by Melle Amade
“Make them quiet!” Willem says.
The man rolls over. His legs shake and he’s too weak to stand. His face is screwed up in sharp lines of terror as if we may attack, but we don’t. We’re just staring at him. He eyes up Willem as he pushes backwards through the mud and dirt.
“He—it—the fox…” Horror seeps into every particle of my body.
“Silence your dogs.” Willem grabs my leg, trying to shake me out of my shock.
“Heel,” I command, and the dogs swarm around my feet, dancing in circles and whimpering.
“The dogs. They go.” The man groans in broken English.
I look at Willem; his eyes are narrow, and he nods.
“The dogs won’t just give up the chase,” I say, grabbing their collars.
“Leave,” says Willem to the man on the ground. “Get across the water. That’s all we can do for you.”
The man nods and says something in Italian that is too rapid and low for me to understand, but the way he bobs his head makes me think he’s thanking us. The dogs strain against my grip on their collars, and Willem reaches over to help me hold them as the man transforms back into a fox and disappears into the undergrowth. He splashes into the water, and the dogs let out a howl.
“Silence,” I command. Jack’s howl drains into a whine.
“If he survives the currents, the fox shifter will be safe,” Willem says.
“But what about us?” I stare at my filthy white dress and the burrow the dogs dug up. “It’s obvious we cornered the fox and let it go.”
Willem stares around at the mess. “We have to lead them away.”
“If we let the dogs go, they’ll chase him.” I jut my chin towards the water as the dogs yank against their collars and pull at my arms. “They’ll lead the hunt right to him.”
With a deft hand, Willem rips the rabbit stole from my neck and rubs the dead animal against the dogs’ noses. They whine and yip as the stale taint of the animal fills their senses.
“Come boys. Come!” he commands, tossing the skin high into the air. Before the dogs can jump and reach it, Willem leaps and shifts into an eagle, catching the fur in his claws and hovering just out of reach of the yapping dogs. They jerk themselves from my arms as he starts to fly low and tight through the narrow spaces between the trees with the dogs chasing him. He’s leading them away from the fox and the spot where we cornered it.
The shifter.
I didn’t even know fox shifters existed. My guts wrench. We were hunting a shifter.
One of our own.
And El Oso brought it with him.
I stand alone in the silent woods, listening to the dogs’ barks moving into the distance. The Ravensgaard and eagles call and screech as they turn their flight in the direction of Jack and Tomas’ yapping.
My mind flashes back to the rabbit I killed five years ago. Did it have a band on its leg? I can’t remember. But El Oso had brought that animal, too. It had been in a cage, like a prize gift when he had entered our castle grounds.
Was it a shifter?
Did I kill one of our own kind?
My mind reels and I want to crawl deep into the earth or high into a tree or somewhere, anywhere far away from what has just happened.
But I can’t. If El Oso is hunting shifters, he can’t know we know. Everything must appear as normal as possible. I can’t be found here, sitting in the mud and dirt and evidence of the fox.
I push off the ground, pulling for the heat that will shift me into an eagle. I fly low through the trees seeking Willem. When I see him, I land, shifting into human form.
He has led the dogs to the far edge of the woods, to where the trees give way to the water and the dykes rise to protect our land. Willem, in human form, watches silently, his chin braced against the bitter air, as the dogs growl and rip and tear at my rabbit stole.
It could be the skin of a shifter.
I open my mouth to breathe, but my breakfast surges and I vomit up everything that was inside me. My retching fills my ears and echoes against the walls of the dyke.
I’ve been wearing the skin of a shifter, one that I killed.
Willem reaches out and grabs my hand. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “You didn’t know.”
“I caught him.” I wipe my lips and the tears from my eyes.
“And you set another one free.”
“That doesn’t redeem me.”
He grabs my shoulders with both hands and turns me to him, lowering his face to mine. Our eyes meet. “You don’t need redemption. You have done nothing wrong.”
