Wyneth whispered under her breath, “I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t be so quick to take up for him if it’d been one of the other men who ate you up with his starving eyes.”
“Let’s not make something of nothing.”
“Truly, Aer. I thought at first you were going to smack him, and then just as quickly it looked as if you might kiss the lad!”
“Hush, you.” Princess Aerity smashed her lips together so as not to smile in her embarrassment.
As they neared the venue gates, voices rose behind them. Aerity turned to see men pointing out at the bay. The late day sky matched the water.
“Oh, my skies above,” Wyneth breathed.
An extraordinary Ascomannian ship was making its way to the docks. Princess Aerity had only seen such a sight in books. Its wooden hull was raised high and curved at the end like the grandest of vessels. Several light-haired men jumped from the ship to tie it, but one man with a silver breastplate stood tall, surveying the land before him. His shoulder-length blond hair caught the breeze and he raised his sights to the hunters now standing at the entrance to the commons. His blond beard was cropped short, neat in comparison to the other rugged Ascomannians.
“It’s Lord Lief Alvi!” One of the Ascomannian men yelled. Men from the coldlands erupted in cheers.
A lord? Was he joining the hunt or simply here to support his men?
As Lord Alvi made his way up the dock, Princess Aerity couldn’t help but stare. Like many of the Ascomannians she’d met that day, he wore less clothing than men from other kingdoms—ironic since the temperatures in their lands were much lower. They must have been numb to the elements. He wore a leather kilt to his knees, fur-lined leather boots, and a sleeveless tunic with a burnished breastplate over it.
His arms . . . seas almighty. His arms were all muscle, bulging without even flexing. Same with his calves. And his face was chiseled as in the coldlands tales of old.
Wyneth grasped the princess’s hand as they stared.
Several guards and one of the king’s primary advisers met Lord Lief Alvi at the edge of the docks. They conversed for a moment, shook hands, and then led the man straight toward the princess. She and Wyneth straightened.
The king’s adviser brandished a hand toward the girls and opened his mouth to make introductions, but before he could, Lord Alvi bent to one knee and lowered his head. Now that was how a gentleman greeted royalty—with civility and grace. This was the type of male Aerity was accustomed to meeting . . . minus the kilt and breathtaking Ascomannian beauty.
Given all of that, the princess was surprised she did not feel the same heat course through her that she’d felt for the rude commoner moments before.
Lord Alvi stood and his crystal blue eyes went straight to Wyneth. He reached for her hands and her eyes bulged.
“Princess Aerity,” he crooned in a low voice.
Whoops.
Aerity bit the inside of her lip to hide a giggle as her cousin’s cheeks reddened.
“No, kind sir. I am Lady Wyneth Wavecrest. This is my cousin Princess Aerity herself.” Her eyes were still huge as she turned to gesture toward the princess.
Was it Aerity’s imagination, or had he appeared momentarily crestfallen as his eyes changed course toward her? He stepped over and gave another bow, taking Aerity’s hand. When his gaze rose to her, full of brazen confidence and an easy smile, she thought she must have imagined his initial disappointment.
“Forgive me,” he said in a deep rumble of northern accent. “I was told the princess had hair like fire.”
Aerity smiled. Compared to Wyneth’s vibrant curls, her own hair was a sorry excuse for red. But his eyes were far too kind to take offense.
“Nothing to forgive, Lord Alvi,” the princess said, giving a small curtsy in return.
“Please, Princess. Call me Lief. I’m told it’s not too late to join the hunt.”
“You’re hunting?” Wyneth asked. Her face paled and she placed her fingers at her lips when she realized she’d spoken.
“With great joy,” Lief told her in all seriousness. “I’ve come to slay the beast.”
Princess Aerity’s heart tightened while she watched her cousin swallow hard, an ill look passing over her face.
“Be safe,” Aerity whispered.
“Aye,” Wyneth said. “Blessings of the seas be with you.”
The lord nodded his head in thanks, but no fear showed on his face.
