My sister holds my jacket in the same way, and I put my hands into those sleeves. It’s long enough to hide the short swords I fasten at each hip. I feel like I ought to rattle, but the leathercrafter designed this in conjunction with the bladesmith. I move silently.
“Hairpin.” Rylan holds out a pair of ornate iron curlicues that I use to fasten my braids atop my head. Then my hat, which I likewise spear to my hair with iron-tipped pins.
My sister stifles a yawn. “I feel like I ought to salute or something when you dress this way.”
“Doors locked, Ry.” I catch and hold her gaze. “Something is amiss this night.” I pause then. “Did you feel it, too?”
She pats the top of my head. “No, Gab. I know there was a dead man last gibbous moon. So I listened for you tonight.”
I feel sheepish, but I suppose I forget that the family of the Hunter and Hunter-in-Training also must notice our obsessions when we are seeking a specific quarry.
Outside the house the world is quiet. The usual sounds of horses and wheels over the riding trail or streets are a dim muffle, and no voices or laughter rise up the way they do in the midday sun or eventhe midday drizzle. Still, something out here feels like it’s beckoning me. The summons feels as muted as the sounds of laughter from a nearby street as I wend my way toward the river. The creature I hunt is far away in the forest, and my studies say that this is not a water horse. Although the Aughiska and the Bean Nighe seem unlikely because of the lack of evidence, instinct pulls me toward the crash and tumble of the river. Perhaps I was wrong about those faeries.
Supposedly, the river runs underground for a stretch, then surges to the surface near Maudite’s estate, where it tumbles from the cliff into the sea. The falls there at Maudite Castle are stunning, but here the water seems less angry. It chops and churns, but I think that even such froth is not as daunting as a waterfall that drops to the rocky, cold sea at the bottom of a cliff.
My lantern casts a circle of light around me, but it only illuminates the ground nearest me. Beyond my light is shadow that could be drawn in charcoal. The half circle of moon ducks in and out of cloud banks, casting watery light and then stealing it away. In a flash of moonlight, I see a woman at the river’s side, hair dipping into the water as if she washes it there.
When next the light spills out from behind a cloud, she has gone, and the only possible creature is an Aughiska, but I cannot see under the water to know if the white froth on the surface is a water horse’s mane or simply water.
As I walk along the river’s edge, I wish I knew how to communicate with them. Of course, I cannot communicate with my own horse, Clatterbuck, or my father’s Imp or Isabeau’s Woede either. The white caps of water over rock in the current are likely mere water, but they could be more. The Aughiska often forms between one heartbeat and the next, lifting from the current and crashing into mist.
No water on the samples,my logic mutters.
But I was beckoned here,instinct argues.
I carry on in my patrol. Nighttime is the one time when citizens avoid the park. The faeries that have entered our world claim it as theirown then, as if the treaty is a myth. Arguing with them is futile, and the glinting eyes of several creatures flash at me as I walk. Though I cannot catch full sight of them, I know they watch me.
“Iron at the ready,” I say in a voice that I might use to talk to a walking companion. I do not whisper. They know me, unlike my fellow citizens. Faeries know me on sight. I sometimes expect more violence because of it, but it is as if we have a silent accord: If they follow rules, I will not hunt them.
“What are you doing all alone, little lamb?” The voice catches me unprepared. I see no one, although I shift with my lantern. The warm golden light only chases away the nearest shadows.
I try to extend my arm, to cast the light outward. The effort is fruitless.
“I patrol,” I say in a gruff voice, thinking at first that it is a man who means me ill.
“But you’re not the Hunter.” The voice is a husky purr.
“You’re not a person.” I step forward, trying to shine light on whatever creature this is.
“Ah, ah, ah.” I see one hand raised, shaking a finger at me. The sharp claw that tips it is thick and gnarled. “Where are your manners, lamb?”
I gape at the thing, free hand falling to my sword hilt. “But faeries can’t talk, not like people.”
It laughs. “I chose not to speak when I first struck you. Today I speak.”
In the moment my throat feels ragged, closing words and air inside. I manage to say, “You ...”
“Hit you.” A whoosh of air precedes its movement as an arm lashes out. “Like this.”
I stumble backward onto the ground to avoid the knife-sharp claws. The lantern lands with a clatter, but the flame does not sputter out. The monster is outside the ring of light.
Images of the two murdered men flash to my mind as I scuttle backward like a crab. The moon is hidden again, and I can see nothing. I crouch on the ground like prey for a moment, but I refuse to die on the ground without so much as fighting back.
I draw my sword with one hand, a dagger with the other as I come to my feet. I cannot see to attack the beast, but I am armed and ready to defend myself. “You need to return to Faerie, or you will die here.”
At first, I think the sound I hear is a sob, but I realize quickly it’s a laugh. Other creatures join in, and I am frozen. I am not the Hunter, and I am surrounded by things that mock me, things that want to harm me.
From directly behind me, I hear, “No one here can kill me.”
