The Great Hunt Page 6

  Never taking his eyes from the deer, he gently nudged Paxton before ever so slowly nocking his arrow to his bow and lifting it. Aiming. Waiting for the perfect shot.

  He could feel his brother’s silent anticipation next to him.

  They were different in so many ways, but in these moments they were the same—joined by the thrill of the hunt.

  Tiern’s heart pumped hard and the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh through his ears became a soothing mantra. This feeling. This rush made the boredom of waiting worthwhile.

  Just as the doe stepped into the clearing, making for a perfect shot, Paxton’s fingers tightened on Tiern’s shoulder and his eyes flicked to the side.

  Tiern’s heart sank.

  An older fawn, still sporting its fading spots, came bounding out beside its mother.

  “Bucking seas,” Tiern cursed. The brothers had a rule about not killing does while they were raising babes. Once the fawns were older, losing their spots, their mothers were fair game.

  Tiern lowered his bow, disappointment washing through him. Seconds later Paxton’s fingers gripped him again. He followed his brother’s gaze, and was hit with elation at the sight before them.

  A giant buck with an eight-point rack stood between the trees, gazing toward the doe. A deer of that size could feed half their village this week.

  “Take it,” Paxton said, so low Tiern almost couldn’t hear.

  Technically the buck was on Paxton’s side, but he must have felt bad about the doe, so he was giving his little brother the go. Tiern turned himself, achingly slow, and nocked his arrow to the bow once again, pulling it rigid.

  Come on, big lad, he thought. Give me a good shot.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The unsuspecting buck, focused solely on the doe, stepped out.

  Tiern didn’t hesitate. He let his arrow fly and it found its mark beneath the ribs. He released a huge breath of relief as the beautiful animal faltered and fell. The doe and fawn dashed away.

  Paxton leaped to his feet and ran to their prey. Tiern always let him take care of this part. His brother unsheathed a dagger from his waist and squatted at the animal’s side.

  “There now,” Paxton soothed. He reached out slowly, with care, and pressed a hand to the buck’s head. The animal was still alive, breathing hard. “Go, be at peace. Your life will not be wasted.”

  Those words, spoken at every kill, never ceased to bring a chill of awe to Tiern. He watched as his brother raised the dagger and ended the creature’s suffering. If only the lasses in town could see Paxton here in his element—see how capable their handsome brute was of gentleness, even as he killed. They’d likely be elbowing one another out of the way and racing to see who could lift their skirts for him the quickest.

  Aside from their father, Tiern was the only person who knew this side of Paxton. He felt honored, as if witnessing something private and intimate.

  When Paxton was ready, they got to work.

  It was stew for dinner that night. Maryn Seabolt cooked a small portion of the fresh venison in a pot with potatoes, carrots, and the last of the thick-skinned tomatoes from their summer garden. She hummed a folk song as she bustled about. When everything was ready, she made heaping bowls for her two boys and brought their suppers to them in front of the fire. They ate like kings the night of a big kill.

  If only it happened more often.

  “Thank you, Mum,” Tiern said.

  “No, thank you, laddie.” She kissed his forehead.

  “Thanks,” Paxton said. Their mother rumpled his mess of hair before turning away, humming again.

  The front door swung open with a rickety creak and their father lumbered in, his cane clanking against hard, dirt floors. His body looked as pained and burdensome as always, but his eyes shone. He sniffed the air.

  “I heard you got a big one, aye?”

  “Aye, Father,” Paxton said, his voice deep with pride. “Tiern took it.”

  The corner of Tiern’s mouth quirked up and his cheeks shaded.

  Their father rumbled a laugh and gave his youngest boy a punch on his lean shoulder before falling into his chair with an oof. Their mother was at his side the next moment with a steaming bowl.

  “Grab a bowl and join us, Maryn,” he told her. “There’s news. Big news.”

  Her hand flew to her heart. “Not another killing?”

  “Nae, nae. But it does have to do with the great beast. Our king has issued a proclamation.”

