The Great Hunt (29 page)

He blearily turned his head to the scene beside him on the shore, blinking as it sank in. Lief stood over top of the beast, breathing hard. The hilt of the dagger stuck out of the beast’s
hairy throat, where it had been deeply lodged. It was unmoving. Their foe was dead, killed by the Ascomannian lord.

Lief turned his head and froze when he saw Paxton watching. He shook his head. “You could have been a prince.” Aye. He could have been a prince with a dead brother.

Lief’s eyes went to Tiern, who pushed up onto his elbows, and the lord’s mouth fell open. He gawked back and forth between Paxton and Tiern, then his mouth clamped shut, and he chuckled without humor, shaking his head.

“Pax . . . ?” Tiern took in the situation, glancing down at the blood surrounding him, and at Lord Alvi standing over the beast. “What have you done? You . . . you shouldn’t have . . .”

“Quiet.” Pax got to his feet and brushed the sand from his body as best as he could. His heart raced. His stomach rolled. He looked over at Princess Aerity’s passed-out form on the shore. He’d made his choice. What’s done was done and now he had to live with it.

“Princess. Princess Aerity . . . can you hear me?”

The deep masculine voice seemed to come to her from afar, like a soft dream of foreign lands she’d read about in books. She tried to move, and a shooting pain sang out from her ribs, urging a moan to rise from her throat. She’d only felt this sort of pain when the horse had broken her arm all those years ago.

“Sh, Princess,” said the deep voice again. But it wasn’t the voice she sought. “The beast is dead. Boats are coming. Be still for now.”

Dead? Boats? Aerity blinked her eyes, feeling the grit of sand and salt covering her body. She tried to sit up, but gasped
against the pain and grabbed the spot under her breast. Definitely broken ribs.

Slowly, the horrific events came back to her—the beast’s dull, trusting eyes; the feel of tough flesh as she’d shoved the knife into its neck. Her stomach turned, remembering. And then she’d watched it react in pain, recalled its great hind leg rising, and felt the crack of her ribs, the wind at her back, the water filling her ears.

She blinked again at the dark gray sky, stars just beginning to sparkle to life. And then a shudder violently overtook Aerity’s body. She nearly retched as realization dawned. She’d left her little sister, weakened, in the building with that madwoman. Had help arrived? Was she safe? And, oh, seas . . . the beast . . . who had killed it?

Aerity turned her head and saw Tiern sitting at the edge of the shore, his knees pulled up. But it had been Lord Alvi’s voice she heard upon awakening. . . .
The beast is dead
. . . and here sat Tiern, alone and upset. Where was Paxton? Ignoring the pain, Aerity’s head whipped to the side. There was the beast, truly dead by the water, with Lief working over it. Paxton was nowhere. Aerity felt bewildered as bits of reality shook her. She was afraid to speak, to learn what had happened.

Tiern stared down at the water that splashed over his bare feet. She’d never seen him look forlorn like this, as if lost in dark thoughts.

Fear seized her. Her eyes adjusted as she peered around. A boat was being rowed rapidly around the bend toward them.
Farther behind it, great flames rose from the distant Isle of Loch, thick smoke licking the sky.

“Vixie . . .” Carefully, Aerity rolled and pushed up on her elbow, one hand in the sand to anchor herself. Down the shore, Lord Alvi was still leaning over the beast’s stiff form, doing something that she couldn’t figure out. Her eyes darted around, panic pumping through her.

“Vixie,” she whispered. It hurt to talk. “They need to get Vixie.” But nobody could hear her.

As the boat neared, and an anchor was thrown out, Aerity heard a guard shout, “Has the great beast been slain? Is it finally done?”

Lord Alvi, stood, in all his glory, holding the beast’s massive head in his hand. His face was fearsome. Aerity’s breath caught as he shouted, “The beast will no longer ravish the lands of Lochlanach! I have killed it this very night!”

Cursed seas
. . .

The boat full of men roared a unified cheer, in direct opposition to the feelings raging inside Aerity. Tiern’s head hung. Men jumped out, splashing, running ashore to congratulate Lord Alvi and thank him.

“Tiern!” the princess shouted, crying out in pain, but he couldn’t hear her over the men. Surely they wouldn’t be celebrating if something had happened to the younger princess. Aerity pushed to her knees and yelled again, “Where! Is! Vixie?” One soldier turned, blanching at the sight of her, then jogged over.

