The Great Hunt

by Higgins,Wendy

  Paxton inched closer, annoyed by his brother’s naïveté. While Paxton had hung on to every word of Lashed news over the years, each of those stories had gone over Tiern’s head. He had no idea what it was like. “They would never let me marry into the royal line, even if I brought them the beast’s head on a platter.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Nothing is fair for us, Brother, and you need to come to terms with it. This is in your blood, too. Your children could be one of us. You must prepare yourself to be on the lookout once your child turns seven, to teach them to hide it.”

  “I’ve no clue how to teach someone that!” Tiern appeared petrified.

  “If you—” Paxton swallowed down a dry lump with great effort. “If you kill the beast and marry the princess, you can take your child to Mrs. Rathbrook, the royal Lashed woman. She will help you.”

  Tiern followed closely as Paxton began walking again. “But . . . that line will go away and you can come back. I feel like there’s more to this—What are you running from?”

  Paxton turned on him, his heart pounding with the grave truth of his brother’s question. “I run from nothing,” he gritted out. But it felt like the largest lie he’d ever told. He’d long ago mentally prepared himself for the possibility of leaving his family someday, and he’d kept his heart hardened against the girls in his town. But Aerity . . . he’d never planned for her. She’d made her way under his skin, winding her delicate, strong hands around his heart, and he had to stop it. He had to run from her for both their sakes. He’d been a fool to think he could kill the beast and marry a princess, hiding his true self forever.

  “Please, Pax.”

  “Don’t,” Paxton warned. “You will do well, with or without me.”

  “What will I tell everyone?”

  Though Paxton owed the other hunters nothing, it felt wrong to leave without saying good-bye. Paxton shrugged, not stopping. “Tell them I left without a word, or that I’m ill with what the Zandalee had. Tell them I’ve grown tired of the hunt. Whatever you’d like.”

  Tiern let out a ragged breath of frustration. “They’ll never believe you’ve quit.”

  “Stop making a scene,” Paxton warned him. “Go back to the tent with Mum and Papa, and don’t utter a word of this.”

  “But—”

  Laughing voices bounded out from the tents up ahead. Three Ascomannians stumbled out, carrying brown bottles. Volgan took one look at Paxton with all his belongings and smirked.

  Of all the bloody rotten luck, Paxton thought. He walked past the men without a word.

  “I must admit, I’m surprised,” Volgan said loudly. “I thought it’d be the scrawny one who went home first. Unless he’s got his big brother carrying his belongings for him.” The men sent up raucous laughs.

  Paxton gritted his teeth, stopped, dropped his belongings, and turned. He would make time to take care of one last thing before he left.

  Volgan’s icy eyes went wide just before Paxton’s fist connected with his nose. There was a loud, wet crunch. The sting of his knuckles and the sudden sounds of shouts disappeared as the two men locked eyes, a battle rage building between them. Paxton braced as the brawny Ascomannian threw himself forward.

  Paxton never stopped moving, throwing punches, releasing all the anger he’d held. He barely felt the pain of the blows, his blood so filled with fire. Both grunted and shouted, beating each other senseless. He felt himself yanked down by the tunic when Volgan stumbled to the ground. They rolled, and Paxton caught the flash of something glint from the corner of his eye.

  “Knife!” Tiern shouted.

  Paxton brought the crown of his head down against Volgan’s already-smashed nose. As the Ascomannian howled, Paxton reached for the man’s wrist, which held a curved blade. But before he could get a good grip, Volgan lurched to the side and pulled his arm in, slicing through Paxton’s palm. He yelled as a violent sting wrenched through him, and he clasped his hand closed around the injury.

  Paxton hovered above the man, raising his fist, and before he could swing, his arms were grabbed and pulled from behind. He kicked out and caught Volgan’s hip with his boot as he was yanked backward. Volgan rolled away, wincing with pain. It took four guards to pull Paxton off and hold him. Once he calmed, they lifted him to his feet. Lord Lief Alvi stood beside them with his arms crossed over his wide, bare chest.

