A Royal Guide to Monster Slaying

by Kelley Armstrong

“I should go with you. This isn’t fair.”

  “That’s what I said when they sent you after the gryphon.”

  “So you came after me. And I can’t do the same for you.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just talking to a cranky old hunter. I can handle that.” I smile, but my stomach flutters, and I’m glad I didn’t eat much for breakfast. I keep telling myself I can handle this. I must.

  Rhydd grumbles. Then he says, “I’ll miss you.”

  “That’s why you get to look after my jackalope. He’ll keep you company.”

  He snorts. “Thanks.”

  “Would you rather take Malric?”

  Rhydd looks at the warg, who turns baleful yellow eyes on him.

  “No, thank you,” Rhydd says with a shudder. “He’d kill me in my sleep.”

  “Don’t be silly. He wouldn’t wait until you’re asleep.”

  “Your highness?” One of my guards appears. “The sun is rising. It’s time to go.”

  As a groom brings my mare, my mother joins us. I hug my brother. Hug my mother. Berinon gets a nod—a public embrace would be “inappropriate” even if only the guards are here to see it. When Berinon helps me onto my horse, though, he squeezes my shoulder and slips a pouch into my pocket.

  “A jar of honey for Wilmot,” he murmurs. “He’s unnaturally fond of it. Tell him I apologize for throttling him.”

  “Throttle—? What?”

  “Never mind.” Another squeeze. “It’ll be fine. He’s a good man.”

  I’m not dropping the throttling comment that easily. As I start to ask, though, a cry sounds from the castle. A crash, like dropped dishes. The scream of a startled maid. Then a brown blur shoots through the open door.

  It’s the jackalope. He leaps onto Malric’s back. There’s a pause as the jackalope looks around, as if unsure where he’s landed. Malric glances over his shoulder, lips curling, a growl vibrating through him.

  The jackalope squeaks in alarm. As he leaps away, he still manages to thump Malric’s head with his hind legs. The warg snaps, but the jackalope is gone—he’s vaulted straight onto my mare. He hops onto my shoulders and nestles his front quarters on my head.

  “Oh no,” I say, reaching for him as everyone laughs. “No, no, no.”

  He hops down and perches on the pommel instead. Then he leans over the mare’s neck, ears perked, nose twitching.

  “He says you’re ready to go now, my lady,” Berinon says. “Apparently, you forgot him. A terrible oversight. But he’s fixed it.”

  “I locked him in his crate. I know I did.”

  A maid appears, holding the gnawed remains of the crate door.

  “He loves you,” Rhydd says. “You’re his very special monster-hunting princess.”

  “No, I’m just the person who feeds him.”

  I reach into my pack and dangle dried meat in front of the jackalope’s nose. He rises. I toss it to Berinon, who catches it. Berinon walks over, dangling the meat. The jackalope ignores him. When Berinon reaches to pick him up, the beast hisses.

  “Just take him, Ro,” Rhydd says. “He might find the perfect den and stay there. I doubt it. In fact, I’d bet a gold coin against it. But you never know.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But if he falls off, I’m not going back for him.” I lean down. “Hear that, bunny?”

  He squeaks and digs his claws into the saddle. I prod the horse forward, and we’re off.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  t takes three days to reach the edge of the Dunnian Woods. That’s where my guards must make camp and wait for me. I venture in with only my pack, a map, Malric and my jackalope. I can’t even take my mare—the woods are too thick for riding. This is the mountain foothills again, much farther north than we went for the gryphon. Wilmot lives out here, among the monsters. To hire him, you either have to venture into this dark forest or leave a message at the nearest village.

  I’m okay walking in the forest alone because I’m not really alone. I have my fierce and terrible warg companion, who loves me and will protect me against all dangers. Okay, he doesn’t love me…or like me very much. I’m not even sure about the protecting part. He walks ten paces ahead, and I tell myself he’s clearing the way, making sure it’s safe, but I can’t help wondering if he’s keeping his distance in hopes that if something does attack me, he can pretend he didn’t notice.

  What? The princess was devoured by a pack of ravenous warakins? But she was right behind me, and I never heard a thing. Weird.