  Her eyebrows rose, and the boys traded looks of interest.

  “We didn’t hear about any proclamation when we were in the market,” Tiern said.

  “It was just issued. Hurry yourself,” Mr. Seabolt said, giving his wife a smack on the bottom.

  She rushed off with an uncharacteristic giggle and Paxton shook his head at his grinning brother, turning his attention back to his stew.

  “So the king finally believes there’s a beast and plans to do something about it?” Paxton asked. “Now that his own men have been killed and not just peasants?”

  “It would seem so,” his father said with a frown.

  Paxton grumbled.

  Tiern and his father ignored Paxton’s gibe and tone. They were accustomed to his negativity toward the king, and toward everything in general. When the four of them were gathered around the fire, Mr. Seabolt set down his empty bowl and placed his large palms on his knees. All attention turned to him.

  “The king’s proclamation states that the best hunters from all of Eurona are invited to Lochlanach for a massive hunt. Whoever kills the great beast will get the most valuable reward the king can offer . . .” He paused and the room was thick with expectancy. “The hand of Princess Aerity.”

  Mrs. Seabolt gasped, nearly toppling her bowl.

  “No shite?” Tiern breathed. His mother must have been in shock because she didn’t even swat him for his language.

  “Aye,” their father said.

  Tiern and Paxton stared at each other, their eyes distant as their minds swirled with possibility.

  Killing the great beast would turn a regular man—a mere hunter, a commoner—into royalty. He would marry a princess, thereby earning himself the most gorgeous of waterway lands with abundant crops, enclosed within the safety of the legendary stone wall. Their family would be comfortable for generations. Beyond comfortable.

  “Get it out of your minds. It’s too dangerous,” Mrs. Seabolt whispered, panicked. “Even soldiers cannot kill it!”

  “The boys are smart,” their father said. “The king’s soldiers have become lazy due to our blessed lack of war, and they train primarily for sea battles and defensive attacks, not tracking. Our boys know the forests. They have common sense and a world of skill. I think they should both enter. Someone has to kill this beast. It may as well be them. They’d be heroes, and think of the prize!”

  Mrs. Seabolt pursed her lips at him.

  “I’d be out hunting the beast anyhow if it weren’t for the bloody curfew threatening to arrest everyone,” Paxton said.

  His mother propped a hand on her hip. “Pfft! I don’t think so, young man!” But they all knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

  Tiern and his brother became lost in visions of the ultimate hunt.

  Their mother absently fiddled with her apron, twisting it and then smoothing it, a nervous habit. “This is absurd. I think . . .”

  Their father’s eyebrows drew together. “What, dear?”

  “It’s just that . . .” Her eyes slid to Tiern with worry and he sat up straighter.

  “He can rival any hunter, Mother,” Paxton told her.

  “Aye, but he’s young still.” She swallowed and shook her head.

  Tiern ground his teeth. When would she stop viewing him as a wee lad? He knew how children were valued in their society, but he hated to be coddled and sheltered. He shot her a pleading expression.

  “I’m seventeen, Mother. Not a child.”

  Her eyes scanned his lean frame as if he were still
five. “I know, dear.” She barely got the words out before tears were escaping. “But this beast . . .”

  “Now, now.” Mr. Seabolt sighed and reached for his wife’s hand. “Fear not. The boys will look out for each other—”

  “You’re not frightened at all?” she asked, louder now. “I don’t care about the riches! I care about my boys. You can stop them! Forbid them.”

  Both boys turned to their father. Indeed, Tiern could see there was reluctance, and something darker, in the man’s face. Maybe fear. But he knew their father could see the hunt for what it was: an honor and the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “The boys do not have to go, Maryn, but if they choose to participate, I will not stop them.”

  “Mother.” Paxton’s voice was firm, his eyes like strong mahogany as he held her gaze. He spoke with absolute conviction, and Tiern wondered if he’d ever be able to talk like that and be taken as seriously as his older brother. “I vow not to let harm come to Tiern. One of us will kill this beast and we will both return home safely. We will make you proud. Please, let us go with your blessing.”

