“Aye,” Paxton said. “Indeed, I am.”
“Should ’ave been fishing yer own waters, then.”
Paxton nodded, and the younger man gave a roll of his eyes. “Sure then, don’t mind him,” he said, hitching a finger at the older man, who grumbled and poked a bag of oysters with his long stick. “Ever farmed an oyster bed?”
Only his whole childhood. “Aye, sir. I’ll do anything seas related that you need.”
The man pointed out at the cove. “This here is all our land. You’ll have to work from now until sundown to earn a pair of boots, though.”
Paxton nodded. “I can do that. I give you both many thanks.”
“We don’t have boots to spare!” the older man shouted.
“Aw, come now, Papa. We could use the help. Didn’t you say just this morn you wish you was fishing instead?” He patted the stooped man on the shoulder to lead him away, giving Paxton a few last bits of information over his shoulder as he went.
Paxton nodded and set to work immediately. He turned the bunches of oysters in their beds to smooth out the calcified edges and create deeper grooves for the growing flesh inside. His body numbed to the chill of the water and breeze, and he soaked in the moments when the clouds dispersed, allowing sun to shine down on his back and shoulders.
As the sun began to set, Paxton heard footsteps rustling along the path, and he quickly muddied his hands, which had been cleaned by the water. He stood, his muscles sore, and faced the man who looked around the marshy cove before giving a satisfied nod.
Paxton came ashore and the man held out a used long-sleeved brown tunic and a worn pair of boots with sturdy soles.
“These were my brother-in-law’s. They might be a tad big, but they’re all I could find.”
“Thank you.” Paxton took them, grateful.
“Would you care to stay for supper?”
He longed to accept their hospitality, but he knew it would come with an array of questions.
“I appreciate your kindness, but I need to head back before my family worries.”
The man nodded and pulled a cloth from his deep hip pocket. “I thought you might say that. Here is a bit of food. I wish you safe travels. Blessings of the seas.”
Paxton gave a small bow of his head just as his stomach growled. They both laughed. “Blessings to you and yours, as well.”
The man left him to dress, and Paxton ate the slice of grainy bread; sharp cheese; and dried, salted fish as he walked. He was famished but forced himself to eat slowly. He would sleep outdoors again, drinking from fresh springs. And each day he would work to try and earn food and money to buy a bow and new daggers. He couldn’t face the foreign lands without protection.
But unfortunately there was no protection against the things that hurt him the most—the things inside his heart that left his chest vastly empty, hollowing him with a sense of loss, forcing him to remember when all he wanted to do was forget.
Paxton was fast asleep on a bed of leaves when a snap awoke him. He rose to his knees, grabbing the makeshift spear he’d made. Clouds covered the sliver of moon. Paxton squinted into the darkness. A low, feminine chuckle sounded from the depths of the night. He pulled back his arm as a form solidified through the trees.
Paxton exhaled and sank back on his heels. “Zandora, I nearly pierced you through.”
“With what? That stick? Men . . . always with the dramatics.”
Paxton grinned, despite his racing heart. “What are you doing here?”
“Tracking you, of course.”
“Why?” A moment of apprehension went through him. Had the king asked her to find him? Did they know he’d worked magic? But, no, this was Zandora. He shook away his worries.
“Would you prefer to hunt with that stick and sleep on the ground forever, Paxton Seabolt? Or join us on our return journey to Zorfina?”
Relief and the promise of companionship settled over him. “I will join you.”
“I had no doubt, Lashed One.”
He stilled, though there was no threat or judgment in her voice. He wasn’t certain how she’d found out—if it was common knowledge now, or if Tiern had confided in her—but he supposed it didn’t matter.
Zandora whistled, and moments later her two sisters appeared, two on horseback, one leading Zandora’s horse. She said something to them in Zorfinan, and the older sister tossed Paxton his pack.
“Ah, bless you.” He’d never been happier to see his material things.
“Now. Move over and share your leaves.”
