles of her neck and shoulder straining at the effort. The arrow she had nocked slipped and fell, flailing like a downed bird, to the ground at her feet. It was not, she realized quickly, like throwing a knife. Pol seemed amused by her attempt, but said kindly, “My father gave me my first bow when I was a boy of six. It’ll take some time before you get the hang of it.”
He corrected her stance and told her to breathe in as she raised the bow; to press that breath down within herself as she stretched the string; to allow the arrow and her breath to loosen simultaneously. But the more she tried, the less she succeeded, and she began to sweat from the effort.
“You are too willful,” Pol
Kaede shook her head. “Stay up as late as you like,” she said, and stood to change out of her traveling clothes.
Taisin looked away, trying to focus on her book. She shifted over to make room as Shae and Kaede climbed onto the creaking platform and settled in for the night. At home, Taisin always shared her sister Suri’s small bed; indeed, she probably had less space there than she did tonight, but it was not the same. She could have curled up against Suri’s back, sharing her warmth. Here, her body was tense, trying to avoid inching too close to Shae’s slumbering form.
Taisin sat up past midnight, feeling awkward and self-conscious, staring at the page before her but not reading a word. Her ears rang with the sound of Shae’s and Kaede’s breathing in that small room, and beneath it, the flutter of her heartbeat seemed as loud as a drum.
Kaede awoke very early, eager to get back on the road. Her eyes opened to dim light coming through the small window, and beside her she felt the warmth of Shae’s body. She sat up too quickly and winced; she was not used to riding a horse all day, and her muscles were paying for it. The hard bed hadn’t helped, either, and she gingerly eased herself out of it, trying to avoid waking Shae and Taisin. She dressed as quietly as she could, and after a moment’s hesitation she buckled the dagger that Fin had given her onto her belt. It made her feel a little self-conscious to wear a weapon like that, but the guards—and Con, too—were all armed. Feeling the hilt pressing gently at her ribs, she picked up her boots and took them outside to put them on. It was chilly in the courtyard, and from the color of the sky above she could tell that it was just barely after dawn. She decided to head to the stable and look for breakfast among their provisions instead of waiting for the others to wake up.
Just as she was rounding the corner of the hostel she heard the swift passage of an arrow followed by a thud as it struck its target. She flinched. Pol was standing in the stable yard and shooting at a tree. He looked over his shoulder at her and said, “You’re up early.”
“So are you.”
He went to pull the arrows out of the tree. “It’s too cramped in that room. Tali’s a big man.”
She smiled. He shot again and again, sending a series of arrows fleet and sure to the center of the trunk, just below a branching limb. She marveled at the way he made it seem so effortless: lifting the long bow, nocking the arrow, loosing the string so that his right hand arched back gracefully, echoing the flight of the arrow itself. She wanted to be able to do that.
“Will you show me how to shoot?” she asked.
He looked at her as if gauging her potential. “The bow is a bit long for you.”
“Let me try. At least it’ll be something to do while we wait for the others to wake up.”
“All right.”
The bow, made of a springy, yellowish-brown wood, was as tall as she was. Pol took off his shooting glove—an odd, three-fingered leather glove with a bulging, padded thumb—and showed her how to strap it onto her right hand. The first time she tried to pull back on the string, she could feel the muscles of her neck and shoulder straining at the effort. The arrow she had nocked slipped and fell, flailing like a downed bird, to the ground at her feet. It was not, she realized quickly, like throwing a knife. Pol seemed amused by her attempt, but said kindly, “My father gave me my first bow when I was a boy of six. It’ll take some time before you get the hang of it.”
He corrected her stance and told her to breathe in as she raised the bow; to press that breath down within herself as she stretched the string; to allow the arrow and her breath to loosen simultaneously. But the more she tried, the less she succeeded, and she began to sweat from the effort.
“You are too willful,” Pol
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