  Their mother covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. After a long pause, she finally nodded, letting out a whimper. Their father patted her knee, beaming at his boys.

  Tiern and Paxton met gazes, the older brother giving him a nod, solidifying their partnership in this adventure. Tiern’s chest swelled with pride and excitement. The ultimate hunt. The hand of a princess. What could be better?

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  Chapter

  8

  Princess Aerity held her skirts in her fists as she ran down the stone hall of the royal quarters and burst into Lady Wyneth’s bedroom. She knew she could not face what was happening in the royal streets of castle Lochlanach without her cousin.

  Lads. Men. Over a hundred of them. All potential husbands.

  Aerity found her sitting in a chair in another gray gown, staring at the wall. Wyneth was fully dressed and her hair had been brushed.

  “Wyn?”

  Her cousin startled at the sound of her name. It broke Aerity’s heart all over again to see her vibrant friend so washed out. Aerity slid into a crouch beside her.

  “How do you feel?” Aerity asked.

  Wyneth gave a weak shrug, and Aerity suddenly felt bad for bothering her. The princess dropped her eyes, fidgeting with nerves.

  Wyneth sat up straighter. “They’re not here already, are they? The proclamation just went out.”

  “It’s been a week. . . .” She swallowed.

  “A week already?” Wyneth’s eyes cleared as they looked at each other. “Oh, Aer. Are there many?”

  Aerity tried to stay calm, but all the fear and nervousness tangled together to make her voice shaky and high. “There are hundreds of them.”

  “Where are they? Can we spy?” These words from Wyneth filled Aerity with relief. They’d always faced things together, practically joined at the hip.

  “Aye, Cousin. I don’t think I can do this without you.”

  Wyneth stood and took both Aerity’s hands in hers. “We go together.”

  A grateful smile graced Aerity’s lips, the first real one since she’d agreed to this madness.

  “Well, let’s go scout the lads then,” Wyneth said. Her grip on Aerity’s hand tightened. “Don’t be afraid. I’m certain one of them will be perfect for you.”

  Aerity’s chest tightened. She wasn’t certain of that at all, but she appreciated the sureness in her cousin’s voice.

  “I’m sure they’ll all be in love with you before the hunt ends,” Wyneth said with false cheeriness. Aerity let out a breathy laugh, but her stomach turned at the thought of how many deaths could be wrought through this hunt.

  Hand in hand, they headed toward the south covered parapet walk along the edge of the castle that overlooked the royal market. They sneaked quietly out the doors. Wyneth’s hand shielded her eyes and she let out a small sound of discomfort as they exited the arched doorway into the fresh air. With a pang, Aerity realized this was Wyneth’s first time outdoors since Breckon had died. She hooked her arm through Wyneth’s and pulled her close.

  “Thank you for doing this, Wyn.”

  “Always,” her cousin whispered.

  As they neared the edge and peered through one of the tall embrasures, Wyneth exclaimed, “Great seas . . .”

  The streets were crammed and the atmosphere was exuberant. People were smiling for the first time in months. Men of differing statures, ages, and appearances were milling about, sharpening blades and tightening bowstrings. Aerity’s heart punched the inside of her chest as her eyes raked the people.

  Somewhere in that huge crowd was the hope of their kingdom . . . and her future mate.

  She noticed beards and smooth faces, dark skin and light, local clothing among styles of fur and bright colors from distant lands, voices rising in foreign languages. Some of the men looked like brutes with oversized muscles and grimy outfits. Aerity closed her eyes and tried to breathe. The idea of giving herself to some surly stranger made her ill with fright.

  “Brave men.” Wyneth kept her voice quiet. She hadn’t let go of Aerity’s arm. When the princess looked at her, she saw eyes haunted by memories. Wyneth would know firsthand what those brave men would be facing. She hadn’t spoken of the beast to Aerity, but it clearly tormented her thoughts.