Paxton obliged. As the sisters joined him on the ground, he wondered what Zandora would have chosen in his position: to kill the beast or save one of her sisters. Did she think him a fool, like Lord Alvi, the future prince of these lands? Paxton cursed himself for the trivial thoughts. It was all inconsequential.
He could not allow himself to look back, to wonder what was happening at the castle, to imagine Lief and Aerity . . . no.
He could only move forward.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
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Chapter
41
Aerity stood before her chamber mirror in a gown of the purest, softest white—her betrothal dress for the engagement ceremony. Her gut clenched at the merry sounds of voices outside the castle walls. It had been one week since the beast was slain. Rozaria Rocato had not been found, but neither had there been any new attacks.
In a meeting with her father that morning, the king told her he hoped all of Rozaria’s experiments had been burned on the island, but Aerity wasn’t holding her breath. Soldiers were out searching for the Lashed woman to punish her for her crimes. In the meantime, word had been sent to Kalor about their murderous citizen, and King Charles awaited Prince Kalieno’s response.
“She could have lied about being an heir of Rocato,” the king told Aerity in his office. “She could be lying about all of it.” King Charles had seemed especially appalled by the thought that Prince Kalieno might be going against the mutual laws of all Eurona by openly allowing magic.
“I don’t think so, Father.” Aerity pressed a hand against her abdomen, which had been wrapped tightly under her dress.
“Rocato was killed during the uprising. No one has ever spoken of him having a family.”
“Perhaps they did not know he had one,” Aerity said. “If he always had a rebellious heart, maybe he kept his family hidden for their own safety.”
The king leaned against his desk, running a hand over his short beard. “Aye. It could be. We shall speak of her crimes to no one. Only the royal family and my elite advisers shall know this beast was created at the hands of a Lashed.”
Aerity shivered and nodded, understanding. The people could not find out or there’d be an uprising against innocent Lashed.
“We will find her, Aerity. It’s a blessing from the sea that you girls are safe and the beast is dead. Lord Alvi will make a fine husband—your mother and I are glad for such a handsome match. Our ties to Ascomanni have been strained over the years. This arrangement will greatly help. A win-win for all.” Aerity’s stomach clenched at his happy assurance. He had no idea how much she and Lord Alvi were not a fine match. She gave a curt nod and left her father’s office.
The royal lands had been opened to the public for the betrothal ceremony. Today, the king would publicly announce Aerity’s engagement to the foreign lord. Normally, the people of Lochlanach were not keen on change—Lochlans tended to be distrustful, traditional people. Lord Lief Alvi, however, was a special exception. Not only were the women swooning over his handsome, regal airs but every person felt indebted and grateful to him for killing the beast that had terrorized them. The curfew had been lifted. People celebrated with bonfires into the night and revelries grander than any holiday.
But within the castle there were no raised spirits. The Lochsons, Baycreeks, and Wavecrests could sense the sadne
ss emanating from Princess Aerity and Lady Wyneth. Though they did not know all the reasons for the darkness surrounding the girls, each family felt it intensely.
“They’re traumatized by what happened on that island . . .” Aerity had heard Lady Ashley whisper to her mother as the women tried to make sense of the castle’s mood.
“Aye,” her mother had answered. “All three of them facing the beast . . . My own Aerity playing a part in its death! Can you imagine? I’ve been on my knees, thanking the seas each day that they were unharmed.”
“Perhaps they weren’t harmed physically,” her aunt whispered, “but I daresay a great damage has been done. They haven’t spoken more than a few words this week.”
“Indeed . . . but that shall pass with time. They will heal.”
Her mother had sounded so certain. Yet her mother only knew half the story.
Aerity closed her eyes against the reflected image of herself, the intricate braid winding around her head and falling over her shoulder. A bejeweled circlet draped around her head, across her forehead, a round diamond hanging heavily at the crown between her eyes. She certainly looked the part, though she didn’t feel it.