“Princess and lady,” the king’s adviser said, stepping forward. He gestured worriedly toward the darkening skies. “Night beckons. We must get you both inside.”
A reminder of the dangers hidden in the dark caused the girls to sidle closer.
Princess Aerity turned to the hoard of brave men at her back and raised a hand to wish them well. They returned her gesture, appearing as a solemn but determined bunch, and a lump of emotion lodged in her throat. Would one of these daring hunters kill the beast? Would one of these men wed her? Take her to his bed? She tried to shake away the thought, but now it was her reality. She had to face it.
She caught sight of Harrison through the myriad of faces. He stood naturally as if at attention, giving her a small smile and mock-salute that filled her with tenderness.
Her eyes then scanned the crowd until she found the other man she was looking for—the one who lacked respect, and yet . . . his attraction, at the very least, seemed to match her own. It wasn’t ideal. It definitely wasn’t anything to base a relationship on, but her body sought him out all the same.
Paxton Seabolt leaned lazily against the stone wall, lean, muscled arms crossed over his chest, his bow jutting out behind him. When their eyes met he didn’t look away or move, causing a strange fire to zing straight into her abdomen. He’d been watching her. She sucked in a ragged breath and turned away.
Aerity took Wyneth’s hand and headed down the path for the castle, wishing with all her might that the beast would be killed that night once and for all. Preferably by Harrison . . . or perhaps the brazen Paxton Seabolt. If it was wrong to have preferences, then seas forgive her. It wasn’t as if her choices would be taken into account anyhow.
She felt selfish for having such petty thoughts. Her only consideration should be for their safety.
She sent an amended wish along the salty breeze that the man she was fated for would kill the beast, and that no hunter’s blood would be shed in the process.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Chapter
12
Darkness engulfed the hunters soon after the princess left. Torches were lit along the insides of the commons’ walls.
Paxton knew his behavior had been inappropriate, but it was her own fault. He hadn’t wanted to meet her. He’d chosen to leave the table because he knew he couldn’t act as the others had—trying to win her approval like groveling chumps. And still, she’d sought him out, taking him by surprise and causing him to act on impulse.
He raised his eyes to the skies in frustration. It would take more than a blushing princess with hair of rose gold to make him forget the teachings of his grandmother, of the injustices instated by the princess’s ancestors, still blindly carried out by her own father.
Oh, how civilization forgets.
He wished he hadn’t given the princess the satisfaction of an eye caress. He’d surely inflated her ego even further. Not to mention he’d raised the notice of the guards, who seemed unappreciative of his behavior with the royal lass.
So be it.
The naval lieutenant sidled up next to him, wiping his long daggar to a sheen before sheathing it at his waist. “You’d do well not to insult the princess again.”
Paxton’s defenses went up. He didn’t deal well with royal arse-kissers. “Didn’t look to me as if she minded.”
Harrison faced him. “She’s a friend of mine. She’s trained not to react. You’
ve no clue what she’s going through.”
Paxton snorted. “Aye, poor royal lass. Forgive me if I don’t feel pity on her account.”
Harrison’s face contorted in frustration as he looked away, and Paxton felt an unusual stab of guilt. This man had lost his cousin. He’d left his duties to hunt. He didn’t deserve Paxton’s disrespect.
He forced out the words, “My apologies, Lieutenant Gillfin.”
The man stuck out his hand. “Just Harrison.” They shook, and an easy silent agreement was made between them. Paxton would be careful to keep his opinions to himself from then on.
Night awaited. It was time to put everything else out of his thoughts.
All day the hunters had been at odds before finally deciding where they each would hunt.
But that had been before supper. Before the princess had graced them with her presence and turned the men to mush, intensifying their competitiveness. Before Lord Lief Alvi showed—seemingly the only Ascomannian with any sense. Paxton had smiled sardonically to himself when he heard the blond lord ask his ranks, “Why are we splitting off from the other men? Have you not heard the tales of our prey?”
