by Bec McMaster
"Avie! That’s a horrible thing to say! I wouldn’t wish that upon any poor monster."
"True. He’d give even a dragon indigestion."
Through the small gap in the curtains, I could just make out the moon. "Whatever they plan on doing in Gravenwold, it can’t be a good thing. And if they make the forest angry, it’s us villagers who will have to bear the burden, you mark my words."
We both fell silent, thinking it over.
"We don't want to make the forest angry," Averill whispered.
And once again I thought of the strange old woman I'd met in the woods.
"No, we wouldn't."
3
BANG. BANG. BANG. A fist hammered on the door to my home, dust shuddering from the heavy boards.
I almost dropped my wooden spoon in the pot of porridge I was stirring.
"Open up in the name of the king!"
Hussar.
I’d recognize that malicious bellow anywhere.
Averill caught my eye as she rolled from our bed, pausing to shut the door to the room we shared. I could sense father stirring in his own room, and crossed swiftly to the door before they could wake him further. His color had been better last night, and Eloya assured me he'd eaten well yesterday, but he needed the rest.
Jerking the door open, I laid eyes upon the huntmaster in his stern leathers, and the prince and his Hound. The huntmaster paused with his hand lifted to beat the door again.
"We heard you the first time," I said, through gritted teeth. "What may I do for you?"
The huntmaster stepped forward and there was no help for it. I had to get out of the way or be trampled. "We're looking for your father. We need a tracker to enter the woods, and I hear he's the man for the job."
A shiver of unease went through me. A sense of foreboding. Or destiny, as the weird woman in the forest might have called it. "Well, he's unavailable."
Prince Evaron tugged off his gloves as he entered our small cottage, and I could almost sense him glancing around, trying to keep his thoughts off his face. At his heels stalked the wolvren, and he seemed more wolf than man this morning, a hungry look in his eyes.
I grabbed a handful of last night's dishes from the table and dumped them in the small tin basin we used to wash up with. "You'll have to find someone else."
"He's the only hunter in these parts according to village talk. The other died—some sort of accident, I believe." Prince Evaron had the grace to soften his words with a smile, but the look in his eyes was unflinching.
Curse Bennett Hapslow.
"And you said yourself your father is the best hunter in these parts," the prince continued. "We’ll need the best for our mission."
Curse my stupid, fat mouth too. "He's not well."
"There's good coin in it."
They weren't listening to me. "Coin won’t keep my father’s belly full if he’s dead," I snapped. "Nor will it be of much comfort to me and my two sisters. My father is unwell, and a hunt like this would kill him."
"Are you denying the word of your king?" Hussar asked with a sneer, tugging his gloves off, one finger at a time.
"As far as I’m aware, King Euric is alive." I looked between them all, nodding my head toward the prince. "Technically, his highness here isn’t sitting on the throne yet."
Hussar unrolled a scroll he’d plucked from his belt, scrolling down it to the pertinent part. 'I, King Euric, charge my eldest son, Evaron, with the quest of finding the firebird that lurks in Gravenwold forest, and bringing me its heart. I decree that all my subjects must render aid in my son's quest, or it shall be considered treason..." Hussar rolled the scroll up again.
"Technically," he said, managing to leer at me a little, "if your father refuses to see us then we’re within our rights to clap him in chains."
The blood drained out of my face.
"Hussar," Prince Evaron said, gentling him with a frown and a small wave. "We’re here to ask for help. Not to threaten the locals."
"You’re going to track the firebird. Why?" I demanded.
No good could come of this.
"The king’s health is failing," the prince explained. "All of the court physicians have said he won’t last until next summer. He’s charged me with capturing the firebird that lurks in these woods and bringing back its heart. If he consumes the heart, the head physician said, then he’ll be healed. The firebird is a creature of immortality and reincarnation."
"You’re going to kill the firebird? Nobody’s even truly seen it," I lied. There was no need to show them the feather. "Gravenwold’s a dangerous place. You could be riding to your deaths for no reason."