“Tell that to him.” I nod at the remnants of the rabbit skin that my dogs are tearing and yapping at. “What are we going to tell them? What are we going to tell El Oso?”
Willem’s face is set and grim. “The dogs got sidetracked. The fox got away and we caught another rabbit.”
“They’re never going to buy it. It’s obvious that rabbit has been long dead.” My fingers dig into Willem’s arm.
“We have to make them believe,” he insists. “We need to convince them that even if you didn’t catch the fox, you won the hunt. You have to be able to select your betrothed.”
“This is about more than us getting married. Don’t you see how dangerous El Oso is? He’s hunting shifters. He found a group of shifters, maybe just two of them, that none of us know anything about and he is using us to intimidate and kill them.”
“And possibly make them think we are all barbaric and know about them.” Willem’s eyes squint as he calculates the problem.
“Do you think our parents know?” I ask.
Willem shakes his head. “My father would never approve of hunting a shifter. Even a Passief. He would just uphold execution. Nothing this brutal.”
“If El Oso finds out we know…what will he do to us? If he will hunt shifters, what’s to stop him from hurting us?”
“He’s not about to do anything to me,” Willem says.
“But—”
“And he’s not about to find out we know.” Willem turns me towards Muiderslot castle. “Go. The Hunt has heard the dogs and are following.” A swarm of birds flank the horizon heading straight for us.
“If I leave, they’ll know something’s off.”
“They will not question me.” Willem’s face is close to mine, as if he is trying to imbue me with his courage and strength simply by proximity.
“The dogs—”
“Go!” He brushes a kiss against my cheek and pushes me away. I glance over my shoulder as he holds Jack’s and Tomas’ collars. Jack’s shrill yapping follows me as I spring into the air and transform. Turning my back to the flock of shifter birds closing in from the horizon, I head straight back to Muiderslot.
Clouds shadow the castle and lawns as I approach. Berzerken chat, laugh and drink in small groups with the Ravensgaard and eagles not joined in the hunt. They play games and sway to classical music as if everything is just fine. A few must have an idea of the deep cruelty of the Grand Master of the Order. El Oso couldn’t have originally caught the fox on his own. I scan the Berzerken crowd as I fly towards the castle. It would take a lot more than that to determine who knows and who doesn’t.
I avoid the lawn and fly around the perimeter of the estate. I’m too shaken to be able to keep a straight face without attracting suspicion. It’s imperative I compose myself before I have to face my family or our guests. I land on the ledge of my bedroom window, tapping my beak on the glass just enough that the outside handle drops down, and I can twist it and pull my window open. Slipping into the confines of my room and fall—in human form—onto the floor, taking in huge gulps of air.
6
I’m surprised to find the enormous kitchen empty when I creep in. The pre-dawn light of the low horizon hasn’t even reached our castle yet, but usually Mrs. Stankoven is around, even at this hour. Especially with all the guests to feed. But now there’s no smell of fresh baking bread and only dark shadows hiding the overstocked shelves. I skipped d
inner last night and avoided everyone. Restless dreams woke me up and I my rumbling stomach drove me down to the kitchen.
Resting a second in the doorway, I widen my eyes, trying to see in the pitch blackness. The early morning is freezing cold, yet there are a few embers still glowing in the hearth. A fire will be nicer light than the glaring overheads. I grab a couple of pieces of wood and some paper from the piles next to the fireplace. Squatting down, I ball the paper up and shove it between the two logs, blowing on it gently. The embers catch the crumpled pages and flames jump up to heat the frigid morning air. A loud purring startles me as our gigantic tabby leans up against me.
“You best not let Mrs. Stankoven find you in here, Aardappel,” I murmur as her tail curls around my hand. “And can you hush? I’ve a fat headache.” Despite going straight to bed last night after arriving back at the castle, I still felt sick. I press my forehead against hers and let her purr massage my pain.
“You know kissing a cat can be bad for a bird’s health.”
