The Great Hunt (19 page)

Aerity, flushed and angry, poked her head into every room as she passed, searching for her cousin.

“There you are, Princess!” Caitrin said when she caught sight of Aerity bustling down the hall. “I’ve a message for you.”

The maid rushed to keep up when the princess didn’t stop.

“Have you seen Lady Wyneth?” Aerity asked.

“Er, no, Your Highness. But I’m to tell you the royal family is to sup together this afternoon in the formal dining room.”

At this, Aerity halted, causing the bright tapestry beside her to stir. “Is everything all right?”

“As far as I know. Other than the Zandalee being ill.”

“Yes, of course.” Both girls stood in solemn silence for a moment.

Caitrin touched the princess’s arm. “Are you well, my lady?”

“Oh . . . aye.” Aerity forced a quick smile.

“May I brush out your hair before the early supper?” Caitrin eyed the tangles caused by wind. Aerity absently nodded and followed her maid to her chambers. To her surprise, Lady Wyneth was sitting on Aerity’s window seat with a book open on the gray skirts of her lap, looking out over the west commons.

“Cousin!” Aerity rushed over and slid onto the window seat with her, grasping her hands. “I’ve been searching for you. You’ll never believe what has just happened.”

Wyneth’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Why are your cheeks so red?”

“Well, partly because I’ve run from the docks all through the castle searching for you. And partly because of that rogue Paxton Seabolt!”

“Ooh . . .” Wyneth straightened. The light from the window brought out her soft freckles. “What did the scoundrel do?”

Aerity huffed, relishing her cousin’s full attention. Behind her, Caitrin set to work brushing out her hair, starting at the bottom and working her way up.

“It’s more of what he said.” Aerity rehashed the
conversation, eliciting all sorts of gasping and tutting and mouth covering from her cousin. She left out the bit about telling Paxton she wanted him to kill the beast, because that was simply humiliating in hindsight. At the end, both Wyneth and Caitrin broke into fits of giggles.

Aerity gaped at them. “Must everyone laugh at my expense today?”

“I’m sorry,” Wyneth told her, pulling her in for a quick hug. Aerity caught sight of her cousin’s red knuckles.

“What happened to your hands?”

Wyneth’s eyebrows scrunched as she pulled her hands back. “Nothing. Just chapped.”

“You’re too trusting, Princess,” said Caitrin, shifting Aerity’s attention off her cousin. “And Paxton Seabolt is likely not accustomed to sweet lasses such as yourself. His reputation precedes him.”

The princess nearly gave herself whiplash turning to her maid. “You’ve heard of him? What is his reputation?”

Caitrin’s eyes sparkled with gossip. “Well, it’s said that he’s known in Cape Creek for being the most eligible bachelor, but to everyone’s dismay he’s sworn off marriage.”

Had he? Curiosity and reservation swirled inside Aerity.

“Whatever for?” asked Wyneth.

Caitrin shrugged. “Nobody knows. He’s simply not the marrying type. The women he’s been known to fraternize with are . . . well . . .” She looked back and forth between the royal girls’ waiting faces. “Not exactly innocents. An
unsavory crowd of friends, you might say. And yet, he and his family are well respected.”

So Paxton was experienced. She had figured this, but hearing it for certain gave her a swoop of sickening dizziness.

Aerity felt herself frowning. She wondered how Paxton viewed her in comparison with the women he was accustomed to. Did he think of her as some naïve child? Embarrassment consumed her all over again, followed closely by jealousy at the thought of those other women. Would he tell everyone in Cape Creek how he’d tricked her? She’d be the laughingstock of Lochlanach.

“There, there,” Caitrin said, turning Aerity by the shoulders to continue brushing. “Jesting is the way of commoners. And men don’t tease women they don’t like. I assure you. He was flirting in his own way.”

Aerity didn’t know if she believed that. It felt more like he was making a fool of her for his own mysterious reasons.

“But why would he be here if he doesn’t want to marry?” she asked.

Caitrin blinked at her as if it were obvious. “Marrying a princess is something different altogether.” The maid gave the princess’s hand a brief, consoling pat, and left her to put away the brush.

“Hm.” Aerity looked out of the window, suddenly sad.

Together the cousins stared down at the men in the commons, tending to their weapons and bending over maps. When Paxton entered through the gates, Aerity held her breath. He
still wore the leather strap in his hair, but some shorter strands had escaped and now framed his face. She felt Wyneth look up at her, but she kept her eyes on the man below—a stranger by all accounts. How could he cause so many emotions to tumble through her?