  “Finally had it out? Good. Took you both long enough.” He gave Paxton a wink and turned, his men following as he walked away. Volgan sat up, glowering at Paxton through his purpled eyes, spitting blood onto the grass.

  Paxton looked down the narrow path, thankful his parents weren’t in sight. Paxton pulled himself from the grip of the guards. As his breathing settled, he became aware of the bruises and cuts across his flesh.

  “You’re bleeding,” Tiern said to Paxton as one of the guards led Volgan away, toward the castle.

  “I’ll take you to the infirmary,” a guard told him.

  Paxton’s hand was clenched around the cut, but blood seeped through. This was no small wound. He wished he had the power to heal himself, but the magic didn’t work that way.

  “I’ll tend to it myself.” He reached down for his bag with his good hand, but Tiern batted his arm back, making Paxton hiss.

  “Don’t be so damned stubborn!” Tiern lowered his voice and moved close. “You’re bleeding everywhere. Just do this one last thing to ease my mind, and I swear I won’t ask you to stay again. I can’t let you leave here like this. You’ll get a fever or something worse—”

  “Fine.” At this one word, Tiern seemed to relax.

  Paxton’s hand was throbbing. The lack of sleep and physical trials of the past day and a half were finally catching up with him. He felt as if he could sleep for days. Maybe he would once he found a safe destination for himself. Once this cut stopped stinging, he’d be ready to go. He looked at the nearest guard, and said, “May I be taken to Mrs. Rathbrook?”

  The young guard lifted an eyebrow and leaned closer where no one could hear. “You sure you want the Rocato touch? The castle has a regular healer who can sew that up and give you herbs for the pain if you—”

  “No.” Paxton’s chest flamed with anger as he bit out, “Mrs. Rathbrook healed me before, and as you can see I survived just fine. She’s no one to fear. She’s not Rocato.”

  The guard gave a “suit yourself” shrug, and Paxton’s fists itched to punch again. He let himself be led to the one place in Eurona where he did not wish to be while his fingers were marked—the castle. The place where the one person in Lochlanach lived whom Paxton’s mind and heart could not handle—the princess.

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  Chapter

  32

  Princess Aerity heard the commotion through the closed window of her studies room. Her teacher frowned at the disruption. He was already grumpy after having to postpone their lesson to late afternoon. But it was hard to concentrate when the men were shouting outside. Her heartbeat quickened as she began scribbling the last lines of her Eurona trade composition. She pushed it hastily toward her teacher and stood.

  “Here you are, Professor. I’m sorry again for the delay today.” She grabbed her shoulder bag and rushed from the room.

  When Aerity reached the great doorway to the commons, a guard held out his arm. “I’m sorry, Princess, but tensions are high among the hunters at the moment. I can’t let you go out there.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked, trying to peer past him.

  “Just a scuffle. It’s under control now.”

  “Hm.” Aerity moved into the side study room, an old library with shelves upon shelves of rare editions only a scholar could appreciate. She went to the window and saw two hunters being led toward the castle, surrounded by guards. She could have sworn the bowed head among them was Paxton’s. Aerity rushed back to th
e doorway of the study and peeked through the crack as the men were led in: one of the gruffer Ascomannians, bloodied and swollen, followed by Paxton, his hands in loose fists, his hair a mess of brown waves around his face.

  A flash of vivid red covering Paxton’s closed hand caught Aerity’s eye, turning her stomach. Another injury. This one from a fight. She waited until the men had all passed, then followed them quickly down the hall. Droplets of blood trailed the floor in their wake. A maid was already at the entrance of the hall, rag in hand.

  Around the first corner, Wyneth and Lady Ashley stood arm in arm as the men passed. Wyneth kissed her mother’s cheek and then went straight to Aerity’s side, taking her arm instead as her mother went toward the High Hall.

  “What happened?” Wyneth whispered.

  “I believe Paxton and one of the Ascomannians had a fight.”

  Wyneth sighed and shook her head.

  “Will you do me a favor?” Aerity asked. “Will you go to the men and find out what happened for me?”