  Rhydd is correct that Malric tolerates me, and that’s more than he does for most people. But I want more. We’ve been together since Jannah’s death, a week now. I’ve made sure he has a warm bed at night. I’ve brought him the best food. I’ve taken him into the castle forest, where he can run and hunt. I even tried to scratch behind his ears. That last one didn’t go so well. I still have all my fingers, though, so that’s something.

  I’m good with beasts. Everyone says so. I’m kind to them, and they are kind in return. All except Malric. Well, and Courtois, but he’s a unicorn, and if he was nice, I’d wonder whether he’d been hit in the head.

  Mom said that Malric is grieving, just like us. I understand that, but I still want to see something. Some sign that he’s not wishing he could take off into the woods and never come back. And as I’m thinking that, the jackalope takes off into the woods…and does not come back.

  It’s not the first time the jackalope has bounded away, investigating a scent or chasing a mouse or doing jackalope things. Before, though, as soon as I’d start worrying about him, he’d zoom back and climb up to rest on my head, and I’d grumble about that, if only to hide my relief at his return. This time, he does not come back.

  After about a half hour, I start to worry. What if he’s in trouble? He is still a baby. I should go look for him. Unless he’s just decided he’s done with me. The thought stings more than I expected.

  That’s when a cry pierces the air. The jackalope’s alarm call.

  I barrel into the forest as I draw my sword. Malric snarls and wheels to block my path. I growl, “Get out of my way,” my gaze locked on the warg’s.

  Malric lowers his head and growls back. I sidestep to pass him. He pivots, yellow eyes following me, but he doesn’t move. When I break into a run, though, he catches my tunic in his teeth.

  Slow down. That’s what he’s saying. Proceed with caution.

  Malric’s right, but my mind runs through the glossary of forest monsters big enough to eat a baby jackalope. The cry seems to come from above. A memory flashes—the gryphon with me in its talons—and my stomach rolls over.

  No, the forest is too dense for a gryphon.

  Which still means the jackalope could have been seized by a wyvern or a phoenix or a—

  Stop. Just stop.

  I hear Jannah’s voice in my head.

  When it comes to potential monsters, acknowledge the possibilities, but don’t let them overwhelm you. Be aware. Be prepared. Then move forward. Always move forward.

  As I follow the call, I realize I’m running uphill. That’s why the jackalope seems to be calling from overhead.

  His cry comes again. Two sharp bursts followed by two hollow ones, almost like echoes.

  I burst out of the woods into a clearing. We’re near the top of a rocky foothill, and I don’t see any sign of—

  Another cry, definitely followed by an echo. Ahead lies the dark opening of a cave.

  Some beast has carried the jackalope into its den.

  As I grip the sword, my hands tremble. I can fight off a wild dog or even a wolf. A warakin, maybe. A warg?

  I glance over at the one with me. Having Malric here means I can fight whatever is in this cave. We’ll do it together.

  The cave entrance is only waist-high. I crouch to peer in, but it’s pitch black. The sun is dropping, shadows swallowing that entrance. I could take out my lantern, but that would mean sheathing my sword.

  I slide one hand off the hilt, but only to let my pac
k fall. It hits the ground with a thump. The cave stays silent. I grip the sword again, take a slow step forward and—

  Another thump. This one sounds beside me. It’s Malric. He’s plunked himself down, as if settling in for a rest. I motion that we’re going after the jackalope. He sniffs and lays his head on his paws. I glower, and I swear the beast rolls his eyes.

  Okay, so apparently, we are not going after the jackalope. I’m doing it alone.

  I glare at Malric. He closes his eyes. I swallow again and then fix my attention on the cave entrance, take one step…

  The jackalope hops into view. I exhale in a long shuddering breath. Then I sheath my sword and reach to snatch him up before whatever is in the cave—

  The jackalope hops back inside.

  “No!” I shout.

  I dive for him before I realize what I’m doing. I hit the ground just inside the entrance. From deep within comes a noise, and I slowly lift my head to see…

  The jackalope. That’s all. The jackalope sits in a shallow and otherwise empty cave. He turns around and, with his powerful hind legs, kicks dried leaves onto a pile. Then he picks up a tuft of old fur and places it with the leaves. He head-butts everything into place and looks at me expectantly. When I don’t react, he hops onto the pile and turns around twice, like a dog getting comfortable. Then he squeaks at me.