“Are you okay, Princess Aerity? I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you—”

“Never mind me. Where is my sister?”

He nodded. “Princess Vixie was rushed by boat to the castle docks.”

“Thank you,” Aerity breathed. Having seen that she was now awake, Tiern stood and came over, lowering himself to her side.

“It’s all right,” he told the soldier. “I’ve got her.”

“Another boat is coming,” the man told Aerity. “We’ll have you back to the castle and fixed up in no time.” She nodded, and the man left them.

Aerity pressed a hand against her ribs. “Tiern?”

He faced her, his long hair hanging limp. “Aye?” he whispered.

She could barely force the words out. “Where . . . where is Pax?”

He dropped his eyes, ashamed. “Gone. He has left.”

Aerity’s mind spun. “He’s alive?”

Tiern nodded. Aerity’s heart plumped with relief, only to sink again as she realized he’d truly left, just as he promised. Tiern glanced over at the celebrating men, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Princess. It’s my fault. Pax should have had the kill. It was his, but he gave it to Lief. . . . He should have let me die.”

A chill of realization tingled down Aerity’s spine as she took in Tiern’s blood-soaked skin and trousers. Her head
snapped up to Lord Alvi, midshore. Amid the animated talking, his blond head turned to her and met her eyes. His face was firm—the face of her husband to be. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment and turned his attention back to the men.

“No,” Aerity whispered. A deep longing for Paxton expanded within her. “Seas, no. Please.” Her stomach knotted so hard that it sent another shooting pain through her ribs.

Tiern pressed his face into his hands.

Just then voices from a second boat cast across the waters. Aerity heard her name being called. She looked up to see the Ascomannian hunters, the Zandalee, Harrison, and Wyneth. Her cousin was waving, her forehead scrunched with concern. The men on the boat burst into cheers and Wyneth followed their gazes to Lord Alvi, still holding the beast’s head at his side. The lord was watching the boat as it neared, but his eyes were hardly on his men. He slowly lowered the beast’s head. Wyneth tore her sight from him, focusing on Aerity instead. Harrison stared at Lief with a set jaw.

The princess allowed one pair of tears to fall before she wiped them away with the back of her sandy hand and swallowed hard. She had to be strong. This was a good thing for the people of their lands. She would keep telling herself that, and perhaps someday this feeling of dire regret would dissipate. Perhaps someday her own bitter disappointment would be swallowed up by all the good that would come from today’s events.

But for now, those things were still wholly present and alive within her.

When Wyneth’s boat touched shore, guards leaped out and were surrounding Aerity within seconds, gently lifting her, wrapping her in a blanket. And then her cousin’s beautiful face, flushed with splotches of cream and rose.

“Did they catch Rozaria?” Aerity asked.

“Aer . . . she’s gone. That Rocato woman somehow knocked out Vixie and fled—”

“Knocked her out?” Aerity shouted in fury, grabbing her chest.

“How badly is she hurt?” Tiern asked, jumping to his feet at the mention of Vixie.

“She’s fine,” Wyneth quickly amended. Aerity nearly collapsed into her cousin’s arms. “Vixie’s safe, and they’ll catch that woman. Everything will be all right. In time, it truly will.”

“I should have been there,” came a low voice beside them. Harrison was still staring at Lief.

“Harrison.” Aerity touched his arm. He turned to her, and his eyes cleared.

“You shouldn’t be walking, Aer.” He bent and gently lifted her into his arms, cradling her. Under his breath he asked, “Where is Paxton?”

“He’s gone,” she whispered back.

“I’m sorry.”

Aerity pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Let’s get the princess back to the castle,” ordered a guard.

“We’ll be at the boat in a moment,” Aerity told him. “Wait for us there.” The guard left as the Zandalee jogged over. Zandora’s eyes scanned Tiern from top to bottom.

“Your brother is gone?”

He nodded, looked down. Zandora crouched at his side. “Whose blood covers you, Tiern Seabolt, if you did not slay the beast?”

His mouth opened, then shut as he stared at her. His eyes lifted, searching, as he turned toward Harrison, Aerity, and Wyneth. He shook his head.

“Wade into the water,” Zandora told him. “Wash as much of your blood away as you can before the men notice.”

She knows.
Aerity’s heart rate picked up speed. Tiern obeyed, moving out to the water to wash. Zandora turned and bowed her head at Aerity. The other two Zandalee did the same.

