Hunter's Legend

by R. J. Vickers

  The cold wind dried the sweat that had seeped from beneath my hairnet, momentarily refreshing, though goose pimples were emerging down the length of my arms. I crept around the corner and onto the street that led to our statue garden. The wind made odd sounds whistling along the fences and through the eaves. I imagined I heard footsteps softly clopping along behind me, and I quickened my pace.

  Now the footsteps, unmistakable, sped up to match mine. Someone was chasing me.

  I clutched my skirts tighter. I was almost running now, terrified to look back. If I could make it home, I could unlock the door and bolt myself inside—

  Something rasped metallic behind me. Was the man drawing a saber? I chanced a look over one shoulder, and—

  My foot caught on a cobblestone and I fell, facedown, skirts flying over my head. My ankle felt as though it had been wrenched in half. For a moment I just lay there, wishing desperately that Lieman would realize I had given him the slip and come after me. My mouth hung open in pain, though I believe I had not made a sound when I tumbled over.

  At last I straightened my skirts, drew my injured ankle beneath me, and gently prodded the sore spot. I did not know if I could walk. When I was brave enough to look up, I realized the street behind me was empty. Turning in the direction I had been heading, I saw a black-clad figure running in the distance until he was lost behind the curve of the street.

  Who could it be? Did I have a wealthy enemy, someone who realized we were fakes?

  Or—I shivered at the thought—was that an associate of the professor?

  Would he try to sabotage me?

  My ankle wobbled when I tried to stand, sending bolts of pain up my leg as though someone was pounding a nail into the nerve. This time I did cry out. I clutched the nearest support—a wrought-iron fence draped with purple-blossomed vines—and took short, gasping breaths until the throbbing subsided.

  I should go home. If I could. Yet I mourned the loss of the perfect chance I’d had of discovering what Hunter was up to.

  Trusting most of my weight to the fence, I hobbled down the road, face screwed up in pain. I wondered if I had broken my ankle, or just sprained it. Every movement was agony. When I reached a side street that branched from this road, which meant a gap in the line of fences and brick walls I had been using for my crutch, I lowered myself weakly to the ground and sat a moment, both arms hugging my knees. I wanted to cry. Where was Hunter?

  At long last I rose once more, my swollen ankle beginning to press uncomfortably against the top of my shoe. Once I had bridged the torturously wide gap created by the side street, I heard the soft click of hurried footsteps drawing close. Stiffening in fear, I dared to look over my shoulder. I was in no shape to run anywhere. The figure was far less menacing than the tall, roughly dressed man who had followed me before, but I could not make out his face. Then—

  “Cady?”

  It was Lieman’s voice. I sagged against the wall, eyes stinging with relief.

  “Cady, what the bloody Varse has gotten into you?” His footsteps slowed as he reached my side. “You’re dead white. Has someone hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “Twisted my ankle. I’ll be fine.” To prove it, I tried to stand straight. My ankle gave way, and I fell back against the wall with a gasp.

  “Damn.” He gripped me by the elbows to steady me. “I’m taking you home right now. No arguments.” With the utmost care, he slipped a hand beneath my knees and lifted me into his arms. “Now, while you can’t escape, tell me—what were you doing? I could hardly believe it when I realized you had left the palace. I hadn’t thought you were one for trickery.”

  “I do what I must,” I said stoutly.

  Lieman clicked his tongue at me, though he looked amused. “I didn’t even question how much time you had taken in the toilets until that prince came to interrogate me. He’s a difficult one to figure, but I think he’s quite taken by you, as you said. But don’t distract me. What were you up to?”

  I weighed my options. If I played this right, Lieman could serve as a valuable ally. “I need to stop Hunter from whatever he is planning. I just know it’s dangerous.”

  “And how do you intend to do that?”

  “I don’t know, because I don’t know what it is I must put an end to. That’s what I need to find out.”

  We had just begun walking alongside the University wall. “Stop,” I said. Perhaps it was my tone, but Lieman obeyed automatically. “He and his—accomplice—are bringing something into the University tonight. I want to see what it is.”

  Lieman readjusted his grip on me. “I’m as curious as you are. That doesn’t sound like an unreasonable request. Not a word to Hunter, I imagine?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Do you think I would jeopardize myself in that way?”

  Lieman chuckled. “I have an idea. You were injured at the dance, yes? Don’t say a word.”

  Two more doors down, in clear view of the University gates, he turned into a garden and marched up to the front door. I thought it was rude of him to bother anyone this late at night, but a pair of matronly old ladies appeared as soon as he rapped, silhouetted by the flickering light of a candelabra in the hallway.

  “Dear friends,” Lieman said. “My charge has sprained her ankle while dancing at the palace ball tonight, and needs to rest a moment before continuing home. Might we trouble you for a brief time?”

  The women looked at each other and moved aside to allow Lieman through. “Our granddaughters are still out dancing. We have several hours yet to wait. Please, join us for a pot of tea.” While the two elderly women bustled about fetching tea and clearing cushions from one of their plump couches, Lieman explained I was tired and wished to rest; then he set me on a chair looking out the window. The moon had risen higher now, and in its lopsided luminescence I could make out every cobblestone in the street.