  “Indeed,” Aerity said.

  They leaned on the stone opening for several minutes before one of the town’s women caught sight of them from a booth of scarves. Aerity heard the joyous sound of murmurs from below, whispers of “Look! It’s Princess Aerity and Lady Wyneth!” Both girls stopped as hundreds of eyes turned up to them. They were accustomed to this, but today it felt different. Today, many of the eyes in the crowd were gazing up at their possible future prize. Swallowing hard and forcing a smile, Aerity raised her hand and waved. Townspeople waved back with excitement, but the strange men only stared, some grinning, some nudging each other.

  When a respectable amount of time had passed, Aerity gently pulled her cousin from the ledge, out of sight. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, feeling Wyneth’s hands on her shoulders.

  “Are you all right, Aerity?”

  The princess was shaking, but she nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re a blessing to this kingdom, you know.” Wyneth pulled her into a hug, their heads resting perfectly on each other’s shoulders. “I would have likely fought the king’s decision. I admire your dedication.” Wyneth had always been strong and lively—it felt good to see a glimpse of that returning and to be able to lean on her cousin once again.

  “Oh, look.” Wyneth peered down over Aerity’s shoulder. “Is that Mrs. Rathbrook?”

  Aerity turned to see the woman at one of the market tables that sold herbal leaves and powders. Officer Vest stood nearby, scanning the people. Aerity was just about to remark how it was nice to see Mrs. Rathbrook out, when she noticed the space around the woman. The market was crowded, but nobody was near her. In fact, people were casting her furtive, even aghast, glances, ushering their children away.

  Each time Mrs. Rathbrook moved a step, the crowd shifted.

  “By the seas.” Aerity scowled as she strained to watch from the distance. “Look at that.”

  Mrs. Rathbrook slid her payment on the table and the unsmiling clerk tossed copper coins in front of her, yanking her hand back. The Lashed woman seemed not to notice, saying something with a kind smile and retreating with her bag. Mrs. Rathbrook walked stoically through the people, who stared as they cleared a path for her, crushing together to keep out of arm’s reach.

  “Awful,” Wyneth whispered.

  Aerity’s jaw was set in anger. Even the guards and military personnel gave Mrs. Rathbrook a wide berth as she made her way through the booths. No wonder the woman kept to her own ch
ambers most of the time.

  “Pardon me, Princess and Lady.”

  Aerity pulled back at the sound of one of the king’s errand boys standing in the arched doorway.

  “Princess Aerity, his highness would like a word.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  He rushed off and Aerity took Wyneth’s hand again, not wanting to be alone. She made her poor cousin accompany her to her father’s study, where he spoke in hushed tones to one of his military advisers.

  “Ah, Aerity,” he said when he caught sight of her. He rose from his grand chair and came around, nodding at Wyneth. “It’s good to see you about again, Lady Wyn.”

  Wyneth gave a small curtsy. “It’s good to be about, Your Majesty.”

  His adviser shut the door, and the four of them remained standing. Her father still showed signs of exhaustion, but his eyes gleamed with the same hope of the townspeople in the market.

  “I hate to ask more of you, Aerity. . . .”

  She braced herself. “What do you need, Father?”

  He cleared his throat. “As you’ve surely gathered, hunters have begun arriving. We fear once the hunt begins there will be many who want to flee after they see . . .” His voice trailed off as his sights shifted to his niece, who dropped her eyes. “We would like to keep up their morale as best as possible. We’ll be gathering the hunters in the west commons area so they may practice their skills and have a place to rest in peace after the hunt each day.” He paused, hesitating. Aerity thought he could probably face down other kings with more confidence than he had facing down his own daughter.

  He continued. “It might be difficult or uncomfortable, but I was hoping you’d be willing to visit the west commons area daily. You would of course have guards, and you’re never to be alone with any of the men. Our hope is that seeing you will . . . lift the spirits of the hunters.”

  And remind them of their prize.