by Mason Thomas
This resistance was no different. It wasn’t some refined military establishment, and the people involved here weren’t soldiers. They were rebels. Insurgents. Malcontents fighting for a cause in their free time—who wouldn’t adhere to the chain of command if pushed and didn’t have the discipline to blindly follow orders.
How much longer before someone made a move against him?
19
THE THIRD and fourth day had a weird Groundhog Day, déjà vu-esque quality that was getting under Hunter’s skin, carving Hunter out from the inside.
The only discernable difference was on the morning of the fourth day, he woke up to find a pair of boots on the floor next to his cot.
He tugged them on and laced them up. They fit fairly well, if a bit odd in their shape, but in a world that hadn’t figured out things like indoor plumbing or the assembly line, he couldn’t rightly expect high-comfort footwear.
Four days.
And he was no closer to figuring out a way home. No closer to finding out what the resistance planned on doing with him. He was stuck in this shadowy limbo with no purpose and little hope. An urgency was starting to eat away at him, and he fought a rising tide of despair. How much time had passed back his own world already? Weeks? Months?
And no word from Dax. Nothing since his mysterious midnight visit two nights ago. He’d been involved in whatever crisis had taken place. Hunter was sure of it. Dax didn’t strike him as the kind of guy to stay out of a fight. Hunter realized he was worried about him. Selfishly? Was it his own safety he was worried about? He couldn’t tell. And that bothered him too—but he wasn’t even sure why.
He’d noticed lately, in Dax’s absence, his thoughts always seemed to drift back to him. His face would appear in his mind’s eye, unbidden, or Hunter would catch himself daydreaming about the shape of his arms or the texture of his skin. It irritated him—and each time he would shove the images from his head. But they always crept back into his thoughts again when he wasn’t expecting it.
He would have heard if something had happened to him, right?
He’d added peeling potatoes to his morning routine, tackling a bushel of them after the dishware was cleaned and put away. He needed more things to do. Training helped with his restlessness, but that covered only so many hours of the day. Too much of the day was spent without purpose or direction. And the mundane activity reminded him of home. If he closed his eyes and ignored the smell of old grease and woodsmoke, he could almost pretend he was standing in his own kitchen.
He cleaned up the workstation and headed to the practice field. His legs took him there as if on autopilot. Training with Zinnuvial was the only part of his day that occupied his mind enough that he didn’t think about anything else.
Zinnuval waited for him as he climbed out of the hole, arms folded, looking impatient. Upon seeing him emerge, she took her place in the center of the practice field without saying a word while Hunter selected a sword from the box.
“You have boots,” she commented dryly as she took her position.
“Found them in my room this morning,” Hunter replied as he stepped opposite her and arranged his feet into the proper stance. It had become almost second nature to him now. “Do I have you to thank?”
She lowered her eyes at him, her expression annoyed. “I have more pressing concerns than seeing your feet properly attired. Those were compliments of Master Dax.”
Dax? Hunter straightened his back and brought his feet together, taking him out of his stance. Certainly not what he expected. And for some reason, it irked him.
He hadn’t seen Dax around for days. And in the middle of the night he snuck in and left the boots without waking him, without saying a word? Then, he scoffed and pushed back on the idea—why did it matter that Dax didn’t wake him up to talk to him?
“Spared no expense either, it appears,” Zinnuvial added. “Those are well made.” She looped her finger in the air, a signal for them to begin. “Let’s see if they impact your performance.”
After an hour of drill work, they transitioned into combat work. Zinnuvial drove at him hard for a time, but then unexpectedly pulled back and stepped away from Hunter. She extended a bow to Hunter. An unplanned break in their training. Surprised, Hunter returned the bow and stepped back too. He watched her, brow knitted.
“You lack focus today,” she announced. “Your mind is not in the fight.”
Hunter used his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. It was another hot day. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Excuse me? I thought I was keeping up just fine.”
“Keeping up, as you say, is not taking control of the fight. I have provided several openings for you to make an offensive move, and they were ignored.”
Hunter closed his eyes a moment to mine for patience. She’d moved the posts again without letting him know.
“All right. Now that I know they’re coming, I will keep an eye open for them.” He moved to show her he was ready to resume, but she made no change in her own stance.
“I doubt it will change the outcome,” she said.
“So… that’s it? We’re done?” He fought to keep the irritation from his voice.
“You have questions. Easy enough to see that they are the distraction. They are burning a hole through your tongue.”
He didn’t think that was at all the case. “I was heeding your advice and keeping my questions to a minimum.”
“But they are affecting your performance. We will take a short respite,” she announced with a sharp and definitive proclamation. She stepped away and tugged off one of her gloves. “We must clear the mind so you can regain your focus.”
“Clear the mind,” Hunter repeated warily.
“Yes. And to do so, we must address the distraction itself. I am willing to suffer your inquiries if it will bring you back to a state of concentration and the task at hand.”
“Will you now?”
“But,” she added as if it were a thought that had just occurred to her, “I think it only fair that you answer an inquiry of mine first.”