  I was genuinely fighting off sleep by the time one of the ladies hobbled to my side with a cup of tea. “Thank you very much,” I said.

  “Oh, my pleasure.” Her eyes were narrowed in scrutiny. “I don’t recognize you. How did you merit an invitation to the king’s ball?”

  I gave her my best look of wide-eyed innocence. “My brother and I are new to Baylore. We haven’t yet acquainted ourselves with the most notable families around here.”

  Her expression turned to one of distaste. “I think it quite a shame that newcomers and commoners are rising to power so easily nowadays. Your very bearing suggests common blood, child. Baylore is not the gem it once was, not with street scum masquerading as nobility.”

  I turned away before she saw how much her comment had upset me. I may not have been born to wealthy parents, but I was hardly street scum. My parents had given me a respectable upbringing.

  She was already plodding back to the couch, where she settled herself primly beside her friend and gave Lieman a simpering smile.

  He flashed me a look that meant he had heard the exchange.

  A sudden movement outside caught my eye. A man dressed in dark, bulky clothes shuffled down the street, unlocked the University gates, and disappeared within. I was almost certain it was the man who had chased me.

  Not much later, three figures appeared from the direction of the palace. Though she had a scarf about her head, the first was unmistakably Samara. The two men behind her—Hunter I recognized, and the other had to be the professor—carried a long, narrow wooden box between them. I could not guess what lay within. As soon as Samara had followed the two men into the courtyard, I turned to Lieman and the two ladies and yawned conspicuously.

  “I am ready to go home,” I told Lieman. “I’m quite recovered now, thank you. The tea was delicious.”

  Lieman stood at once, bowed to the ladies, and whisked me into his arms and out the door.

  “You saw them?” he whispered as he hurried down their front walk and back onto the street.

  I nodded. “They had a large wooden box. Which tells me nothing at all. It could have been stuffed full of
treasure, for all I know.”

  “You think Hunter has deceived you as well?” Lieman asked.

  I frowned up at the moon. “Even I have trouble reading him at times. I could be mistaken about him.” I looked back over my shoulder at the house we had just left, tall and imposing yet devoid of personality.

  “Are you still thinking about what that woman said?” Lieman asked astutely.

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t worry yourself about her,” he said. “At least half of the wealthy class of Baylore is terribly deluded. There is no such thing as genuine noble blood in Itrea. I’ve been to Whitland, remember—the noble titles there have truly been passed on through generations, and those with power have all descended from the same king who first appointed rulers to the nine Kinship Thrones. Their nobility is steeped in history.

  “Everyone in Baylore, on the other hand, is descended from a few waves of outcasts who fled Whitland. Whether they were magically gifted—scorned as demons—or not, they were the very lowest echelon of society. This is the ‘noble blood’ our dear friend is descended from.” Lieman gave a rueful laugh. “That was part of the reason I hated my parents. They were the same sort of people. They disdain merchants and intellectuals and other self-made men, forgetting their ancestors were once the same.”

  “I still feel like an imposter,” I said. “I know nothing about formal etiquette or fashion or what these nobles even do all day.”

  Lieman laughed. “I know the etiquette, much as I would like to ignore it, but their daily habits are as much a mystery to me.”

  We had reached the sculpture garden, with its statues gleaming icy white in the moonlight. Lieman carried me up the front path and into the entrance hall, where he deposited me on a chair. “You expect Hunter to be home soon?” he said. “I would not want to abandon you here otherwise.”

  I nodded. “Thank you for everything. I can always crawl upstairs if I have to.” I made a face.

  “Well, good night to you. I’ll see if I can intercept Hunter and send him your way.”

  I beamed at him in gratitude.

  It was not long before Hunter threw open the door and dashed into the hall, red-faced and breathing hard.

  “I just saw Lieman!” he panted. “He says you’re hurt. What have you done?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “I hope he didn’t make a fuss.” When Hunter reached my side and knelt beside me, I squeezed his arm reassuringly. “You know I can’t dance. I tripped over my feet, my especially large partner stepped on me, and I twisted my ankle.”

  With gentle hands, Hunter slipped off my shoe and examined my swollen ankle. “It looks wretched! What can I do for you?”

  “You could carry me to bed,” I said grimly. “Maybe it will be better in the morning.”

  Hunter was even gentler than Lieman when he lifted me and brought me upstairs. Once in the bedroom, he lit a lamp and tugged off his sweat-soaked tunic. “If it’s any consolation, you still look beautiful.”

  I blushed. He knelt on the bed behind me and began undoing the delicate pearl buttons running down the side of my dress. His lips trailed up my neck to the base of my hair, and with his teeth he tugged the pearl-studded net free. Once the buttons were loose, he slipped the dress from my shoulders and traced the now-sagging neckline around to my chest.

  “Careful!” I said. He had jostled the bed, wrenching my ankle once more.

  His lips tugged at my ear. “Sorry,” he whispered. Then, as he reached down to relieve me of my skirts, his hands stopped. “What’s this?”