  “A nest,” I say. “You’ve found a den and made a nest.” What I’d mistaken for an alarm cry had been a simple alert cry instead. Malric had known that.

  I look out at the warg and see the lengthening shadows behind him.

  Twilight is coming. Twilight…when the monsters hunt.

  I was supposed to be at Wilmot’s by now. That was the plan. I entered the forest at dawn, giving me all day to walk, so I’d be at Wilmot’s before the sun went down.

  It can’t be much farther. Maybe I can still make it.

  I crawl from the cave, ignoring the jackalope’s squeaks. I shade my eyes against the falling sun and squint down the hill. There’s no sign of a house. No smoke rising from a chimney.

  I pull out my map and run my finger along the route. I’ve traveled only three-quarters of the way.

  Was I walking too slowly? Did I stop too long to eat? I recall a pause to sketch a hoop snake that crossed our path. And a brief detour when I heard a waterfall. And then there were the times when the jackalope scampered off, and I slowed so he could find us again.

  Maybe I can still make it if we run.

  I wander past Malric, still considering. He growls. When I take another step, he’s on his feet, lunging into my path. He jerks his muzzle at the cave. Telling me that the jackalope is right. As much as I don’t want to stay the night here, I’m safer in that cave than wandering in the twilight when the monsters come out.

  I grab my pack and take it into the cave. Arriving at Wilmot’s will have to wait another day.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  fter I’ve eaten, I fall into a fitful sleep, and when I hear thunder, I wake just enough to scoot farther into the cave before the rain comes. The jackalope snuggles up with me, and the beat of his heart starts lulling me back into slumber. I can still hear the thunder rolling toward us.

  The sound grows louder and louder. Then it stops.

  The thunder stops, but I still feel it in the ground, vibrating beneath me. It’s a steady, rolling noiseless thunder. I manage to open one sleepy eye and see only darkness. I can’t smell or hear rain, but it must be coming, so I huddle under the blanket and close my eyes.

  The thunder stops, and sleep tugs at me again. I’m drifting off when a smell wafts past. It’s faint, but familiar. A light musk mingled with something sweet. It’s a nice smell, a comforting one and yet…

  A sudden gust of wind hits my face. Warm wind, carrying that sweet smell.

  Did I break Wilmot’s honey jar? I try to open my eyes to check, but I’m too tired. I’ll check in the morning. The storm is gone, and everything is fine and—

  Another blast of warm air. I open one eye to see yellow. A brilliant yellow orb, shot through with brown. An amber jewel with a rich brown center. Almost like…

  Skin slides over the orb.

  I’m looking into a giant amber eye.

  The head pulls back, filling the cave entrance. I see an eagle’s head. No, a gryphon’s head, its beak opening, coming straight for me—

  I startle awake, my limbs flailing, the jackalope flying off my lap. I leap up…and smack my head against stone. I scramble out of the cave as I pull my sword, ready to face…

  Nothing. There’s nothing there. Just Malric, rising and glowering at me for disturbing his sleep. Just the jackalope, chattering at my feet, confused and concerned.

  Nightmare.

  I had a nightmare.

  A droplet of water plops onto my nose, and I jump again. I look around to see that everything’s wet. Distant thunder rolls past. That’s what I heard in my sleep. Real thunder from a real storm, which sparked memories of the gryphon.

  Still, even knowing it was a nightmare, I can’t relax my grip on my sword. I back into the cave and lower myself to the ground, my eyes wide, ears straining.

  The jackalope squeaks and hops onto my lap. As he nestles down, I stroke his fur, and I am grateful for him. For the warmth of him. For his little squeaks that sound like reassurance and sympathy.

  It’s still dark out. So dark and so quiet that I want to cry, grab the jackalope and run all the way back to my guards and say, “I can’t do this.”

  I’m scared. I’m scared of everything right now, and I hate it. I’m the girl who charges into danger, not the one who huddles in a cave, trying not to cry.