The prince sighed. "I have to try."
"Well, you cannot take my father." I stepped between the prince and my father's room. "He barely made it through the winter. If you take him out there into the snows—"
"Neva," called a rasping voice.
My father leaned in the frame of his doorway behind me, clad in his thin nightshirt. I saw his proud face take in the trio of men in the room, even as I saw the faint note of shock on the prince’s face as he saw my father’s pale, lined face, and gaunt cheekbones. No matter how much he ate, my father simply couldn’t keep the weight on his bones. Something was eating him up from within, Eloya claimed, and she’d thrown herself into her healing apprenticeship in an effort to discover how to treat it.
"You mentioned coin," father said, limping forward with his cane. "Perhaps you should sit down and tell me what you want, and how much you’re paying. Neva, would you boil the kettle?"
"He won't change his mind," Averill muttered, watching as father packed for the trip. "He won't even listen to Ellie."
And Eloya was his sweet favorite, the one who nursed him through the days while Averill and I tended to the five acres we owned.
I met Ellie's eyes as she helplessly held out father's coat, and he stuffed it into his leather satchel. A great racking cough burst from him, and he turned aside, clutching his stained handkerchief to his lips. It seemed to go on forever, but when it finished he simply asked for his boots.
I eased the door shut, my heart racing wildly. "The prince insists on hunting within Gravenwold. And father has pledged his word to provide a tracker. He didn't say it had to be him."
"No." Averill breathed, catching my wrist. "You've never been within the heart of the forest."
Technically.... "He'll die, Avie."
She licked dry lips. "Perhaps he won't. You know how the forest makes him feel. And the firebird..." Her dark eyes suddenly lit up. "If they catch it and kill it, perhaps there is some way he could use its blood to heal himself. The king can have its heart. We could use the rest."
Was she right? I bit my lip, as another barking cough echoed through the small hut we all shared.
"I don’t think the prince intends to share," I admitted. "I can do this, Avie. I'll take his place and help them track the blasted firebird. Then I'll bring back what I can for father."
We both eyed our father.
"How are we going to stop him from trying to leave?" she whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
I crooked a finger toward Eloya. "It's a good thing our sweet, dear little sister has been studying herbal lore."
4
Why Master Bane, you look much improved since the last time we saw you." The wolvren's eyes glowed in the morning light, and his thick black hair was brushed rakishly across his temples as I stomped out into the yard.
"Shut up," I hissed, as I dragged my father's pack over my shoulders, and slipped my arms through it. Horses stamped as the prince's men moved about, securing girths and dragging stirrups down their lengths with a meaty slap. Nobody else had spotted me yet. I could hear the prince laughing at something his huntmaster was saying, which seemed oddly out of place, for I hadn't picked Hussar as the type to own a sense of humor.
And I'd have to be careful of him out there in those woods.
I didn't have a choice in going, however.
A
little nightsbane in father's tea meant he'd sleep through the day, and wake to find us many hours gone. He'd be furious, but it was for the best.
He'd understand when we returned.
"The huntmaster won't like it," Casimir murmured. Not for him the dulcet tones of his master. Every word he spoke was half growl.
Or maybe that was just my presence. He didn't seem to like me very much.
"He doesn't have to like it. I know the forests as well as my father does, and frankly, I'm more likely to survive it. Father took a turn for the worst."
"In an hour?"
"In an hour."
The wolvren leaned closer, his musky scent enveloping me. "That almost sounded like the truth," he whispered in my ear, "but your scent is all wrong."
I looked up, finding his face only an inch from mine. My heart skipped a beat. Why couldn't it be the prince who stirred the blood through my veins the way Casimir did? "My scent?"
Thick lashes obscured his eyes as he glanced down over my hunting leathers. "You smell like leather, soap, nightsbane... and a lie."
"What's this?" barked a loud voice, making us both spring apart.