She and Wyneth had scarcely made eye contact all week. Even when they sat side by side at meals. One of them would reach beneath the table and take the other’s hand, squeezing tightly, but they did not speak or meet each others’ gaze.
The last thing the princess wanted was to marry Lord Alvi next month at the winter gala.
Lost in her thoughts, the knock at her chamber door made Aerity jump. Everyone should have been in the High Hall by now.
Aerity crept to the door and opened it a crack. Her breath caught at the sight of Lord Alvi himself, blond locks tucked behind his ears, and the finest rabbit furs lining his vest and boots. Aerity opened the door further and peeked around him—not a soul in sight. Still, it wasn’t proper for him to come to her chambers, or the women’s hall at all. Behind him, Aerity saw Caitrin poke her head around the corner, her eyebrows raised and a questioning, guilty look on her face.
Aerity sighed and nodded, stepping aside to let him in. She kept the door open a crack.
Lord Alvi took one of her hands between both of his warm ones. His light blue eyes were like cool, melting ice. “You look lovely, Princess.”
His presence made her heart race with nervousness. If it weren’t for the complication of Wyneth, or the fact that her heart was with Paxton, she might have felt something for this brave, powerful, handsome man. But as it was, she could not see him as her own.
Her throat was dry, making her voice a raspy whisper. “Thank you.”
“I know it’s not me that you would prefer to see before you.”
Aerity dropped her eyes to his large hands, saying nothing.
“Did you speak to Tiern about what happened that night?” he asked gently. Aerity said nothing. “Do you know how I came to slay the beast when the one you loved possessed the weapon?”
Aerity looked up, her throat closing. “I don’t want to speak of it.”
He continued, carefully, as if he hadn’t heard. “The beast nearly killed Tiern—actually, I think he had taken his final breath. Paxton Seabolt chose to save his life. He gave me the knife. He is Lashed, Princess.”
Aerity stared into his eyes, a fiery passion rising up in her at the judgment in his voice. “I know who he is.” She pulled her hands away.
“You knew he was Lashed?” His voice sounded accusatory.
She felt her lips purse in anger. “I knew, aye.”
He wore a bewildered expression. “And you believed your people would tolerate it?”
“I believe my people need to gain a better understanding of the Lashed. Many changes need to be made in this kingdom.” She lifted her chin.
“A revolutionary, are you? All right then, Princess, perhaps you are not afraid of his magic. But does it not bother you that he gave you away so easily?”
Aerity felt as if she’d been kicked by the beast all over again. Gave you away . . . “No. He didn’t give me away, he saved his brother.” If Aerity had had to choose between Vixie’s life and marrying the man of her choice, she would choose her sister. She could not fault Paxton for his decision, no matter how it saddened her.
“Do you have brothers, Lord Alvi?”
“I do.”
“Would you not have saved any one of them in that situation?”
His eyebrows smoothed in confidence. “I was bound by my duty to kill the beast. Any one of my brothers would have understood that and wanted me to forsake his life to claim the slay. For the honor of our family.”
Aerity had heard tell of the honor-bound attitudes of the coldlands people. She’d always thought it a romantic ideal, to be so sacrificial for one’s family and land, that is, until now.
“I respect our differences, Lord Alvi, and I hope you can, as well. Here in Lochlanach we choose to honor individual lives over family glory.”
Lord Alvi gave a small nod. “So I’ve gathered.”
Aerity swallowed and stepped back.
“Very well,” Lord Alvi said quietly. “I shall leave you until the betrothal ceremony.” He watched her curiously a moment longer.
Aerity gave a curtsy as he left. She stood there, alone, and suddenly cold as stone at the thought of entering the High Hall. It would be filled with smiling faces—hunters and royals that had traveled down from the coldlands, all of her family and Lochlanach’s elite. Aerity pressed a hand over her mouth, afraid she might be sick. With her other hand she gathered the front of her dress and ran from the room toward the only person in the castle she could stomach seeing at that moment—the only person she felt would understand what she’d lost.
