The men nodded. After a quiet moment, Tiern asked, “What is the story with you and them, then?” He nodded across the fire to the other Zorfinan hunters. “I mean, if it suits you to tell me.”
Zandora threw back her head and gave a rich laugh. “I like you, Tiern Seabolt. My sisters enjoy you even more.”
“Oh, erm.” Tiern rubbed his neck and gave a nervous laugh as the sisters watched him like prowling cats. “Thanks . . . ?”
“Why do they think you’re cursed?” Harrison asked. “Because women rule your tribe?”
“No. It is because the Zandalee allow magic. We do not give census keepers permission to enter our lands. If they try, we kill them.”
Paxton’s heart thrummed erratically. The other men raised their brows. Samuel said, “You mean, you allow your Lashed to work freely?”
She gave him a fierce look. “Is that a problem for you?”
“No.” Samuel raised his hands. “I have no problem with the Lashed.”
Paxton tried to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t know there was any place in Eurona where it wasn’t outlawed.”
To this, she shrugged. “Zandalee do not care for laws of Eurona. Or Zorfina. We make our own. In this way, our people flourish.”
The men nodded, eyebrows still raised. None of them dared say anything against this.
“Do you have children of your own, then?” Tiern asked.
This brought a smile to Zandora’s face. “A son and daughter for me. A son for my sister.” She motioned to the older of the two, then the younger. “This one married just this summer.”
“So many children . . .” Samuel’s words trailed off and his eyes glazed as he stared off.
A clang echoed from the commons gates, and they turned their heads toward the sound of running. A military commander from the castle burst through the tents to the fire pit, out of breath. Paxton jumped up with the other hunters to hear the news.
The man’s forehead was creased in remorse. “A fishing village in the north was attacked during the night. Doors ripped from the hinges, men were devoured while their wives and children watched helplessly.” He stopped, swallowing.
Curses. It was breaking into homes? Why couldn’t the beast have shown itself where any hunters had been instead of a helpless village? The hunters shared horrified expressions.
“Perhaps we can station hunters in the sea towns with horns, so they can alert us if the beast comes,” said Samuel.
Paxton shook his head. “We don’t have the numbers for that. But we can send word to towns to have their own men with horns at the ready. Each town could come up with their own system of alert, stationing their people at different intervals, maybe in trees—”
“But there are curfews throughout the kingdom,” the officer said.
“Blast the curfews!” Paxton shouted. He closed his eyes to calm himself.
Harrison stepped forward. “With all due respect, sir, if people are willing to help, I think they should be allowed.”
The officer set his jaw. “I will speak with the king’s commanders. If they agree, we’ll send mounted messengers to towns to set the plan in motion.”
The hunters nodded, and the officer left them to prepare for that night’s hunt.
They hunkered over the maps.
“Our greatest success was the night we were all close enough to hear one another’s calls,” Paxton reminded them. “If they approve the horns, we can afford to spread a bit farther, but it’ll be at least two days until we know.” He ran his finger along a length of the waterway.
“But the beast has moved north,” Volgan argued, pointing closer to the ridgelands.
“That’s the last place it attacked,” Harrison said. “But the beast has attacked many places with no rhyme or reason. Always along the waterways.”
“Then you can stay down there by the creeks, and we’ll follow the beast north along Eurona River,” Volgan argued, chest puffed.
“It’s a swift swimmer, and it knows it’s being hunted,” Lord Alvi told them. “I say each group takes one of the major waterway veins—North Creek, South Creek, Eurona River, even up around the bay. My men and I will take midriver. We’ll be too spread out to help one another, but if we have no luck, we’ll go back to grouping closer again tomorrow night. Agreed?”
Paxton gritted his teeth in annoyance. He knew Lief was trying to appease his men, but Paxton wanted to stick to a plan where he felt their odds of killing the beast were much better. He was sick of wasting time and lives for the sake of stroking the pride of a few.
After another silent night of hunting, the Zandalee were irritable on their return to royal lands at daybreak. They kept snapping at one another in Zorfinan, and the men moved further away, steering clear. Samuel suggested cutting through the nearby town to get them back quicker.
Families filtered out of their homes, women sweeping their steps, men off to work. The Zandalee watched the women with interest. The few children approached with caution, curious, watched closely by their mothers.
“How goes the hunt?” one woman called, a hand on her hip.
Harrison shook his head. “No sign of it last night. We’ll get it, though, miss. Soon.”
The woman, probably his mother’s age, stepped into the street and kissed Harrison’s cheek. She beamed grateful smiles at the other Lochlan men, and then stared openly at the huntresses.
“These are the Zandalee,” Tiern explained. “They’ve joined the hunt.”
The Lochlan woman’s mouth dropped open. A crowd began to form around them.
“You mean . . . ? The real Zandalee?”
Tiern nodded. Whispers about the foreign huntresses spread all around them, faces lighting up with excitement, people shuffling and standing on their tiptoes to see. The Zandalee took it all in stride, looking around at the pale faces, but not smiling. One brave Lochlan woman stepped forward and took the hand of Zandora, who stood in front. She patted her hand, beaming.