I yelp and spring to my feet, my voice shrill in the early morning darkness. My hair slaps me in the face as I whirl around. Giancarlo sits up on a bench at the long table. It looks like he may have spent the night right there.
“Good God.” His dark brown hair waves around his hands as he covers his ears. “Was that really necessary?”
“I didn’t expect to see somebody in the kitchen at four in the morning,” I say. “Anyone other than Mrs. Stankoven.”
I quickly take in his crumpled pants and loose shirt. Heat rises through my face as I notice his pants are undone. He probably wasn’t alone in the kitchen all night. God help the one of us who’s going to have to marry him.
“I fell asleep.” He shrugs, like it’s a normal pastime that one does on a kitchen bench. I stare at him, expecting he will get up and leave me in peace, but he doesn’t make a move, just sits back on the bench, spreads his arms on the table, and does nothing to fasten his pants. He must sense my discomfort and relish it.
I turn my back to him and go to the enormous stainless steel fridge.
“Hangover?” I speak loudly just to grind against his headache, and I keep my voice shrill to hopefully annoy him. It hurts my head, too. But it’s worth it to watch him wince. He groans and smug satisfaction seeps over me. “Not enough sleep?”
I grab things out of the refrigerator and throw them on the table: tomatoes, celery, cucumbers, some peppers. Some hair of the dog might get rid of his headache. It’s almost tempting for mine, except it’s not alcohol induced.
“How was the hunt yesterday?” he asks.
I freeze for an instance, then force my body back into motion, trying to appear normal. It’s a typical question. “Weren’t you on it?”
“I dropped out pretty early.” He waves his hand in the air, splaying his fingers out. “It’s a lot of work, this going on a hunt. I’m not so much into that.”
“Right,” I nod, pointedly eyeing up his disheveled appearance. It’s pretty obvious what he’s in to.
“But I heard you caught the fox.”
My gaze spins on him. He’s inspecting his nails.
“Oh?” I ask, even though I have no idea what I’m saying yes to. I shouldn’t haven’t gone to sleep so early last night. Why didn’t Willem come and tell me what our story was? We caught the fox and it got away? The room has suddenly become a mine field that I’m not sure how to navigate.
“Didn’t you?” he asks.
I thump some canisters down on the table and grab the vodka off the far shelf. The blender is kept on a bottom cupboard and I gratefully tuck myself behind the counter and grab it. What the hell am I going to say? My slow movements don’t seem to deter him.
“Didn’t you?” he repeats the minute I stand up.
I glare at him. “Did they make the formal announcement? I believe that is how these things are done.” I grab a knife and chop tomatoes and cucumbers for the blender.
“Will you pick me if they announce you as the winner of the hunt?” he asks.
As pointed as his question is, it’s easier and safer to answer than any on the hunt. “There are a million reasons why one of my sisters is a better match.”
“Such as?”
“Well, they can cook.” I start chucking items in the open blender.
“I have a chef,” he says.
“It’s just… It’s just not going to be me.”
He shrugs. “There are worse things than being married to me.”
“Like?” I realize how it sounds. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” he says with a laugh. “Everybody has their own taste.” His eyes sparkle, and his tongue touches his lips.
I try to hide all expression from my face as I slam the lid onto the blender and hit the start button. It storms to life. Giancarlo’s eyes glaze over as he lowers his head and turns away, yet he won’t cover his ears. I let the machine run longer than necessary, mashing up all the tomatoes, celery, cucumbers, and vodka.
“This whole idea that women are just broodmares to proliferate the species sickens me,” I say as I switch the blender off. “Male shifters, led by the Order, go around thinking they protect and provide by creating law and order while our job is to feed them and bear their children.”
A smirk slowly creeps on his face, and my fingers itch to take the drink I’m pouring and throw it at him.
“What would you do different?” he asks, blatantly curious.
I stare at him, my mouth gaping open. “I’m sure there are other dumb animals I could take care of rather than a shifter husband.”