She ran, her slippered feet sliding on the smooth stone. She took the spiraled steps up two at a time, panting when she reached the top. The guard stepped aside. When she knocked on the wooden door, her knuckles were numb from holding her skirts so tightly.
Mrs. Rathbrook opened the door, her eyes wide. “Princess Aerity! What in Eurona is the matter? Shouldn’t you be at the ceremony now?”
“I—I don’t . . .” Aerity lowered her voice to a whisper. “Paxton Seabolt . . .” They both glanced at the guard, who stared straight ahead at the staircase.
Mrs. Rathbrook grasped her by the elbow and gently pulled her in, closing the door tightly behind her. “Come and sit.”
“I’m sorry,” Aerity said. Her heart was beating too hard, and her breaths were coming too fast. She sat and bent forward, wrapping her arms around her middle. “It’s just that . . . he’s Lashed, and he’s run away, and I don’t know what to do. I—”
“Try for deep breaths, dear,” Mrs. Rathbrook said. “You’re in a panic.”
Aerity tried, feeling her heart slow.
“Where would he go?” Aerity mused, tears burning her eyelids. “Why does it have to be like this? He shouldn’t have to hide! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“Sh, love.” The woman rubbed her back.
Aerity looked up into Mrs. Rathbrook’s pained eyes. She looked as upset as Aerity felt.
“What can be done?” the princess asked. She’d never felt so small. So powerless. The beast was nothing compared to the notions of hatred, fear, and prejudice against Lashed throughout the lands. “If we could only show people, and explain that Lashed are not dangerous . . .” Mrs. Rathbrook looked upon her pityingly.
And then Aerity remembered Rozaria Rocato, the essence of danger, and she shut her eyes.
A strange noise came from the quiet halls below. Shouting. Faint at first, then growing louder. Aerity stood. She and Mrs. Rathbrook grabbed each other’s arms, listening. Next came terrified screams and stomping feet.
“Great seas,” Mrs. Rathbrook whispered. “We must hide you, Princess.”
But Aerity was already swinging the door open. The guard was gone.
“Princess Aerity!” Mrs. Rathbrook reached out for her.
“Stay here,” she told the
woman. “Lock this door!” Aerity shut it and ran down the stairs. Officer Vest was at the bottom, watching the chaos with confusion.
People ran into the castle with expressions of terror, screaming, some dressed in finery, some in common clothes.
“Princess, you mustn’t go out there,” Officer Vest told her.
Aerity grabbed her skirts. “Please go back up and guard her with care.” She darted away, pushing through the people.
“Shut the doors!” she heard a familiar voice call down the hall. Harrison!
“It’s out there!” a commoner shouted.
Aerity’s heart was banging. She ran with the crowd. People stopped, jostling into one another, trying to decide where to go.
“To the left!” Aerity yelled over the crowd, pushing her way through. “The High Hall!”
People around her gasped and began to murmur.
“The princess!”
“It’s Princess Aerity!”
They let her through and she led the people to the High Hall. Her silks no longer hung in the room, which had been transformed for a grand celebration. Her mother and father stood at their throne, surrounded by guards, demanding to know what was happening as people poured in. Aerity ushered townsfolk in, and when the last person had squeezed through, she shut the doors.
“Bar them!” she ordered a guard.
“What is happening?” King Charles shouted.
“A beast!” The commoner’s voice trembled. Seas, no. Aerity pushed through the people and found the man, not much older than her own father.
“Please, sir,” she said. “Come forward and speak to the king.” He appeared dazed with fright, but allowed Aerity to lead him forward.
“Quiet!” yelled a guard to the restless crowd.
When Aerity and the man stopped in front of her parents, she noticed Lord Alvi and his family for the first time. They were each wearing furs, their hair like spun gold, their faces fierce and warriorlike. One of the men had hair to his waist, an extraordinarily broad chest, and the most massive gold crown Aerity had ever seen—King Dagur of Ascomanni, and uncle of her betrothed. Lord Alvi moved closer to hear, his eyebrows furrowed.
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