“Thank you!”
Zandora stared down at her, and Tiern laughed nervously, stepping up. “They only speak Zorfinan.
A toddler scrambled down from his mother’s arms and went to Zandora’s legs, touching the strange material.
“Grayson, no!” The mother rushed forward, stopping when she saw Zandora give the child a smile, her earlier irritation seeming to vanish. His mother relaxed, but remained close.
When Zandora patted his head, the town’s few children rushed at the Zandalee, wanting to touch their clothes. The presence of the children seemed to cheer the huntresses, who were glad to squat down and let the little ones touch them. After a few minutes Harrison called out to the people.
“Thank you for your kindness, but we must be getting back.”
The Zandalee were in far better moods after that. They all were, until they reached the commons. A set of military men was leaving, their faces grim. The Ascomannians and Zorfinans stood in separate groups, talking, but they came together when they saw the Lochlans and Zandalee approach.
Lief spoke. “The beast attacked the Kalorians. They were all found dead.”
“Curses.” Samuel rubbed his face.
Paxton’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth in anger. Having fought the beast alongside those men, it made him furious to know they hadn’t had backup. He wanted to keep his composure, but his jaw was so tense he could only speak through gritted teeth. “This was avoidable. We should have hunted closer together.”
Volgan’s lip rose in a sneer. Paxton turned on his heels for the tents, afraid of what he’d do and say if he remained a moment longer.
He collapsed onto his cot in the small tent, pressing his fingers to his temples. Tiern came in behind him, but knew not to bother him when he got like this.
After a few minutes, Tiern mumbled, “Bloody seas,” and fell asleep.
A steady rain began. As the day went on, the rain progressed into a thundering storm, which settled into more rain. The land turned to mud. Accounts of flooding wat
erways came to them from castle messengers in high boots. Even the path outside the commons area had been covered over by a stream of mud. With regret, they decided to call off the hunt for that night.
Since water had seeped under the tents, the High Hall of the castle was turned into the hunters’ quarters. The men sat around, playing cards and drinking tankards of ale. The Zandalee had been allowed guest quarters of their own. They had looked exhausted when Paxton saw them trudge away.
Paxton knew he should take the opportunity to relax, but he was too frustrated about the prior night’s losses and tonight’s hunt being called off for weather. He turned his back to the others and lay on his cot in silence, wondering how close Aerity’s chambers were to the hall. Wondering what she was thinking and doing within those same walls that very moment.
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Chapter
22
Lady Wyneth was so lost in her drawing that she didn’t register people in the library until they stood before her. She looked up into the grinning face of Lord Lief Alvi, and quickly closed her sketchbook. He was with two guards and two other Ascomannian men, who brought with them scents of damp fur.
“Hello, my lady,” Lord Alvi said.
“Er, hello.” Wyneth’s head was murky with creativity, lines still moving about in her mind, begging to be drawn. She pulled her feet out from under herself, smoothing down her gray skirts. Sounds came back to her now, muffled rain against the tall windows.
“We’re giving a tour of the castle, Lady Wyneth,” a guard said. “Sorry to disturb you.”
She shook her head and forced a polite smile, feeling Lord Alvi’s warm gaze on her all the while. “No problem at all.”
“So, this is the royal library.” The guard motioned his hand around at shelves stretching to the high ceilings, and cozy nooks with leather chairs and woven rugs. The other Ascomannians grunted, making a quick scan, looking bored.
“Where is the indoor archery range?” the hairiest man asked.
“Down the stairs, right this way.” The men set to leave, looking back at Lord Alvi.
“Go ahead without me. I wish to see the ancient texts.”
The larger, hairier man from the coldlands lifted an eyebrow high and then shrugged before leaving. Wyneth’s insides bounced and spun as Lord Alvi’s presence surrounded her. She moved her eyes slowly up to him as he turned toward her sketchbook.
“What were you working on?”
Lady Wyneth placed her palms on the cover. “Honestly, nothing of interest. I make drawings for my siblings and cousins, to entertain them.”
He grinned and sat in the chair beside her, pulling it closer. Great seas, he was large. And he didn’t smell musty like the other men. He smelled almost . . . salty.
“I would love to see.”
Wyneth felt her face warming. “No, really, Lord Alvi—”
“Please. Call me Lief. And let me see your sketches.”
Oh, fine. What did it matter what he thought? She handed the book over, her heart beating too fast. He opened it, giving his full attention to the drawings.
“‘Crocket’s Race,’” he murmured. “And Crocket is a crocodile?”
“Mm-hm. You see, Prince Donubhan is a bit . . . competitive,” Wyneth explained. “He likes to cheat, and pouts if he doesn’t win. So Princess Aerity and I came up with a story about a crocodile that cheated so much in his river races that the other crocs no longer wanted to play with him.”
Lord Alvi flipped through all the pages and chuckled at the end. “Remarkable.”
Wyneth went hot, resisting the urge to fan herself as she watched his strong hands skimming across her drawings. Then he plucked her pencil from the binding pouch, and did something that shocked her—he began to sketch, the pencil scratching with ease in his oversized hand.