“Perhaps.” He cocks his head to the side with a smile. “You know, I’m still curious about this hunt. Willem said the fox got away, but they found a dead rabbit.”
“Uh-huh?” I keep my gaze focused on the spoon I’m stirring the drink with.
“And blood,” he says. “Lots of blood.”
My gaze flies up at him. “What?”
“Blood and bones. Very little rabbit.”
“Here.” I shove the glass into his hand. A bit splashes out, making red splotches on his white tunic. Before he can say anything else, I escape the kitchen.
I race through the dawn towards the kennel, my legs beating a sharp path straight to where Jack and Tomas should be. The air is still with only a few morning birds making short trills from the trees.
What has Willem done? Where are my animals?
The low lying shed of the dog shelter is dark and quiet as I approach. I pump my legs faster, ignoring the potential pot holes and pitfalls as I yank open the door.
“Jack! Tomas!” I call. But there is no answer.
My dogs aren’t here.
The speed with which I ran to the kennel is nothing like the pace I keep to get back to the castle. Our male cousins stay in the tower opposite of ours. I dash up the stairs taking in deep gasps of air to keep my pace solid and strong. Our castle is large but there aren’t enough rooms to accommodate all the guests here for the Matching. Some are staying in tents on the grounds and others are bunking up together in rooms, but not the Heir to Muiderkring West. Willem is given his own room. I don’t even bother to knock on the door, just twist the knob and shove it open.
There is just enough light for me to make out lumpy shapes under the covers in the bed. It’s clearly more than just one person under the covers, but right now I don’t care.
“Where are my dogs?” I bellow as I run forward.
Willem sits up groggy and confused, his movements causing a stir in other parts of the bed.
“What did you do with my dogs?” I ask, my eyes stinging with fear.
He rubs an eye with one hand, waving me over with the other.
“Where are my dogs?”
“It’s okay.” He opens his eyes, smiling at me as throws back the bed sheets. “Here.”
Exhausted and barely waking up themselves, Jack and Tomas lie nestled in the bulky bedding. I launch myself on them, burying my face in their fur. They li
ck at me, beating me with their wagging tails.
“You didn’t seriously think I would kill one of your dogs? Did you?” Willem steps out of the bed and pulls on a robe.
“I didn’t- I don’t- I don’t know?” Jack rolls over on his back and I scratch at his chest. “What did you kill?” I ask.
“I found a sizable ground mouse.”
“You killed a mouse?” I ask.
He shrugs “I’m still an eagle.”
“I’m not sure it worked,” I say. “Giancarlo is suspicious.
“I know.” Willem leans against the dresser watching me tussle the dogs. “I mixed the blood with the fur. Told them the dogs got distracted from the fox by a rabbit and then proceeded to eat it.”
“What did you tell them about me?”
“That you caught the rabbit, but got sick when you saw your dogs tearing it to shreds,” he says.
“Well, that’s true.” I blink back tears and hug Jack and Thomas to me.
“What will we do about the fox?” I ask.
“There is nothing to do,” he says. “We saved his life, and he can return to his people.”
“And we’ll just go on and do whatever the Order tells us to?” I ask.
That isn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted it to be something more powerful, more majestic than that. Something heroic. Like we would break the fears, lies, and corruption wide open. We would stop El Oso and uncover whatever it is that he’s up to.
“Whatever problem there is,” he says, “we’re not going to solve it today. Today, we will follow what the Order tells us to do.”
The Matching.
“Even if they don’t match us?” I ask.
Willem frowns. “I don’t know. We’ll have to deal with that if it happens. I don’t know if they bought the whole story, but there’s a chance they will still let you make your own selection. We just have to wait it out.” He pushes himself away from the dresser, but I jump up from the bed.
“I have to go.” I pat my leg and the dogs jump to my heels. “We just have to wait now, and hope we got something right.”
“I spoke to my father last night,” Willem says. “There might be a chance. He’s talking to El Oso, though we won’t know until the actual Matching. El Oso changes on a dime.”