  I turned. There was a trail of mud running up my skirts—I must have fallen into a puddle without realizing it. Of course; I had forgotten the rain from last night. “I don’t know. Someone might have splashed me as we were walking to the palace.”

  “It’s still wet.” The seductive warmth was gone from Hunter’s voice. “You followed me. I know you did. What did you see?”

  I lay back on the bed, trying to escape his angry glare. “I danced for ages. Ask Lieman. I could not have followed you; you were gone immediately, and I would have been a fool to venture into that part of town alone.”

  “But you saw something. I bet you were lurking somewhere when we returned. Are you lying about your ankle to distract me?”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “No! You can see how swollen it is; why would I lie to you?”

  Hunter stood. “You clearly don’t trust me, and now I’m afraid to trust you. What if you’ve been sleeping with Lieman behind my back? What if you’ve called on some nobleman to put a stop to my plans?”

  “Why would I do that? Hunter, I’m just worried for you. I don’t—”

  “Goodnight.” His tone was cold and flat. He left the room, closing the door with a snap.

  I slept alone that night, for the first time in years.

  Chapter 10

  H unter was still eating breakfast when I hobbled downstairs, but he gobbled down the last of his toast when he saw me and rose.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, trying to be pleasant.

  “None of your business.” He snatched his coat from the back of the chair. “It’s a good thing you’ve hurt your ankle. That seems to be the only way to keep you from snooping on every move I make.”

  I had cried myself to sleep the night before, and my eyes still felt puffy and sensitive. I refused to show any sign of it before Hunter, though. “I don’t even know why I put up with you,” I said. “When have you ever given me a reason to stay? I clean up after you, I cook for you, I—” I had nearly said ‘I love you.’ I swallowed. “And you—you treat me like a housekeeper. One minute I’m your plaything, the next you don’t trust me one whit, and the next I’m relegated to the corner while you work your charm on every girl in the room. What would my family say if they knew I was living with you like this, unmarried and without even the slightest hint of affection from you? I’m a disgrace. I should have done more with my life than sacrifice everything out of dedication to you.”

  Hunter opened his mouth and closed it again. At last he said, “You’re wrong. You’re completely wrong. And if you can’t learn to trust me, you’ll just have to leave.”

  Then he stomped out of the house, leaving me to collapse into a chair and stare dejectedly at his unfinished tea. It was raining again. I nibbled at a soggy heel of bread and finished Hunter’s tea before the emptiness of the house began to gnaw at me like a toothache. Fetching a length of parchment and a pen, I limped onto the porch and settled into one of the woven chairs beneath the overhang. A few stray drops found their way onto my knees and forehead, but for the most part the eaves proved an excellent shelter from the billowing rain.

  On the parchment, I wrote, Possible Contents of the Mystery Box. I was not going to leave Hunter, whatever either of us had said; nor would I give up my search for the truth. After drawing a thick double line beneath the title, I began to list ideas.

  Piles of gold

  Family heirloom

  Something illegal

  Weapons

  Whatever he plans to use for his stunt

  My ideas were quickly drying up. The truth was, that box could hold anything. Nibbling the end of the pen, I added a less useful string of thoughts.

  Shoes

  Important books

  Something enchanted

  Something he stole (and plans to return?)

  Notebooks

  Bricks

  Cutlery

  This was becoming absurd. Drawing a line halfway down the parchment, I made a second list—Ideas for my One Silver Hair:

  Enchant a cloak to keep Hunter from dying when he jumps

  Make a love charm

  Craft a necklace for myself with a charm to ensure beauty

  Something that causes Samara to erupt in hideous boils

  Something that would help my family

  A disguise that permanently changes my appearance

  A charm to erase Hunter’s memory of his family

  None of
these were the least bit practical, and some probably weren’t possible in the first place, but it was amusing to imagine what I might do. Of course, a single magic hair was hardly good for anything. Most Weavers used hundreds in practice before they created anything worthwhile. Some used up their entire head of hair before they gained any real talent. It was simply the fact that my silver hair was singular, and that I had been saving it for so long, that made it special.

  Letting the pen and parchment rest on my knees, I gazed up at the rain, which fell in sheets so thick they nearly obscured the house across the road. The grey monotony and the drumming rhythm of raindrops were mesmerizing. Even the dusty smell of damp cobblestones had been washed away, leaving behind a fresh smell like mist from a river.

  As I stared, I found myself recalling everything I knew of Hunter’s past—his unpleasant childhood in the slums, his abusive father, the two siblings he had mentioned in passing. I thought of the wrong he was fiercely compelled to right, of the itching discontent he had felt all through our travels. He had unfinished business to attend to. Then I thought of his boasts—first that he could transform into various animals (helped, of course, by shapeshifting or animal-taming allies); then that he could manipulate fire as well as any flamespinner; and finally, his grand claim that he could reawaken the dead.

  Slowly I lifted my pen. I touched the nib to the end of the first list, where I had left a space for adding further ideas.

  In very small print, I added the most dangerous one of all.

  The body of his dead sister.

  Chapter 11