“It was an honor to serve your kingdom. Now we must go.”

Aerity nodded, realizing the hunt was truly over. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“What’s going on?” Harrison asked. He watched Tiern washing in the water. Wyneth met Aerity’s eyes and nodded. They could trust their old friend.

“The beast nearly killed Tiern. But Paxton . . . he’s Lashed. He saved Tiern, and Lief took the kill.”

Harrison’s arms slackened, and Aerity yelped as she felt
herself slip. He quickly flexed and lifted her again. “Sorry . . . I just . . . deep seas. I had no idea.” He kissed the top of Aerity’s head, and she pressed her face into his shoulder.

A sense of finality lay inside her. It was over. Paxton was gone. She would marry a man who felt more for her cousin than he did for her, a man who cared more for his glory than anything else. And possibly worst of all, a madwoman was on the loose again.

“Take me to the boat,” Aerity whispered. Harrison obliged.

The sounds of celebration—Ascomannian chants and Lochlan praises—were so out of place in Aerity’s sluggish mind. She could not bring herself to cheer for the death of this beast, when it felt as if her troubles were merely beginning. But the kingdom was safe, and that’s all that mattered.

A cold wind blew across Aerity’s face as Harrison settled her into a seat, her hair whipping against her skin, and all traces of warmth from earlier that day disappeared.

South.

Paxton headed south along the coast of Lochlanach.

He regretted that he couldn’t return to royal lands to retrieve his few belongings, especially his bow. A shirt and boots at the very least. But that was the only regret he would allow himself to contemplate. He kept thoughts of Aerity, Lief, and Tiern at bay. If he did not acknowledge such things, they would eventually fade from his heart. Surely that was how it worked.

These feelings. They were all different for him. He was accustomed to a low burn of anger in his life, always anger. But these other things, he didn’t know how to deal with them.
They threatened to stop his breath. To make him behave foolishly. So it was best not to contemplate them. Those people, they were now his past. He could not linger. He would build a new life. One in which he kept to himself and let nobody in, as he should have done all along.

In the childhood summer he’d spent with his grandmother, he’d asked her if there was anywhere in all of Eurona where people like them did not have to hide. His question had seemed to surprise her.

“My dear boy,” she’d said, “people in all the lands fear the Lashed after the uprising of Rocato. But it’s said there are tribes of Lashed hidden in the jungles of Kalor where they still revere our kind—where Lashed can gather and work their magic in peace.”

“Where in Kalor?” he’d asked, fascinated.

His grandmother had chuckled. “Oh, Pax. It could be folklore for all I know. It was just something I heard a neighbor woman say to my mother in passing when she thought I was too young to understand, but she said it like it was a frightening place. Something about Rainiard Lake in the hotlands. If it were true, it could be overtaken by now.”

Paxton had always held tight to those words. Keeping them in his pocket as a plan he thought he’d never have to use.

Now, he was Rainiard Lake bound. And from what he’d learned about the area, it was remote. He would have to travel through thick jungle rumored to be inhabited by wild people and fierce animals. Even Rainiard Lake itself was said to be
riddled with giant biting fish and bugs that could kill with a single sting.

He’d also contemplated finding the Zandalee tribe down in southern Zorfina, but that would mean traveling through deserts, a thought that troubled him more than stinging bugs.

Both were places of possible freedom, and neither would be easy to get to. He wasn’t holding his breath about any of it. He would travel south and take this journey day-by-day. Certain death awaited Paxton around any corner, even in his seemingly safe homeland of Lashed fearers. He wasn’t afraid anymore. It was only a matter of time before death took him. Paxton mused about which one of the many forms would be the one to steal his last breath.

He became accustomed to the solitude as he hiked. His first night he slept in the mossy space of a fallen tree, blanketed by leaves. He woke dirty and itching the next morning, still bare of chest and feet. He muddied himself in patches, careful to press mud into the cuticles and base of his fingernails. His second night he found an abandoned barn with bug-ridden hay.

His third day he wandered onto the outskirts of a small fishing village with two men tending their oyster beds. They looked him up and down, suspicious.

“My apologies, sirs,” Paxton began. “My boat was overturned during the night and I had to swim ashore.” He looked down at himself, feeling guilty for the lie. “I’m a bit worse for wear after sleeping in the woods. I’ll work for a pair of boots
and shirt, if you require a hand.”

The younger man looked down at Paxton’s feet, as if to gauge the size, and nodded.

