My twin, Rylan, comes to stand in the doorway. I’m not sure how long she’s been waiting, but she looks as elegant as the most sought-after noblewomen.
Mother looks from one to the other. “I want you both to find the joy I’ve found as a wife!”
We exchange a look. Like all society mothers, she is obsessed with matrimony. She is atypical in that she is still as in love with my father as when she was a girl. It adds fervor to her words.
“Come now, we mustn’t keep Her Majesty waiting,” I say, pointedly ignoring Mother’s outburst. “I need to speak with her, and there are vows to make.”
The Countess of Fleuriste sighs loudly, but her flicker of maternal excess has passed. She strides forward with her cane in hand and her imperiousness back in full measure.
I am not seeking a spouse, but I do hold a secret hope that I can have a dance with Isabeau. My traitorous heart must remember that we can have no future, but a masked dance might be an option.
One night, and then I can go home ...
Chapter 9
“Besides these are divers monsters—theAugh-iska, the Water-horse, the Payshtha (píast=bestia), the Lake-dragon, and such like; but whether these be animals, fairies, or spirits, I know not.”
—Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, edited and selected by W. B. Yeats [1888]
The walk from the housing quarter to the palace is one I have made many times. Part of being the next Hunter is being aware that the body is a tool as much as my blades and my mind. I am far more fit than noblewomen are expected—or encouraged—to be. However, on the afternoon of the vows, we are all agreeing to the ruse that we are delicate creatures. So the three of us ascend the step to the carriage.
“I wonder who will be here,” Rylan muses.
“Is there someone you’re seeking?” I ask, curious at the excitement in her voice.
My sister shrugs. The secrets between us seem to grow as my focus on monsters increases. I think she has a secret lover, but I am not sure of her lover’s identity. Perhaps it’s for the best. She’ll have a better life if she’s safely in a manor far from Brimmond Wood. A spouse. Children. She can have the sort of life Mother once sought.
“Your father is likely to be happier in a battle or sniffing the ground for clues. He does hate these events.” Mother stares out the window as she speaks.
Rylan and I exchange a look, and my sister’s giggle rolls out.
“Do you think that’s what we do? Walk with our noses on the soil like hunting dogs?” I ask, barely holding back my own laughter.
The countess has the grace to flush. “Oh, I know you don’t really walk that way, but that’s how I picture it. Far easier if I make light than think about what you do that causes so many scars on your body.” She sighs loudly. “When your father started courting me, his body was like yours, a map of lines, spiderwebs, and more than a few valleys. More so, I think, than you are now. He had this one scar that slashed over his cheek. He wore his hair longer, then, to hide it.”
“Did anyone ask why his scars vanished?” I ask, the question one of many I ponder when I think about my pending future.
“Hunter magic.” Mother shrugs. “No one but those closest to you will remember. I remember those pathways etched on his body. No one else does.”
The smitten girl she once was sounds in the timbre of her voice. I realize then that her love for Father still runs so deep that she cannot fathom why her daughters would not want to find our own loves. In that moment, I understand her wistful wishes for us.
The carriage rattles and bumps over the brick now. The streets nearest the palace are paved with red and beige bricks. I push the curtain aside, seeing the long line of carriages waiting to be next to release their guests under the midday sun.
“I’ll meet you in the ballroom.” I tap on the wall in a two-one-two pattern that the driver knows means to stop. “I need to see Her Majesty in private.”
Mother nods, but her lips press together in that disapproving way.
“Oh, no! Gabri!” Rylan’s eyes peer from behind a milky-blue mask with pearls around her eyes. The blue matches her dress, and the pearlsare sewn across the bodice. It’s an extravagant thing, and I love that Rylan is happy in it.
“What?”
Rylan smiles at me, eyes twinkling mischievously, and puts a hand to her chest dramatically before she says, “We shall try to endure your absence.” She glances at Mother. “Do you feel faint from her absence yet? Do we have salts?”
A smile cracks Mother’s sour expression. “You ridiculous child.”
I mouth “Thank you” to my sister just before the driver opens my door and extends a hand to me. In a moment, I alight, and in the next, I am darting toward a side gate to the palace grounds. The guards there stop me.
“Hunter business,” I say.