  Jannah is gone. Dead. I will never see my aunt again, and I loved her so much. I’m not sure I ever told her that. Even at the end, I was so busy listening to her words that I never said my own.

  I didn’t tell my mother that I loved her before I left. I never do that. Rhydd does, but I don’t. I figure she knows.

  I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell Rhydd. I didn’t tell Berinon.

  I love you, and if I don’t come back, I want you to know that.

  If I don’t come back…

  I swipe away a falling tear. Now I’m being silly. There’s no gryphon here. It was a nightmare. Of course I’ll come back.

  I just might not come back with Wilmot. He could refuse me. And then what? Who’ll train me?

  What if Mom can’t fix this and I do need to fight the gryphon or we’ll lose our kingdom to Heward?

  I’m twelve! How does anyone expect a twelve-year-old to fight a gryphon?

  They don’t. That’s the point. Even my mother knows I can’t fight a gryphon, so she’s frantically trying to fix this so I don’t have to.

  No one expects that I can do this.

  But I need to believe I can. Jannah always said that’s the most important thing for a warrior. You must believe you can do it. My father said the same thing. Confidence will take you far.

  It can also get you killed, Dad. Get you rushing into a fight you can’t win.

  Even as I think that, a little voice inside me whispers, But isn’t this what you wanted? To be the royal monster hunter?

  Tears fill my eyes, and I try to blink them back, but they spill down my cheeks.

  My aunt is dead. My brother injured. The entire kingdom at risk. But I get to be the royal monster hunter. Exactly what I wanted, what I dreamed of, what I wished for.

  Not like this. I did not want it like this.

  I fall back against the cave wall and slump to the floor as I sob. The jackalope licks my tears, as if to remind me I’m not alone. I pat his head, and I am, again, grateful for him. Yes, I’m not alone here. I have the jackalope and I have…

  I look over at Malric. The warg lies outside the cave, his massive head on his paws. He’s still glowering from being woken up. Glowering as if to say I’d better not do that again.

  Rhydd says Malric doesn’t hate me. Yet on this trip, I’ve seen the warg watchin
g me like this, and I feel hated. As if he blames me for Jannah’s death. She’s gone, and he’s stuck with me, and he hates me for it.

  I’m a weak little girl who jumps at nightmares. The girl who let his monster hunter die. I am unworthy of the ebony sword. Unworthy of him.

  Before we went to bed, Malric caught his dinner. A rabbit, which I thought was kind of rude, with the jackalope right there. Malric often hunted on trips with Jannah. He’d bring back his catch, and she’d cook it, take a little for her own dinner, and give the rest to him. So I’d thought that’s what he was doing, and I was pleased. I went to take the rabbit…and he growled at me. Actually growled at me.

  I decided he just didn’t understand my intentions. He thought I was stealing his meal. So I laid a fire, letting him see why I wanted the rabbit. When I tried to take it again, he snapped at my hand. Then he took his dinner and retreated to the forest to eat it. Alone.

  I wasn’t even worthy of sharing Malric’s meal. Or cooking it for him.

  I can’t fall back to sleep. By the time the first dawn light seeps into the darkness, Malric’s dozing so soundly that he’s snoring. The jackalope is, too, his antler prongs twitching with each exhale.

  I’m lying on my side, with the jackalope snuggled against my stomach. I ease away, and he shivers, but when I push my blanket closer to him he relaxes and purrs.

  I take soap from my pack and head down the foothill to a stream I’d seen earlier. I’m hoping to bathe, but as soon as I draw near, I see the stream is still spring-swollen from mountain run-off, water running fast. I’ll wash my hair at the edge. I haven’t cleaned it since I left the castle four days ago, and it feels disgusting.

  I wash my hair carefully on the bank. When it’s done, I flip it back, hearing it slap against my tunic. A noise sounds across the water. I look over to see a deer. A regular deer—a beautiful young doe who came to the stream to drink. When I threw back my hair, it startled her, and she’s staring at me, water dripping from her chin. I pause to watch her. And I smile, because it doesn’t matter if she isn’t a rare monster. Standing there, with the sun rising behind her, she is beautiful.