I soon catch up to Graylen, huddled alongside the other riders at the forest edge. I nod to the assembled company. I know these courtiers less well. They’re older and our paths didn’t cross at the Asteum, though I recognise the ridged nose of Saros Bidelion, leader of the King’s Watchers.
‘Is this where it was last seen?’ I jerk my chin towards the thicket.
Saros nods. ‘The scouts are out questing with the hounds as we speak.’
‘And they’re certain it’s a hoarclaw?’ I try to keep the note of incredulity from my voice, but thanks to the Sickening the mountain-bears are scarce, starved almost to extinction. They’re fast-moving, known to range wide distances despite their bulk, but to my knowledge, they’ve never been seen this far south.
‘Three confirmed sightings since dawnrise.’
Frostfangs were glimpsed near the Asteum in recent moons, driven from the ravaged heights in search of prey. Perhaps it’s no surprise hoarclaws followed where the bolder peak-wolves led.
‘A noble quarry. One befitting such a special occasion. Play your hand well and you might spill the blood of two rare beasts before night’s end, eh, Vesparion?’ Graylen cuffs my shoulder, snickers.
I shoot him an acid look, tighten my grip on the reins. For a moment, the courtly façade I’m so careful to maintain cracks. For all Graylen is a member of The Nine, making crude quips about Leilani’s maidenhead is, without question, overstepping. Even for him. She may be Starborn, wayward, difficult to govern – at least if her recent behaviour’s anything to go by – but Leilani is still a princess of the blood. I’m about to answer Graylen roundly, tell him to keep her name from his mouth, but horns trill before I have the chance.
The beast’s been spotted.
I squeeze my thighs tight against Silvermist’s ribs and cluck my tongue. I’ll be damned if I let Graylen have this kill.
This time, I leavehimin a cloud of ice-dust.
*
IT’SDARKINthe Thronewood, the scent of resin heavy in the air. I keep Silvermist on tight reins, inching slowly through the pines as I search for scratchings on tree-trunks, tracks in the frost, any sign of the hoarclaw. No further horns have sounded, and I haven’t crossed paths with the other riders since entering the forest. I’m still leading the charge. A mound of fresh scat lies half-buried in the frosted leaf-litter. I steer Silvermist towards it, following the trail left.
The trees are so densely clotted here I have to swat low-lying branches from my face. Silvermist halts, snorts deeply. Smoke. And not the sweet woodsmoke of the hearth. This is fouler. Pyresmoke.
My chest tightens anew, seething with memories of the fever that stole my father from me. If he hadn’t died as a result of it, he might have fulfilled the promises he made to my mother: bound himself to her, legitimised me. Were it not for Flamefever and the wretched Oralian sand-rats that caused it… I swallow my bitterness and drive Silvermist through the wood, intent on my prey.
Nothing comes of looking backwards. My star is finally rising. My future starts tonight.
*
AFTERATIME, the forest’s twisting paths begin to look alike. I note a trampled branch and my heart lifts. A sign the hoarclaw has passed this way. But no, I recognise the egg-shaped boulder lying beside it. It’s the same Sister-blooded branch I passed perhaps an hour back. I’m riding in circles. I squint through the canopy. The sun shines weakly, but it’s already high in the sky. I consider turning back for the palace. I need time to dress, to steel myself for delivering my binding gifts to Leilani. A ritual I’m dreading.
Since arriving back from the Asteum, I’ve toiled long into the evenings with the palace silversmith designing and redesigning the diadem and binding bangles to ensure they’re fit for an heir to the Crystal Throne. That they won’t shame me. Aside from a cold first greeting, when the King announced the date of our binding, I’ve scarcely seen Leilani. She’s avoided me at every turn. And truth told, I’ve kept my distance too. This binding is not what either of us would have chosen. I can only hope she receives my offerings tonight with better grace than she did the last time I deigned to give her a present. We were but children then. Though, if what I’ve gleaned from the stray remarks the King has let slip of Leilani’s wilfulness and prideful nature proves true, there’s every chance she’ll snub them.
It’s only a moonsquarter since she tried to flee the palace. The King assures me she’ll accept our union in time, has stressed the importance of beginning as I mean to go on: with a firm hand so she learns to respect me. But I’ve heard rumours of the Starborn – what they’re capable of. I’d be a fool if I wasn’t wary of a lifetime chained to such a woman. I tighten my grip on the reins.
This binding is a means to an end.
Legitimacy. Power. All I’ve ever wanted.
Voices lift on the air. Thin and clipped but oddly languid. That distinctive coterie inflection I’ve worked so hard to emulate.
I urge Silvermist closer, till I spy Saros and Graylen astride their mounts in a small clearing, a short distance from the scouts and other riders. The hounds lie panting on the forest floor while the riders take it in turn to sip honeywine from drinking horns.
It appears they’ve been no more successful in tracking the hoarclaw than I.
‘Do you think she’ll come to the Watching Chamber, then?’
Saros is speaking. I pull on my reins so I can listen unobserved behind the veil of dense-knit trees.
‘Care to make it interesting?’ Graylen replies. ‘A purse of sickles she runs again. I’d wager even the tainted heir wants better for herself than some peak-blooded by-blow. Tin will never be silver, no matter how you polish it.’
At this, I dig my heels into Silvermist’s sides and break cover. Let him say that to my face. He wouldn’t dare. The courtiers blanch as I ride out, reaching for the spear girded to my side. Graylen hasn’t been able to best me in the lists since our second sunring at the Asteum. I’ll unhorse him in seconds.
But before I can challenge him, horns sound again. Only this time it’s not the warbling trills for a sighting.