  Wyneth stiffened a bit. “You mean, outside? With the hunters?”

  “Erm, yes.” Aerity didn’t understand her cousin’s reluctance. She’d been around the men many times now. And then she remembered the way Lord Lief had watched Wyneth. “You know what? Never mind.”

  Wyneth cleared her throat. “No, it’s not a problem. I’ll go.”

  Wyneth began to turn away, but Aerity kept hold of her fingers. “No, Cousin. The details don’t matter. Won’t you talk to me?” She gave a gentle tug until Wyneth faced her and met her eyes, smiling gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing at all.” Wyneth squeezed her fingertips. “I’m feeling a bit off, perhaps coming down with something—”

  Aerity shook her head. “Stay inside, rest in the warmth.”

  “No, the fresh air might be good for me. I will find out what’s happened and return shortly.”

  “Wyn, wait.”

  Wyneth ignored this. “I’m fine. Go check on the skirt raiser.” She kissed Aerity’s cheek and walked away, unwrapping a shawl from her waist as she went and tossing it around her shoulders.

  Aerity watched her cousin until she had gone. A wave of worry batted at her heart—it was unlike her cousin to keep her thoughts so guarded from Aerity. She wished they could talk about all of this, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

  Aerity made her way to the infirmary wing where the guards had left the men in separate rooms. She went to Paxton’s doorway. His back was to her, and he seemed to be looking down at his hands. A young, beautiful nurse bustled up beside her with a steaming bucket of water and clean rags.

  “I’ll take that,” Aerity told her.

  The nurse’s eyes widened, looking from Aerity to Paxton. “But, Princess . . .”

  Aerity gripped the edges of the bucket and gave the girl a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I assure you. If you could tend to the Ascomannian hunter I’d be much obliged.” The girl glanced toward Paxton’s still form again, and nodded, looking somewhat crestfallen.

  Aerity waited for the nurse to disappear before entering Paxton’s room, kicking the door shut behind her. She set the bucket on the table. If possible, he was even dirtier than he’d been when she found him that afternoon.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Paxton said morosely without looking at her.

  The despondency in his voice filled her with worry.

  “We should clean your hands so Mrs. Rathbrook can tend to your injuries better.” She dunked a cloth into the hot water. “Come here, Paxton.”

  He stared at a blank point on the wall. “I will wash myself, Princess. You can go.”

  Aerity bristled. “Can you not set aside your asinine pride for one moment, Paxton Seabolt? Are you like this with every person? Every woman? Or only me?” Her emotions were rising. She’d tried over and over, driven by the chemistry between them and the few glimpses of warmth he’d shown, like fleeting gifts of golden flecks she couldn’t keep hold of.

  Still, he stared at the wall, unmoving, hands clasped tightly.

  “Why did you even join this hunt if you hate me so thoroughly?” Aerity snapped, immediately regretting the question.

  Without looking her way, Paxton said, “It was never about you, Princess.”

  She swallowed hard. She’d known that. Perhaps it was even one of the reasons she felt so drawn to him—he wasn’t after the prize of promised wealth or a royal lass in his bed. Yet she swore there’d been a mutual attraction from the beginning. Had it all been wishful thinking? Girlish imaginings?

  “Of course,” Aerity said quietly. Her palms rested on the side of the bucket, her fingers dipping into the water as her heart sank, and she felt as young and foolish as Vixie. “Just . . . wash while the water is hot.”

  “I will. You can go.”

  Aerity bristled. “I should stay until Mrs. Rathbrook gets here. You look as if you’re about to fall over.” He finally looked at her, with hard eyes that made Aerity feel as if he’d struck her. Indignation burned through her. She was tired of this. “What cause have you to hate me so? It seems the more kindness I show, the more bullheaded you become!” Aerity threw the cloth back into the water with a smack. Paxton’s jaw clenched.

  “Why do you care?” he asked.

  “I’m beginning to wonder that myself.” Aerity frowned up at him.

  “Well, you won’t need to worry about my bullheadedness getting in your way another day, Your darling Highness. The moment my hand is healed, I’m leaving.”