The older man frowned. “Ye sound northern, ye do.”

“Aye,” Paxton said. “Indeed, I am.”

“Should ’ave been fishing yer own waters, then.”

Paxton nodded, and the younger man gave a roll of his eyes. “Sure then, don’t mind him,” he said, hitching a finger at the older man, who grumbled and poked a bag of oysters with his long stick. “Ever farmed an oyster bed?”

Only his whole childhood. “Aye, sir. I’ll do anything seas related that you need.”

The man pointed out at the cove. “This here is all our land. You’ll have to work from now until sundown to earn a pair of boots, though.”

Paxton nodded. “I can do that. I give you both many thanks.”

“We don’t have boots to spare!” the older man shouted.

“Aw, come now, Papa. We could use the help. Didn’t you say just this morn you wish you was fishing instead?” He patted the stooped man on the shoulder to lead him away, giving Paxton a few last bits of information over his shoulder as he went.

Paxton nodded and set to work immediately. He turned the bunches of oysters in their beds to smooth out the calcified edges and create deeper grooves for the growing flesh inside. His body numbed to the chill of the water and breeze, and he
soaked in the moments when the clouds dispersed, allowing sun to shine down on his back and shoulders.

As the sun began to set, Paxton heard footsteps rustling along the path, and he quickly muddied his hands, which had been cleaned by the water. He stood, his muscles sore, and faced the man who looked around the marshy cove before giving a satisfied nod.

Paxton came ashore and the man held out a used long-sleeved brown tunic and a worn pair of boots with sturdy soles.

“These were my brother-in-law’s. They might be a tad big, but they’re all I could find.”

“Thank you.” Paxton took them, grateful.

“Would you care to stay for supper?”

He longed to accept their hospitality, but he knew it would come with an array of questions.

“I appreciate your kindness, but I need to head back before my family worries.”

The man nodded and pulled a cloth from his deep hip pocket. “I thought you might say that. Here is a bit of food. I wish you safe travels. Blessings of the seas.”

Paxton gave a small bow of his head just as his stomach growled. They both laughed. “Blessings to you and yours, as well.”

The man left him to dress, and Paxton ate the slice of grainy bread; sharp cheese; and dried, salted fish as he walked. He was famished but forced himself to eat slowly. He would
sleep outdoors again, drinking from fresh springs. And each day he would work to try and earn food and money to buy a bow and new daggers. He couldn’t face the foreign lands without protection.

But unfortunately there was no protection against the things that hurt him the most—the things inside his heart that left his chest vastly empty, hollowing him with a sense of loss, forcing him to remember when all he wanted to do was forget.

Paxton was fast asleep on a bed of leaves when a snap awoke him. He rose to his knees, grabbing the makeshift spear he’d made. Clouds covered the sliver of moon. Paxton squinted into the darkness. A low, feminine chuckle sounded from the depths of the night. He pulled back his arm as a form solidified through the trees.

Paxton exhaled and sank back on his heels. “Zandora, I nearly pierced you through.”

“With what? That stick? Men . . . always with the dramatics.”

Paxton grinned, despite his racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“Tracking you, of course.”

“Why?” A moment of apprehension went through him. Had the king asked her to find him? Did they know he’d worked magic? But, no, this was Zandora. He shook away his worries.

“Would you prefer to hunt with that stick and sleep on the ground forever, Paxton Seabolt? Or join us on our return journey to Zorfina?”

Relief and the promise of companionship settled over him. “I will join you.”

“I had no doubt, Lashed One.”

He stilled, though there was no threat or judgment in her voice. He wasn’t certain how she’d found out—if it was common knowledge now, or if Tiern had confided in her—but he supposed it didn’t matter.

Zandora whistled, and moments later her two sisters appeared, two on horseback, one leading Zandora’s horse. She said something to them in Zorfinan, and the older sister tossed Paxton his pack.

“Ah, bless you.” He’d never been happier to see his material things.

“Now. Move over and share your leaves.”

Paxton obliged. As the sisters joined him on the ground, he wondered what Zandora would have chosen in his position: to kill the beast or save one of her sisters. Did she think him a fool, like Lord Alvi, the future prince of these lands? Paxton cursed himself for the trivial thoughts. It was all inconsequential.

He could not allow himself to look back, to wonder what was happening at the castle, to imagine Lief and Aerity . . . no.

He could only move forward.