Hussar glowered at me, his morning's beard black against his jaw. Every man in the company turned to stare.
"You wanted a tracker," I said, squaring my shoulders. "And now you have one. My father hasn't the strength to make it to the Heart, and I know the way."
"I asked for a hunter," Hussar snapped, grabbing me by the upper arm. "Not a scrawny girl who'd turn up her toes at the first sign of blood."
"I'm seventeen," I replied tartly. "And I'm not squeamish."
As if to emphasize this fact, I strode through the group, ignoring the faint smile of Prince Evaron and heading toward the sacrifice stone. The pigeon I'd caught earlier wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. I wasn't sacrificing one of our chickens or lambs for a king's fool quest.
No matter how much gold he was paying us.
Dragging out the small broken body, I knelt beside the stone. "Vashta watch over me." Then I slit it open from breast to tail, feeling the warm blood ooze over my fingers. I painted the trident on my forehead in a symbol of the three saints of the forest; Vashta, the huntress; Ermady, the trickster; and Rior, the shadow.
"Bleeding superstitious peasants," Hussar grunted, and strode past me into the forest.
The prince cocked his head, as several of his men followed Hussar's example. "You don't follow the Way of the Light?"
"Do you think your new religion holds sway here?" I asked.
Evaron's eyes roved over the silent trees, and the shadows their boughs cast. He sighed, and then moved forward. "Paint me with chicken blood then. We'll probably need every god we know of to help us find the firebird, and my father would be most unhappy to lose me to some old wives tale."
"It's a pigeon," I muttered, tracing his forehead.
"I know," he said, and his eyes twinkled.
It was difficult to hate a prince who mocked himself.
Several of the men allowed me to mark them in the same manner.
Then finally it was Casimir's turn. He stared at my finger, his nostrils flaring. "I don't need the protection."
"You're a wolf," I said, "but here in Gravenwold, you're no longer the most dangerous thing in the woods."
"Just do it, Cas," called the prince, mounting his fine, sleekly bred bay gelding.
Casimir growled. "Blood brings predators."
"The trident scares them away." I smeared sticky blood across his forehead, having to stand on my toes to reach. He was almost as tall as Hussar, and it felt somewhat dangerous to be so close to a creature that could rip my throat out. I had to rest one hand lightly on his chest for balance, and by the time I'd finished, I realized he was barely breathing.
"What if the predator is within?" he murmured, for my ears only.
Wolvren were dangerous creatures, or so they said. Primal in their needs, and filled with such violence that could tear their way out of their human bodies, bringing the wolf to the surface.
I lowered my heels to the ground, a skitter of butterflies swirling in my stomach. "It's a good thing I know how to kill predators then."
And he smiled, the first one I'd ever seen on his face. "Make sure you aim straight for the heart then, Neva."
He might as well have punched me in the chest. Sweet Vashta. I turned away, trying to cover my sudden fumble into a move designed to shift the satchel on my shoulder. "I always do."
Something told me I hadn't fooled Casimir with my play at nonchalance. I could feel his gaze burning between my shoulder blades.
"Move out!" called Hussar, glaring at us as we stepped into the forest.
It was with some delight I called back, "But you're going the wrong way."
We made camp well before the sun set.
The forest grew more oppressive the deeper we went, and the sound of voices had gradually faded during the day. We encountered nothing—man or beast—but you couldn't escape the whisper of wind through the trees and the feeling something out there was stalking us.
I watched the prince move among his men, casting a gentle word here and a laugh there to assuage their fears. He was good at managing them, I thought cynically, though his golden looks didn't hurt. Prince Perfect. Evaron seemed like the sort of prince who could slay dragons, with his golden armor gleaming, and his sword glittering with gemstones.
It was Casimir who took the prince's horse and brushed it down; Casimir who dragged both of their leather satchels to a small thicket, and began setting up the prince's bedroll. He ignored most of the men and they returned the favor, though sometimes they looked uneasy when their eyes lit upon him. Wolvren were outlawed in the kingdom, unless they were leashed. It kept their wildness at bay.
