Is this what he meant? That I’d be summoned? I wish he’d warned me if so.
There is little comfort in knowing that I shared his last minutes. The image of him in this heinous state will plague my dreams. Of that, I am certain. The invincible man that he has always seemed held his guts inside his body as he died in the dirt.
I stare into the trees as I force back every daughterly instinct I have. I am not a daughter, not a noble, not a woman. In this time and place, I am only the Hunter, and I need the evidence that was hopefully left behind on his body. He would have tried to gather it, shoved a hand in the beast’s mouth or ... I look at the handful of fur and smile. He cut off a bit of hide.
Concentrating on what he would want me to do in this moment, what he trained me to do, I gather swabs from my own supplies and collect any potential saliva from his cuts. No green blood lingers on his clothing or on the soil, telling me that my own father—the Hunter—was unable to stand against this beast.
My eyes burn as I blink back the tears that want to escape. I draw in a deep breath, then another, then a third. Never mind the stench of death, I must not contaminate my samples with salty tears.
Salt purifies,his voice echoes in my mind.Never cry on the dead until you collect all evidence.
No tears fall, although a choked noise slips from my lips.
I cut away samples from each wound. This takes so long that my muscles cramp oddly. I stretch out my sides and roll my shoulders. The pain only increases, but I’m not sure why. I haven’t ridden that hard.
By the time I’ve collected everything, emptied his pockets of any notes or clues to read later, and removed his jewelry and any hidden weapons, there is no avoiding what comes next. I do pause as I finally slide his sword from under his arm and remove his blood-ruined scabbard.
His sword gives me hope. I set it aside, blade resting away from where the fire will be. There on the blade’s edges are hardening green crystals. Despite my gory task, I smile. “Took a bite out of the thing, didn’t you?”
The best death a Hunter can have is a quick one in battle,he lectured me more than a few times.
“I’m sorry it was not quick, Father,” I tell his chilling body.
From within his nearby belongings, I withdraw several vials, as my own are all filled now. I shove the fur he handed me into one of the largest ones. I have clues, evidence, and I will find some answers after this ghastly task is completed.
New,he said. The beast is new. That thought frightens me. If he declared it new, that means it’s not in the journals, that it’s new tous. This, combined with the influx of faeries in Regina Centrum, has me ill at ease. Are these two things connected? Are they simply all misbehaving or murderous because he was old and I am not intimidating?
I carve a circle into the earth around my dead father, and now, I let the tears race freely. He was never the father I wanted, or even the fatherI needed, but he was my mentor in learning to be the Hunter. He died seeking clues to help us—to helpmenow—stop the beast.
I crouch over his body and extend my arm, so my palm rests just over the spill of his guts.
“Teine,” I whisper, not fully expecting the fire to come to me. It does, though, a spark that pulls from the very blood of my body with a slash of pain. It shudders under my skin like a drop of hot coal in my palm, and then I exhale, and the fire washes over my father, charring him as I watch his last earthly moments.
Everything recognizable is lost to flame and smoke, and I cannot back away. I have always stepped back when he set a body to blaze, not wanting to draw the ash and smoke of a dead man into my lungs. That option is no more. I cough at the bitter taste assailing my nose, flooding my mouth and throat.
All his lessons tangle and entwine in my mind like a litany as I burn the body of the last Hunter. My own body cramps yet again, and I shudder from the force of it. I’m not sure what’s happening to me, but I know that I have only three options—go to Maudite Castle to ask for the dowager duchess’ aid, ride toward Fleuriste and Maria’s house of physicians, or ride to the city where my mother and sister wait. Regina Centrum is not the closest, but I have never felt at ease around Isabeau’s mother.
I stumble to my horse, shove all my samples into my bag, and urge the already tired steed to take me to the city. I try to watch the woods, and although I could swear I see several creatures watching me, I cannot tell what they are—or whether my eyes deceive me. Sweat streams from my every pore, and chills ripple over me like a stormy tide.
I ride as quickly as I can, and I am grateful when I approach the housing block. A man, unknown to me but wearing the uniform of a soldier, sees me and asks, “Where are you headed?”
I see his uniform with relief. “Fleuriste House.”
He gives me a look of sympathy and says, “Hunter.”
“Yes,” I whisper, telling a stranger what no one should yet know. “Need to go home.”
The next clear thought is that several soldiers are escorting me to the door, and then we are inside. I don’t know what words they exchange with my family. A fever sweeps over me.
I am pulled into a torrent of pain and fire as if my own body were the one blazing in Brimmond Wood.
My next clear thought as I am dragged out of my fever by clenching pain is that I have fought no creatures. I have no wounds or injuries. Did the toxins from the sword infect me? My bones ache as if sleep has broken something deep in the meat and marrow of my ...everything. No limb is untouched.
I am alone.
I swing my feet to the floor and try to stand. Each step is akin to hundreds of stitching needles driving into the soft skin of my feet. I drop to my knees and begin to crawl to the door.
“Need to check on Mother. Ry. Get up, Hunter,” I lecture myself, seeking my father’s voice in my memories, wanting to hear him ordering me to “get up.”