Hunter felt the tug at the corner of his mouth but forced his lips to not break into the smile. This wasn’t about his combat performance at all. This was about what was on her mind. He took in a breath. Something about the request made him uneasy. It had the feeling of a trap. “All right,” he said. “Fire when ready.”
Her mouth pressed into a line. “You are the witness Quinnar cited.”
It wasn’t a question, but she was still looking for confirmation. She hadn’t been told anything, which surprised Hunter. He would have expected her to be more informed.
“I am.”
“Then you are from the other world. The world where Master Dax went to retrieve the amulet.”
“Yes.”
“I suspected that. The garments you wore were unlike anything I’d seen. So, you knew her. Queen Jenora.”
Hunter hesitated, unsure how much he should say. A part of him felt he should consult with Dax first—there must be a reason she hadn’t been told anything. But another part of him felt no obligation to lie for any of them. And he could use another ally here.
“She was my mother.”
Her eyebrows arched and her eyes widened, the shock evident. “Then she broke her vow to her king.”
Hunter hadn’t considered that. His mother was already married before she met his father. “I suppose she felt she had no choice. She was alone and lost in a strange world with no hope of ever returning home. She did what she had to do to survive. Maybe felt she had to move on.”
Zinnuvial’s eyes lowered as she pondered that.
“Unfortunately,” Hunter added, “she latched on to the wrong guy. My father wasn’t a great guy. Not a great father and not a great husband. Bit of a bastard actually. He left us when I was around ten. After that, it was just the two of us.”
She nodded, seemingly accepting that answer. Her hard countenance wavered, and Hunter caught a glimpse of something that struck him as vulnerabil
ity. Her lips thinned as she stepped closer, but her sword remained lowered. When she spoke, her voice was soft, nearly a whisper, like a child telling a secret. “What was she like?”
His throat tightened. It was not what he expected her to ask, and it caught him off guard. The question pierced him somewhere in the soul. He wasn’t sure he wanted to remember her right now. Seeing her on the balcony was hard.
No, that wasn’t her, he reminded himself. He had to stop thinking about that thing as her.
“You arguably knew her the most intimately,” she continued. “Save the king.”
“Why do you want to know?”
She considered that with a purse of her lips, her eyes lifted toward the sky. “Curiosity, I suppose. Learning that she is gone has affected me. More than I would care to admit. I only wish to know if my perception of her matches her true nature.”
Hunter let the tip of the blade sink into the sand as he reluctantly cracked open the door in his mind that held back his memories of her. “She was an astounding woman, Zinnuvial. Strong. Resilient when she needed to be. But also uncannily gentle and caring. Elegant too. She never complained or had an unkind word to say about anyone. Even my father, who was a rare kind of asshole.”
He took in slow breath. “But she suffered. Depression. It was always there, just under the surface. She did her best to hide it, always put on a brave face for me, but I could see it in her eyes. I thought it had to do with my father. I understand the real reason now.”
“How did she die?”
“Cancer.” He could tell from her expression the word confused her. “She had tumors.”
“You were close.”
“For a long time, it was only the two us. ‘Two warriors against a strange world,’ she would say.” Those words now had a new sharp point that stung. “I took her death pretty hard. It wasn’t fair.”
“I am sorry,” Zinnuvial said in a low voice.
Hunter shrugged dismissively. “Was she liked? You know, as queen?” He didn’t know why he asked that. He already knew the answer. Everyone loved Jenny.
Zinnuvial looked at sand. “Beloved. It is what made this transformation in her so troubling and painful.”
For a time, they didn’t speak. Zinnuvial seemed to retreat into herself. Hunter began to wonder if they were indeed finished for the day.
“Appears it is your turn,” she said. “What is it you wish to know?”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to ask anything now. He was too busy trying to push the door shut again and lock away those memories of her once more. “Just tell me something about you.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. It was not what she expected him to say. Hunter thought briefly she’d refuse to answer, but she took in a long slow breath before she spoke. “My father was an outlaw. A highwayman. Relieving travelers of their gold at the point of sword.”
She said it with a cool, unvarnished candor. Her eyes held to him, studying his reaction.
“That surprises you,” she added, a challenge lacing her tone.
It was meant to. This was some kind of test. “Yes,” he admitted. “Only because people aren’t typically so forthcoming about such things.”
“He wasn’t always one. He began as a carpenter’s apprentice but was recruited for a time to fight in the war against the Henerans. Soon after he returned, his master accused him of stealing a pig. In truth, the man was drunk and left the gate open himself but refused to admit it. My father fled, knowing the punishment would be the loss of his hand. At the least. His years of service to the crown now meant nothing. From that time onward, all options for a lawful life were closed to him. So he forged a path of his own.”
Hunter puffed out his cheeks and kicked at the sand. “Rough life. Especially while raising a daughter.”
“Hard circumstances make for hard choices. Like your mother, he did what he needed to do for us to survive.”
They had some common ground, it seemed. “He taught you to fight?”
“It was a difficult life. With many dangers. It was important to him that I was able to protect myself.”
“So what happened to him?”
“He was captured and executed by the city guard.”