Their stuttered responses were cut off by the sounds of drums coming from the other side of the tents. Paxton and Tiern made their way over to the far side of the commons where a fire pit had been lit, surrounded by Kalorians who’d painted their faces black as the night. Stripes of the mud paint went down their necks and arms. One of them kept beat on a lap drum, and the other Kalorians fell into step, circling the fire.
Paxton had heard tale of Kalorian prehunting ritual dances. Now, chills covered him, the beat of the drum sinking beneath his skin, into his bloodstream. He watched with the other hunters in silence as the Kalorians performed their orchestrated tribal dance. Together they stomped and squatted, thrusting out their spears with sharp shouts. Paxton could imagine this scene in the jungles of the hotlands. The men finished, stabbing the sky with their spear tips. A respectful hush filled the air until the Kalorians turned, ready to hunt.
“Amazing,” Tiern said under his breath.
Samuel chuckled. “Aye. I’m ready to kill something.”
Roughly twenty men from each kingdom set out, over a hundred in all. The largest group, the Ascomannians, insisted on hunting the area Paxton had pointed out as the beast’s past stomping grounds. Paxton clenched his jaw in annoyance, but since they had the most men he wouldn’t fight it. It was smart.
Sadly, the group of Lochlans fared the lowest numbers. A mere thirteen of them had come, from all waterways, and four of their ranks were wealthy men for whom archery was only a hobby—not actual hunters. It made sense that their numbers were lower, considering many of their land’s bravest men had already faced this foe or given up hope.
They left royal lands through the southern gates, passing the massive wall that hundreds of workers were diligently fortifying against the beast during the daytime, building it even higher. Pulley systems lifted heavy stones to men on ladders. Vines, a cursed burden battled by all Lochlans, covered stretches of the wall as far as the eye could see.
“Beautiful,” Tiern muttered. Paxton looked to where Tiern was gazing over his shoulder, at the castle beyond—lit by hundreds of torches along its parapets, walls, and in the windows of the High Hall atop, light gray stones of the towers stretching high into the night sky.
Paxton turned back to the path, saying nothing.
They hiked over five miles through trees and marshland to the southern creek, where the beast had most recently killed the fisherman. Two of the younger lads, sixteen years each, climbed into trees overlooking the land and creek. Paxton and Tiern found a half-rotted log and brush pile and they sat back to back. Their entire group was in earshot of one another. All at once they silenced and the sky blackened. Moonlight cast shadows through the trees. Sounds of the creek and night creatures lulled them through their wait.
Paxton’s entire body was on high alert, and he felt Tiern rigid behind him. At one point a particularly large fish jumped in the creek, and Samuel stood with a holler, shooting an arrow blindly toward the water. All of the men stood, on instinct, only to chuckle at their own reactions. Harrison gave Samuel a joking shove and they moved back to their places. Paxton caught Tiern’s nervous grin just before they hunkered down again.
The four wealthy men began to talk among themselves, but Harrison hushed them.
Hours passed and Paxton carefully shifted as temperatures dropped. His damned arse was asleep, and his feet were cold. Tiern took his lead and shifted himself, too. The brothers leaned more heavily on each other, garnering body heat.
Where was the beast? It’d been hours. He hoped his body could quickly adjust to the change of schedule. He’d be staying up during the nights until the beast was dead.
Or until he was.
At one point Paxton felt Tiern drift to the side and heard his light snoring. Paxton elbowed him none too gently and Tiern grunted awake.
More time passed with no sign of the beast. When that first slice of soft light buttered the horizon, Paxton’s gut sank with disappointment. The men stood, stretching their stiff limbs with groans and rubbing their faces. The two lads jumped nimbly down from the trees and cracked their necks.
“That was bloody brutal,” Tiern grumbled. A few men chuckled. The wealthy men looked miserable with their wrinkled trousers and muddied boots.
They trudged back to the royal lands, tension hanging in the air between them. Paxton peered around at the woods, not trusting their surroundings. Day or not, the beast could be hiding, watching, waiting. It’d never attacked during daylight, but Paxton didn’t count anything out at this point.