“I know Paxton is your first choice,” Wyneth said. “But what of the others? Have any of the other men caught your fancy?” The question felt somehow . . . loaded.

Aerity watched Paxton walk toward the tents, out of sight, and she relaxed. “No.”

“None of them at all?” Wyneth prodded.

“No,” she said again. “None like Paxton.” She felt a fool. She really should not let herself grow attached to the idea of one of these men. If another killed the beast, it would make her future marriage all the harder.

Wyneth chewed her lip. Aerity would have brought up the fact that she suspected one of the hunters fancied Wyneth, but mentioning Lord Lief Alvi could become awkward. Aerity didn’t think Wyneth was ready to consider other men, anyhow. The princess shifted uncomfortably at the idea of marrying a man who liked her cousin better, regardless of whether Wyneth returned the man’s sentiments or not. She couldn’t fathom having that sort of strain in her life.

“I find the younger Seabolt to be quite pleasing to the eye,” Caitrin said. “The two of you would have the sweetest wee ones ever born.”

Aerity smiled a little, but it was fleeting. “Tiern is kind
and handsome.” She’d prefer to feel passionate about someone such as him, someone good for her, but apparently life did not work that way. At least not for her. And what did it matter who she fancied? She would not get to choose.

The great beast had stolen that privilege from her.

A late autumn sun beamed down on the hunters as they peered at the map. All traces of fog and rain had burned away, leaving behind mud and dampness everywhere. Paxton wiped a drip of sweat from his brow and bit his tongue for the umpteenth time as Volgan mentioned separating from Paxton and his men.

“We’re down to only six Lochlans,” Lieutenant Harrison began.

“Not our fault your men bowed out like cowards!” Volgan bellowed. “Your lot can join forces with the few remaining Zorfinans.”

Their arguing voices were interrupted by the sounds of shuffling feet and murmuring voices drifting from the gates.
Lief Alvi and Paxton met eyes and the lord quieted his men with a raised hand. Together they looked toward the gates.

A group of men stood there, Lochlan fishermen, based on their cotton tunics and hair of browns and reds, some with leather aprons to protect them while scaling and gutting. In their hands they held gaffing hooks, rough boards, and large sticks. Two guards shook their heads, as if forbidding entrance to the men. Paxton moved forward with Tiern close on his heels.

“What’s going on?” he asked a guard through the iron bars and vine.

“These men wish to have a word with you lot, but they’re armed.”

“To protect ourselves against the beast!” one of the fishermen yelled. “Not to use against the hunters.”

“We’re here to help!” another shouted.

Paxton felt his eyebrows go up. “You wish to help?”

A man with great girth and a filthy apron pushed his way to the front and grabbed the bars with both hands, pressing his face to the opening. “We’ve heard the beast can take to the water. We can help you trap the thing. We’ll line the waterways with our boats. Maybe it’ll deter it. Maybe it won’t, but we’re tired of hiding. We got the message and we’ve come. Our older boys and some of our wives will take to high trees with horns.”

“The curfew has only been lifted for men,” began one of the guards. “It’s still instated for youth, women, and
children—” began another guard, but a villager cut him off.

“The beast killed my wife’s brother! It’s attacking us in our own homes and we won’t stand it any longer!”

The men let out a roar of cries, raising their makeshift weapons.

“This could be brilliant,” Tiern whispered behind him.

Paxton nodded. Lord Alvi stepped up beside him and spoke to the guards. “Let them in, and send one of your men to oversee the conversation. Take news to the king that some townspeople and their youth will not be adhering to the curfew.” Paxton nearly laughed at the looks of shock the guards gave one another. He wondered if they would dare to argue with the Ascomannian lord. In the end, Lief did not give them the chance. He simply cocked his blond head toward the maps and barreled on. “Come, we have much to discuss before tonight’s hunt.”

They set off at dusk, Paxton and his three fellow Lochlans, seven Zorfinans, and twenty-odd Ascomannians. The wealthy Lochlan hunters had pulled out of the hunt after their friend was carried off in the beast’s mouth, and the parents of the two younger lads came to cart them back home to relative safety, much against their wishes.

