“No more dangerous than a boar. Anyway, Father is sending Brennan and Wil along. It’ll be fine. It’ll bebetterthan fine. It’ll bewonderful!”
Nella doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she smiles anyway.
My father is waiting in the courtyard when I come down.
“There she is.” He crosses to me and cups my face in his hands, the way he used to when I was small. His palms are warm and strong. He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“My little huntress.”
“I’m twenty-one, Father. Hardly little.”
“You’ll always be little to me.” He lets me go and steps back, looking me over. “You look so much like your mother.”
That catches me off guard. He doesn’t mention my mother often. She died when I was six, and the grief has never quite left him.
He clears his throat. “Wil and Brennan will take care of you. And the Dell has an excellent reputation. I made sure of that.” He pauses, then smiles. “Bring back your trophy. I chose the modifications with you in mind. I want to hear everything over dinner tonight.”
“I will.” I rise on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
The carriage waits by the gate, its polished wood gleaming in the early morning sun. It’s one of the smaller ones from the royal stable, built for travel rather than show, with sturdy wheels and thick curtains to keep out the dust. Brennan and Wil wait on their horses nearby.
Nella climbs inside first, settling onto the cushioned bench. I follow, pulling the door shut behind me. The driver clicks histongue, and the carriage lurches forward. Through the window, my father raises a hand in farewell, then we’re through the gates and onto the road, the palace shrinking behind us.
The city is just waking up as we ride through—bakers hauling trays of bread, merchants opening their shutters, a cat streaking across the cobblestones. Then the buildings thin and fall away, replaced by open fields. The wheels find the packed-earth road that leads east, and the rhythm of the carriage settles into a steady, rocking motion.
Nella and I share bread, cheese, and watered-down wine from a basket the kitchen packed. The bread is crusty, and the cheese sharp on my tongue. We talk about nothing important. The kitchen boy who keeps leaving flowers outside her door, the new mare in the stables that I’m determined to ride, and whether Lord Vessen’s hunting stories are half as impressive as he thinks they are.
Outside, the landscape shifts. The road climbs a gentle rise, and when we reach the top of a particularly high hill, I can see for miles through the window.
As the morning moves on, the fields give way to forest. At first, the trees are spaced wide enough that sunlight dapples the undergrowth, but the deeper we travel, the older the forest becomes. The trunks grow wider, gnarled with age, their branches weaving together overhead until the light turns green and dim. Moss hangs from the limbs like tattered curtains. The air coming through the window smells different. Richer, damper, thick with the scent of rotting leaves.
“It’s so quiet.” Nella peers through the glass.
She’s right. The birdsong that accompanied us through the fields has faded to nothing. No insects hum, and no animals rustle in the brush. The only sounds are the creak of the carriage and the steady clop of hooves.
“Maybe it’s old magic. Isn’t that what the stories say? That the fae hunted in this forest before the Sealing.”
Nella shivers and pulls back from the window, wrapping her arms around herself. “Hopefully, it’s only because we’ve scared the animals and birds away.”
I don’t tell her that I love it. There’s something thrilling about being somewhere so wild, so untouched by human hands. My heart beats faster with every mile we travel.
Then, without warning, the trees fall away.
Huntsman Dell sits in a clearing carved from the forest. A wooden lodge hunkers at its center, smoke curling from its chimney. Outbuildings cluster around it—stables, a smithy, a long, low structure that could be kennels. Men move between them, hauling wood and leading horses, their voices carrying in the still air.
The carriage rolls to a stop, and before we can climb out, a man emerges from the lodge.
“Lady Alleria.” He opens the carriage door and offers his hand. “Welcome to the Dell. I’m Huntmaster Cowen. Come inside.”
I take his hand and step down. Nella follows, staying close to my elbow, eyes wide as she looks around. Brennan and Wil dismount, handing their horses off to the stable hands. Brennan catches my eye and nods.
The lodge is larger than it looked from the outside. A fire crackles in the hearth, throwing heat across the room. Trophy heads line the walls—antlers and tusks and horns mounted on dark wood, brass plates beneath each one. I count them while we wait for a serving girl to bring mulled wine.
There are forty-three.
“Are these the trophies for all the hunts that happen here?” I smile at the serving girl as she hands me a goblet.
“Not all. These are the ones taken by the hunters who workhere. We like our men to keep their skills honed so they can make sure patrons get the best experience.”