“And you?” he asked.
“Captured as well. Spared. But forced to witness his execution.”
Hunter’s lungs constricted. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Shit.”
“I escaped when a guard cornered me in my cell and expected me to either be weak or willing to accept his advances. I was neither.”
Hunter was quiet as he let her story settle in. “Is that why you’re here, a part of this resistance? Revenge?”
Zinnuvial shook her head. “I was witness to what happens to good people when faced with injustice. When forced down a path not of their making. My father was a good man once, but was broken and discarded, even by the same people he once fought alongside. Injustice is why I’m here. Under the tyranny of this imposter, there seems to be no end to those suffering from it. I wish to save any from the fate I witnessed.”
“An honorable reason,” he said.
She scoffed. “Honor. Integrity. Just words that men like to throw around. What matters is action. Not high-flown words.”
A chuckle escaped Hunter’s throat. “Well… call it whatever you want, then. It is a reason I can respect.”
She waved him off, adjusted her grip on the hilt, and stepped forward again. “Enough of that. Your curiosities are placated, I trust? Your mind cleared of its distractions? Let us resume.”
As if nothing had transpired, she stepped into her stance again and began anew. But the climate between them had changed in a quiet, almost imperceptible way. It might have been his imagination, but he didn’t think so.
The door leading to the underground squeaked open, and Uri emerged into the afternoon sun. When Zinnuvial pulled back from her stance and looked his way, Uri nodded to her. Then he ducked back inside and pulled the door closed.
“Appears I am being summoned.” She stepped out of combat range and bowed to Hunter, who responded in kind.
He wiped sweat from his brow, then extended his hand to her. “Here. I’ll put them away.”
Zinnuvial put the hilt of her weapon into his awaiting hand, and the two walked off the field together.
“Will you be meeting up with Dax?” he asked.
“Possibly. He is with Master Quinnar today, I understand,” she said.
Hunter nodded. So he was around, here in the hideout, not out on some mission. Knowing that prickled at him. “Any chance I could go talk to him? Could you take me to their quarters?”
“Their quarters?” she asked, her brow knitted.
“Yeah. Where they stay here in the hideout.”
“Master Dax and Master Quinnar have separate quarters, Hunter.”
That surprised him. “Oh. Sorry. I just assumed they shared a bunk.”
She took a step closer. “And why would you assume that?”
“I don’t know… because they’re together.”
Zinnuvial’s dark gaze tightened. “What has Master Dax said to you?”
“Nothing. At least nothing specific. I made a comment or two. He didn’t deny it.”
Zinnuvial stared back at him.
“Did I miss something?” Hunter asked.
She closed the distance between them again and spoke low. “They are not ‘together,’ as you say.”
Hunter blinked back at her, stunned. “I saw the way Quinnar greeted him. That didn’t appear very platonic.”
Zinnuvial seemed uneasy. “They were coupled for a time, yes. Master Dax ended their association.”
Hunter was too surprised to respond. Dax had deliberately let Hunter believe he was still in a relationship with Quinnar. And the reason was rather obvious, he realized. Dax didn’t want Hunter getting any ideas.
He hated to admit it, but it stung a bit.
“Why’d he break it off?”
“It is not my place
to say….” Zinnuvial turned to leave.
“I’m just curious, Zinn. Trying to understand what makes the guy tick.”
Zinnuvial took in a breath. “Master Dax is not one to share his thoughts, Hunter. If there is someone he talks to, it isn’t me.” She paused and considered a moment before resuming. “However, one can speculate, I suppose.”
Hunter waited and didn’t speak.
“Things ended between them soon after Dax heard news of his brother.”
“His brother?”
Zinnuvial’s lips pursed and she shifted on her feet. For some reason, she must have assumed Hunter knew more than he did. “When Master Dax learned he was to be arrested, he went into hiding. That is how he came to be a part of the resistance.”
Joined the resistance? Hunter had a burning suspicion that he was a founding member.
“Unbeknownst to him,” Zinnuvial continued, “the palace had his brother and his brother’s wife imprisoned, and as I understand it, they were tortured to learn of Dax’s whereabouts. Neither survived.”
Hunter exhaled and stared at the ground, stunned. “Oh shit,” he whispered.
“He had severed all contact with them with the hopes of keeping them safe. So, he did not learn of their deaths until much later.”
While his brain wrestled with this new information, he was hardly aware that Zinnuvial had left the field.
20
IT EXPLAINED things, certainly.
Dax’s brooding nature, for one. And self-induced isolation. Hunter couldn’t begin to imagine the guilt and shame he carried. It also explained his hatred of the queen and his unyielding drive to bring an end to her.
His mind sprang back to the night Dax had shown up in his room unannounced. At the time, he still believed Dax was with Quinnar, so he didn’t think much of it. He’d taken Dax at his word that he’d needed a quiet place to think, and Hunter assumed he only needed someone neutral to talk to. Yet looking back, the whole experience had a strange intimacy. Dax had revealed an almost tender side Hunter hadn’t seen before. What were Dax’s actual intentions that night?