Tonight, the men spread their ranks along the Eurona River, where townspeople and watermen would line their boats offshore. The river would take them farther into Lochlanach than they’d hunted before. It wasn’t an area where the
beast had attacked in the past, but it gave them the best hunting advantages—brush and trees were less dense along the riverside, and their voices could carry farther to one another if a sighting was made.

In attempts to draw the beast out, the hunters felled two fat squirrels and dabbed their exposed skin and clothing with its fresh blood. Not a single hunter had washed that day, hoping their natural scents would lure their prey.

As they walked several miles in the waning sun, they spotted older lads, lasses, and women scattered about high in trees along the way, camouflaged and holding horns and bows. Tiern grinned and Paxton nodded.

The day had been unseasonably warm, but the moment the sun dropped, all heat seemed to siphon from the air, sending a prickle of chill across Paxton’s bare forearms. He should have brought along his overcoat. Autumn in Lochlanach was temperamental. No matter. Paxton prided himself on having thick skin.

Paxton and Tiern took the southernmost tip of the hunt. Hours passed, with Paxton hunched against a pine tree and Tiern’s still form in the distance, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. A three-quarter moon was barely visible through the mist of quickly moving clouds. The rushing tinkle of river water was the only background noise. Even the crickets were quiet.

They waited. Paxton knew the beast was unpredictable, but he wasn’t looking forward to listening to the gripes of
Volgan and his men if the monster didn’t come to them, or if it attacked elsewhere. If tonight didn’t work, he’d have to concede to Volgan’s idea to spread their numbers sparingly over the land.

He was still contemplating the sight of Volgan’s gloating face when, at the sound of a horn some distance away, Paxton went rigid. The beast had been spotted.

Paxton eyed Tiern, and ever so slowly, the brothers nocked arrows to their bows and turned in crouching positions to stare into the darkened woods. The clouds had thickened as the evening wore on, obscuring details of the land. Paxton’s eyes darted about for any sign of movement in the dark, while his body remained motionless.

Another horn sounded from the south, and another, getting closer.

“Should we go to it?” Tiern whispered.

“No. It’s heading this way.” He knew other hunters were nearby, just north of them, and he didn’t want to move from their range of hearing.

Several quiet minutes passed, but Paxton remained silent with expectation. Then he saw something—at first he thought the creature crouching on all fours was a bear that had ventured down from the mountains. But then he heard a snuffle and snorted grunt.

Blood thrummed through Paxton’s body to his fingertips where he held the bowstring taut as he aimed. But he couldn’t yet shoot—the beast was still sniffing at the ground, head
swiveling side to side. It appeared agitated, probably from the sounds of the horns.

Paxton had to hit the neck or nothing. If he shot now, it would only alert the beast of their presence. He had to wait it out.

Paxton saw Tiern move in his peripheral vision. His brother had picked up a small rock and was staring at him with question. Ah . . . he wanted to throw it, to get the beast to raise its head. It could either work brilliantly or cause the beast to run. Paxton stared at the rooting beast a moment longer before giving Tiern a nod.

Tiern slipped behind his tree where the beast couldn’t see him, and he threw the rock up into the treetops. Paxton never took his eye from the beast. It snorted loudly and looked up, revealing a patch of furry neck as the rock hit high and began tumbling down.

Gotcha.

Paxton let his arrow fly. The beast began to lower its head just as the arrow hit the side of its neck and stuck there. It let out a howl and rose on its back legs, smacking the protruding object from its neck.

“Yes!” Tiern hissed in excitement.

Paxton’s next arrow was already soaring, but it merely skimmed the side of the beast’s neck this time, serving to further enrage the creature. When it roared this time, voices sounded nearby. The other hunters had heard.

From out of nowhere, Samuel appeared, sliding onto
the ground before the beast and pointing his arrow straight upward—a perfect shot. Before he could release, the beast kicked out, lifting Samuel’s body like a rag doll. The man slammed into a tree, collapsing, his neck hanging at a severe angle. Paxton cursed loudly.

“Samuel!” Tiern shouted, but the man did not move. The beast snorted and took several sideways steps, as if woozy. Harrison slipped out from behind a nearby tree and crouched at Samuel’s side. He checked the man’s pulse and shook his head.

The beast righted itself and scratched at the ground, gouging deep marks.

Their next arrows were ready, and the brothers shot together, but it was no use. The beast now protected its soft spot. Their fast-moving arrows merely pinged off its upper chest like gnats. It set its sight on Paxton, giving its tusks a shake, flinging thick saliva, and charged.