Hussar, of course, dumped his gear in the middle of the clearing for one of his men to set up. Catching my eye, he made a deliberate motion to take a piss right near my bedroll, until the prince caught sight of him and sent him scowling into the woods with a few sharp words.
Evaron sought me out. "How far did you make it today?"
I shrugged, shaking out my father's blankets. "Not far. The trails are twisting, and I wouldn't be surprised to find it only ten or twelve miles."
He squatted beside me, watching as two of the men started to strike a fire. "You're good at what you do."
"Are you surprised, your highness?" I arched a brow. "I am my father's daughter."
Slowly he smiled. "And your mother?"
He didn't need to ask more. My coloring spoke of the south, and he wasn't the first northerner to comment upon it. "My mother was born in the plains of Burubar. She fled the war there—or something else perhaps. She never truly said, but she was trying to get as far away from her homeland as she could."
And she'd been unnaturally frightened of storms, hiding beneath the bed at night when lightning split the sky.
Once she'd asked me if I could see anything in the stormy sky. I'd asked her whether she meant a bird or a man, but she'd only brushed away my question. I'd know what she meant, she said.
Evaron scratched at his jaw. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. I shouldn't have allowed Hussar to threaten your father."
I tucked the edges of the blankets into my bedroll, keeping the emotion off my face. "You're a prince."
"And you're one of my people," he countered. "It was ill done of me, and I'd ask for your forgiveness."
Ask? Or demand? "As you wish, your highness."
Evaron's eyes narrowed. "You say 'as you wish' but your eyes say, 'I'll see you in the Darkness'."
His Darkness was a place reserved for those who lost their path from the Way of Light. I knew only a little of the religion the citygoers flocked to. "What is forgiveness to a prince?"
"It is everything to a man who has watched others overstep their place in this life."
Who was this man? Prince who brooked no argument, or a charmer determined to please? Whoever it was he meant when he said 'others', it
had cast a vast shadow over him, I thought.
I softened. "To grant forgiveness seems an easy thing. Perhaps you should earn it, or how can you tell if it's real?"
He looked taken aback. "Earn it?"
"You clearly dislike the sanctions against wolvren, and yet you allow your boyhood friend to wear a collar. You ask for forgiveness, and yet you were quick to demand an ill old man venture out into the snows. Your father bleeds us dry with his taxes, and here you are, throwing good coin about my village as if you meant to make it rain gold. Perhaps if you lived a different life, you would not have to ask for forgiveness."
He was definitely taken aback now. "Did you just—" Then a shocked laugh escaped him. "You did. I don't think I've ever been chastised by a...."
"Village girl?" I suggested.
He rubbed at his mouth, his eyes twinkling. "I was going to leave it at 'girl'."
I rolled my eyes. "I doubt you've never been chastised by a girl. I've heard all the stories, you know."
"Well, not for throwing coin around, or ordering my country's men to fall in line. Or for Cas." His brow furrowed, as if he didn't like the thought. "I don't have much choice in Cas's predicament. That's my father's doing, and you cross my father at your peril."
"Even a son?"
"Especially a son."
None of the stories I'd ever heard about the king were complimentary. His legacies involved endless wars, and the crushing destruction of his foes. Crippling taxes, and thousands executed for a long-ago rebellion... I barely knew Prince Evaron, but I decided to reserve judgment.
If he took after his father at all, then I'd be dealing with a miniature tyrant.
What would it have been like to be raised by such a man?
Evaron cleared his throat. "Am I allowed to wash the blood off my face?"
"Only if you wish to die a gruesome death in these woods."
He looked at me sharply.
And despite myself, I softened. "I jest. The blood doesn't protect you. You asked for Vashta's protection, and she granted it when you entered. Her protection shall rest over you like a mantle, until you leave these woods."