  Aerity flinched. “Leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  Their eyes searched each other, seeking something she couldn’t explain.

  “Why?” Aerity whispered.

  “For reasons you wouldn’t understand.”

  Aerity’s eyes burned. He was right: she didn’t understand this man or his reasons. She believed he was acting out of hurt, but she couldn’t figure out what could possibly have hurt him so deeply, or what it had to do with her.

  “I don’t know what’s happened to you, Paxton. I want to help you, but—”

  “You wouldn’t want to help me if you knew.”

  Aerity stared up at him. Did he have a criminal past? With his sort of temperament, it was a possibility. Even so, he seemed the type to act out of a sense of honor and justice, not petty reasons.

  Aerity stared into the depths of his dark eyes, searching for answers. “I think you underestimate me, hunter. But I cannot stop you if you choose to go. I can only tell you with all honesty that I wish you would stay.”

  As she moved closer, she swore she felt Paxton soften, though his face remained impassive. She moved closer still, fully expecting him to back away, but he didn’t.

  “I must leave today,” he said in a low voice.

  Aerity, knowing this could be the last time she saw him, went up on the tips of her toes and placed her lips against his. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed. When he didn’t stop her or push her away, she brought her hands up around his neck and pulled herself higher, tasting the fullness of his salty lips, like the seas.

  “Princess,” he whispered in a guttural tone against her lips. “You don’t know what you do.”

  “I do know, hunter. I know exactly what I do.”

  His head pulled back and his eyes bore into hers, filled with a mix of punishment, anger, and desire. “You’ve no clue who I am.”

  Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh at a sense of foreboding. “Then tell me. Who are you, Paxton Seabolt?”

  He slowly took her wrist from around his neck with his good hand and moved his bloodied, dirtied hand to the edge of the bucket, nodding toward it. He watched her, inviting her to wash him now. Aerity, flustered by the intensity in his eyes, as if he were inexplicably daring her to do this, reached into the bucket with a shaking hand and began to wash his wrist and top of his tightly fisted hand. She gently turned his hand and coaxed open his fingers, dunking his open palm into the water. He didn’t flinch, but it
had to hurt as she gingerly wiped away the grime to reveal a gaping slash in the middle of his palm. Blood seeped out, coloring the water in swirls of red.

  Aerity wound the cloth around his palm and set to cleaning the caked-on dirt from his fingers with her bare hands. When Paxton tensed, Aerity glanced at him. His jaw was set in hard lines as he watched her work.

  She gently continued, trying not to cause him further pain, using her small nails to scrape away the dirt edged into his cuticles. The bit at the very bottom was particularly difficult. She splashed more water on his fingers and rubbed again, staring, then scratched harder, pushing at the dirt, willing it to budge. But it was too straight, too uniform, too smooth.

  Her stomach dropped. She looked at his next finger, and the next. All the same.

  It wasn’t dirt at all.

  Aerity went still as she stared at the purpled lines. She stood still, but the room seemed to be moving. For a moment she forgot to breathe. She couldn’t look at Paxton’s face, but she could hear his quickened breaths close to her ear. In a moment of denial, Aerity scratched lastly at his thumbnail, only to reveal another line.

  Almighty seas . . . Aerity felt a sob rising up inside her as the truth flooded her system.

  “Paxton . . .”

  “Now you know.” His voice was resigned. “Now you can let me be.”

  But she couldn’t. She knew he had not received those lashings from hurting another person, unless perhaps it was self-defense. No matter his outer temper, she had always sensed the man underneath this secret—a secret massive enough to warrant his anger and hurt. Aerity knew in her gut that he would have only used his power as a last resort.

  He remained so still beside her, allowing her to keep his hand in her own.

  Truth and understanding continued to pour over Aerity in a heavy wash. Stories cartwheeled through her mind—Lashed being persecuted and abused, rounded up and killed out of fear. She had studied the history of the Lashed in great detail. The thought of anyone seeing his hands in this state, of anyone trying to kill him, filled her with a fierce protectiveness. She held his hand tighter.