Paxton wasn’t fool enough to think he could take the beast on his own, and he knew Tiern wouldn’t sit back and watch without attempting to fight alongside him. That left him with one option.

“Run!” Paxton shouted. The brothers and Harrison sprinted north through the brush, bows in hand, leaping bushes and fallen logs. The beast’s paws pounded the ground and it grunted with each running step.

“Incoming!” Tiern shouted.

Footsteps pounded the ground as hunters seemed to
appear out of nowhere, Ascomannians and Zorfinans getting their first wide-eyed glimpses of the beast. Once they were a sizable group, Paxton and Tiern turned, dropped to the dirt, and aimed their bows upward. All around them men were yelling and arrows were flying.

What in the . . . ? The beast was no longer charging them. It had taken an abrupt turn.

“It’s going to the water!” Harrison called.

Paxton should have known—just like last time the beast was injured, it wanted to flee. He jumped to his feet and ran with the others toward the river. A jarring boom and splash sounded from the river, and the beast roared. Tinny voices of rivermen were crying out from boats, throwing rocks and lighting small black powder bombs to toss in the water. The far side of the river was lined with even more townspeople, thrusting fiery torches in the air and screaming curses at the beast that were muffled by the distance.

The beast ran up the riverside, northward, zigzagging back and forth between the water’s edge and the forest, where hunters shot arrows and emerged from the trees with war cries. Any who came near were batted away by the massive, clawed paws, but it never stopped to fight.

It proved to be faster than the men, but Paxton and the other breathless hunters ran on with fervent desperation. Paxton felt a horrible now-or-never urgency in his gut. He’d been the one to injure the beast and he wanted to be sure the job was finished by someone this very night. Watching the beast
put distance between them filled him with a sinking sensation.

We can’t fail tonight. We can’t.

Some of the men had to stop, bending and grabbing their knees to catch their breaths. Paxton could hear Tiern’s panting breaths just behind him. To his right were Lord Alvi and Volgan. To his left were Harrison and two hooded Zorfinans.

The beast veered toward the woods again, and this time disappeared into the trees. The hunters followed. As a mile turned to two, the terrain became rockier and steeper.

“We’re nearing the ridgelands,” Tiern said, breathless. They peered at the jagged landscape through the dark. Paxton nodded and Lief gave a grunt.

They ran on until darkness fell and they could no longer see or hear the beast, which had been moving upward, away from the water. It became difficult to discern tracks in the sliver of moonlight. When the group of men stopped to catch their breaths and drink from their pouches, Paxton realized how cold it’d become.

Tiern jutted his chin toward the sky. “Look.” The word came out as a mist of steam in the cool air as he rubbed his hands up and down his arms. Hulking gray clouds rolled above them.

“It will pass,” Paxton said. Annoyance gripped him. He didn’t have time for weather issues. The beast was at their mercy. It was out there, injured, nearby, and it would need to stop and tend to itself soon. Paxton was itching to turn and
leave the others, give chase on his own.

They looked around at the silhouettes of one another. Lief’s voice rang out. “Daybreak is in a few hours. We can track it thoroughly in the light, but we’ll be wasting precious time. And if rain comes, all will be lost.”

Paxton did not want to stop. Volgan glanced his way and seemed to read his mind, lifting his chin haughtily. “I say we continue on, my lord.”

“A storm comes. We have no supplies,” one of the Zorfinans pointed out in a broken accent.

“Then run back home where you’re safe and sound,” Volgan spat.

Paxton stopped the glowering Zorfinan from moving forward.

“It is suicide to go in ridgelands in cold,” the Zorfinan said to Paxton. The man was shivering already, accustomed to the dry heat of the Zorfina deserts, his clothing and head scarf too lightweight for these temperatures.

Volgan chuckled under his breath, and Paxton could no longer stomach it. He stepped close to the hairy man and spoke through clenched teeth.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you, once and for all.”

Volgan’s eyes widened at Paxton’s threat, his hairy lips open, but Lief stepped between them and gave his man a push backward. “Our fight is not with one another. I was going to suggest some of the men stay here anyway, in case the beast comes back down.”

The seven Zorfinans gave tight nods of agreement. Paxton turned to Tiern, who was slightly shivering, too. He spoke to his brother under his breath.