Kiri’s pupils blew wide even as he dangled. “I can practice pouncing?”
“Sure.” Setting the cub down, Soren took a wide stance and crossed his arms. “Impress me.”
With a whoop, Kiri dove into the tall grass, disappearing amongst the brush. Or, he would’ve, had the tuft of his tail, waving happily behind him, not given him away.
Biting back a grin, Soren casually looked about, keeping his ears and eyes open. Kiri would pounce from the right, as it was his left leg that was weaker, but that was all right. They had to start somewhere.
As he pretended not to hear the grass rustling to his right, Soren vowed that he wouldn’t disgrace the sacrifice his brothers made. They would find a new home. They would make good lives for themselves. And Soren would make Kiri the best hunter north of the savannah.
1
Eight Years Later
Home smelled like horses. It wasn’t that Maeve disliked horses or was opposed to the family business of horse training—but did it always have tosmelllike horses?
She’d missed some things while she was away. Her Auntie Sofie. Her mother’s blackberry. Her pretty coverlet and embroidered pillows. But the horses? Not so much. pie
Closing the window, Maeve latched it shut against the…fragrant spring air with a grimace. It’d take time for her nose to go blind to the stench, she knew, as she’d only been back a few days. She hadn’t decided yet if the familiar, inexorable rhythm of the Brádaigh estate was comforting or disheartening.
When she’d left home three years ago to attend university in the capital, Gleanná, she’d told herself she wouldn’t be back. Not to stay, at least. Oh, she’d come for visits, of course—there was no way she would’ve missed Lady Aislinn’s wedding. The girls inher dormitory were pink with envy forweekswhen she returned with stories of it. It was perhaps the only time she was pleased or proud to tell stories of home.
Most of the time, the other girls in her dormitory didn’t care one whit about herlittle lifein the country, as they called it. Maeve had discovered, upon moving into the dormitory of Queen Angharad University, that she was only a handful of students who didn’t hail from the capital. Maeve’s country life was of little interest to those born in Gleanná—and, honestly, to her. She’d moved to Gleanná to attend university and get away from it after all.
When their class had gathered round to proclaim where they were going after graduation—many to glittering careers in the civil palaces of the capital, some to choice positions in noble families, others to competitive jobs within various guilds—Maeve had done her utmost to make it seem as though she’dplannedto go back to the Darrowlands and Granach.
It wasn’t a shameful defeat but a strategic retreat. She was bringing her expertise and the culture of the capital back to the idyllic countryside.
Some had believed her. But many knew the truth—that Maeve hadn’t been able to secure a position anywhere within the capital, nor the fashionable lakeside city of Kilgaran, nor even the industrial center of Adrigoll. Not for lack oftrying, of course. No, Maeve had been blacklisted by her archnemesis, a girl named Brianne Kewleigh. Maeve and Brianne nursed an enmity all throughout their schooling, but Maeve had seriously underestimated both Brianne’s maliciousness and reach.
The daughter of a powerful ironworks guild master, Brianne had connections. In only a few short months leading up to their graduation from Queen Angharad, she’d managed to ensure that every door remained closed to Maeve.
And so, as Maeve spoke of returning home to the newlyestablished school for a teaching position, she’d burned up inside watching Brianne’s smug face.
Maeve hadn’t been the top of her class, no, but she certainly hadn’t been at the bottom. A comfortable career in one of the civil ministries or even a governess position should’ve easily been within reach. Instead, here she was, in her childhood bedroom, without prospects. Her new position, as the second of two schoolteachers, was for a laughably small village school with just ten pupils.
Not even the main school at Granach had room for her. It was purely by chance that the newly founded school for both otherly and human children—founded and run by a half-dragoness—had been looking for another teacher. Maeve had only heard about and gotten the position because her mother Aoife and older sister Sorcha were friends with the dragoness.
Sighing, Maeve pulled her stays over her shift and began to tie the strings. One consolation of being home was getting to wear her pretty embroidered stays and skirts again. Slimmer skirts in solid jewel tones were the fashion in the capital, whereas Maeve’s preferred embroidered stays and skirts were considered rural.
Peeking at herself in the mirror, Maeve groaned. She might enjoy her old skirts and stays, but they’d been made for her younger body. Now twenty-three, she’d put on weight in her bosom, hips, and belly. There was less exercise to be had at university, and Maeve had the unfortunate habit of eating pastries when she was under stress. Her final months of schooling had been nothing but stress—and pastries.
Turning this way and that, she considered her ample cleavage. Not the worst outcome, to be sure, but the unfamiliar contours of her arms and belly…
A small portion for dinner,she thought.
Stepping into her boots, Maeve finally opened her door to anempty hallway.
One thing thathadchanged about home was how much quieter the house was.
Used to the rampaging of her six siblings, the quiet was almost unnerving. Her parents were still in the house, of course, as were her two younger sisters, Blaire and Keeley, but that was it. Her elder sister Sorcha now lived in her own house nearby with her half-orc husband Orek, and their brothers were all dispersed—Niall off on his knightly duties, Calum off at university himself, and Connor…well, he lived at home but never seemed to sleep in the house.
It wasn’t that she minded having no obstacles getting down the stairs to the ground floor for breakfast, just that it was strange.
Although, the sight of her mother and eldest sister already in the kitchen wasn’t strange at all. The two of them stood side by side at the far counter, peering out the window and tittering about something outside. Both tall and curvaceous, with thick brown curls piled atop their heads with fillets, it could be hard to tell them apart from behind.
Maeve had walked into just such a scene many a time growing up; and many a time the sight would annoy her. Their mother never said it, but she didn’t have to—Sorcha was her favorite. The two were so alike and spent so much time together, Maeve supposed the favoritism was to be expected.
Meanwhile, Maeve and Sorcha couldn’t be more different. Maeve took after her father’s Byrne side of the family with a fair complexion and strawberry-blonde waves. She was slimmer—at least when she avoided pastries. Sorcha preferred practical trou and supportive stays. Maeve adored colorful skirts and fabrics that flounced. Sorcha was always keeping the peace and looking to please. Maeve spoke her mind and told the truth, whether someone wanted to hear it or not. Sorcha was dedicated andhardworking to a fault. Maeve was clever enough to find ways to get others to do her work.