“Keep watch for tracks or skat,” Paxton said. All the men combed the ground with their eyes as they hiked, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
They picked up their pace as spires from the distant castle came into view. Paxton knew they were all as anxious as he was to find out what, if anything, had happened with the other groups of hunters. They entered royal lands through the heavily guarded south gates behind a line of traders with carts of goods, stating their names and homelands to the guards each and every time they went in or out.
As they headed up the cobbled path toward the castle and market, it quickly became apparent that something was wrong. Ahead, Paxton could see the shining heads of Torestan men with their packs stuffed full, rushing down the path as fast as they could go. Their faces were scrunched with alarm, eyes narrower than usual. As Paxton and the other Lochlan men neared, Paxton gently grabbed one lad by the shoulder to stop him.
“Why are you leaving? What’s happened?”
The lad’s eyes were wild. “It kill many! We shoot with arrow, but no work. We try dagger, but the beast—” He stopped, struggling for words, curling his fingers to show them, like claws. “Too strong. Too big. To fight is no use. No man can kill. We must go.”
Paxton could hardly make out the strongly accented rambling, but his insides tightened as the young man’s words became clear.
Samuel stepped up. “Was there any weakness shown by the beast? Anything you can tell us?”
He shook his head fast, waving his arms side to side. “No. No use. It never die. Never. We go home.” Wrenching himself from Paxton’s grasp, the man ran from the Lochlan hunters to catch up to the other Torestan men, fleeing back to their mountain homes. There go a fifth of the hunters, Paxton thought darkly.
“It must have a weakness,” Samuel mumbled, shaking his head of matted curls. “Nobody’s discovered it yet, but every living thing can be destroyed somehow.”
Paxton nodded. He caught sight of Tiern’s pale face as he watched the Torestan hunters hurrying away.
“Come,” Paxton said. “Let’s fill our stomachs and talk with the other men, then we’ll rest. Later we can scout the lands to try and find where the beast keeps during daylight.”
Tiern, appearing young and forlorn with his shoulders slumped, dragged himself down the path
behind Paxton.
Raised voices issued from hunters inside the west commons as they approached. Paxton readied himself for the tense scene ahead—hungry, tired, proud, and alarmed was not a good combination.
The thirteen of them pushed their way into the large group surrounding one long table. Hunters from Zorfina with their loose clothing and head scarves came in behind the Lochlans, the last group to arrive. They began questioning what had happened. Voices lifted, everyone attempting to speak at once.
Castle guards had entered the west commons and spread out, eyeing their harried groups with caution. More guards lined themselves across the balcony.
“Enough!” Paxton shouted.
Lord Lief Alvi jumped on the table, muddied boots and all, causing all eighty men to shut up when he bellowed, “Quiet!”
Lief was most definitely the only Ascomannian Paxton could stomach.
“Here is what we know!” Lief began. “Four Torestan hunters were killed by the beast in the night, and one is in critical condition. They were posted farthest north of royal lands in a spot where, until now, the beast had never been spotted. I think it’s safe to say we cannot predict where the beast will show. Nor should we underestimate it. Every account says that arrows cannot break its natural armor. Its brute strength can fling away any man who attempts to wrestle it. We need to overpower it with sheer numbers. Wear it down and overwhelm it with a nonstop onslaught.”
Paxton felt half his mouth lift in a grin as Lief unknowingly voiced the idea Paxton had raised to the men the prior day. He ignored the glare Volgan shot him.
“What say you?” Lief asked.
The vast majority nodded their heads.
“Very well,” the blond lord said. He hopped down and bent over the map. “Men of Lochlanach, if you’d be so kind as to point us to the areas where our numbers could be best concealed.”
Paxton, Tiern, Harrison, and Samuel stepped to his side, the rest of their men close behind them. They pointed out the heavily forested areas that edged waterways.
The Great Hunt Page 9