Wyneth giggled as the form of a bird began to take shape on Crocket’s shoulder.
Lord Alvi spoke low. “Each time the little croc tries to cheat, the bird gives him a peck. Like his conscience.”
“That’s quite good.” Wyneth had never seen a lad draw so well.
“Let’s keep this our secret, aye?” He set down the pencil and gave her a bashful grin, softening her all over.
“My lady.” He reached for her hand, but she swiftly pulled it to her lap. She could not allow a repeat of their last encounter, even though she thought of it often enough. Too often.
“My lord,” she said. “We cannot.”
Their eyes met, filling her with pain and longing that she couldn’t comprehend.
“Lord Alvi,” called a deep voice from the doorway, echoing. Wyneth jumped and Lord Alvi wrenched his head around. “Care to visit the indoor range with us?”
The Ascomannian lord gave him a nod. “Aye.”
Before he could say another word, Wyneth reached over and took the sketchbook from his hand, standing.
“Good evening to you all.” She nodded at the men, avoiding Lord Alvi’s eyes, rushing from the library.
Emotions welled inside her. She wanted to get to her chambers before she exploded. As she turned the corner she ran smack into somebody.
“Lady Wyneth!” Harrison gave her a friendly grin. “How nice to see you.”
Her throat constricted and her eyes burned.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Seas, he reminded her so much of Breckon: polished, handsome, polite. Even their bodies were of similar stature, the lean muscles and tapered waists.
“I don’t feel well.” Laughter from the Ascomannians sounded from down the hall as the men headed toward the archery room. Harrison narrowed his eyes at the sound.
“Did Lief do something to you?” Harrison took her by the shoulders. “Did he touch you?” When she didn’t answer fast enough, he said, “Tell me!”
“No, Harrison,” she said in a rush.
He stared deep into her eyes until he seemed assured she was telling the truth. Then he took a deep breath and removed his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the way he pursues you. It’s disrespectful to you and Aerity. To Breckon. Keep your distance from him, Wyn. I saw—”
“What?” Her eyes snapped up.
“I shouldn’t have spied, but I had a feeling his motives were not honorable when he asked you to walk with him. I saw him kiss you in the trees. You were right to run from him.”
Wyneth swallowed, her stomach churning with shame. “I have to go.”
She rushed past him, covering her mouth, trying to keep it all inside long enough to burst through her chamber doors and shut them tight behind her.
Wyneth paced a minute, and then sat in a cushioned chair, breathing hard. She opened her sketchbook and ran a slender fingertip across the animated bird on the crocodile’s shoulder. A dry sob choked her as she slammed the book shut and closed her eyes. Tears burned inside her eyelids, and an irrational bout of resentment bubbled up from deep inside her.
“Why, Breckon?” she whispered. “Why did you have to be so bloody brave?”
The sketchbook slid to the floor with a clatter as Wyneth bent, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. Her shame was like a living, growing thing inside her.
If only Breckon had dived into the water with her. They might’ve escaped together. What had he been trying to prove by fighting that monster? Why did he have to go and get himself killed? If he were here, none of this would be happening with Lord Alvi, she knew that for a fact. If Breckon were here, her heart would have never wandered to one of Aerity’s suitors.
“Breckon, you stupid, stupid man. Why?” Wyneth railed in absolute anger, an emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to release until that moment. She let herself be overcome with rage at the unfairness of it all. She screamed, and when her maid opened the door, peeking in with worry, Wyneth threw a pillow at the door and shouted, “Leave me alone!” She t
hen began to throw everything in sight, breaking a canvas against the wall. Looking down at the drab, gray gown, she grasped the neckline and yanked until it tore at the seams. She screamed at the top of her lungs, kicking her bedpost until her feet throbbed, punching her mattress until her hands stung.
“How much longer, Breck?” Wyneth sobbed, her face against the bed. “How much longer will it hurt like this?” She clenched the sheets.
Wyneth wept until her strength was gone, and then she feebly crawled into the abused bed and slept like the dead.
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Chapter
23
Caitrin’s mouth was set in a straight line of worry as she brought Aerity’s freshly ironed dresses the next morning. Aerity sat up in bed, groggy, having tossed and turned restlessly all night. It had been strange knowing the men were in the castle—Paxton just a short walk from her chambers.
“What’s wrong?” Aerity asked. She clutched her stomach. “Did the beast attack?”
“No, your majesty.” Caitrin shook her head. “It’s the poor Zandalee women. When a maid went to their chambers this morning, she found them all ill with fevers.”
Aerity leaped from the bed, grabbed her beaded shawl, and threw it around her shoulders. “I’ve got to tell Mrs. Rathbrook!”
“She’s already been called,” Caitrin assured her.
“Good.” She relaxed a fraction. “I want to check on them.”
“Come, let me help you dress first, my lady,” Caitrin called, but Aerity left her, hurrying to the guest quarters on her bare feet.
She halted at the corner when she saw her mother standing there, conversing with a guard at the door. They both looked at her, from her nightgown down to her feet, and her mother’s mouth pinched with displeasure. Aerity took a deep breath and moved forward, suddenly very aware of her tangled hair and nightclothes.
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