Helen’s POV
The poor man just stared at me with blank eyes. His hair was matted, and his cheeks sunken. He’d clearly been here a long time.
“Do you have any idea where the Huntsman kept the key?” I asked.
The man continued to stare at me.
“You can answer me without being afraid,” I said, soothing the prisoner. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” the poor man on the floor croaked.
“Yes. The Huntsman is dead. I saw it with my own eyes. He was killed by his own magic.”
That was the best way I could describe the rite which had taken down the Huntsman to somebody whose consciousness was being strained simply by keeping himself awake. If he wanted more details after I’d gotten him help, we could worry about that then.
He made another harsh noise trying to speak and gave up, simply pointing me to
