I could say I forgot, but in truth I had not known. “I understand. I had to examine the blood from—”
“Hush, please.” Her voice warbles in pain.
“No, not that. Not his ...” I lie badly. “It matters little. I will be punctual. What have people been told?”
“The queen let it be known that your father ... suffered a paroxysm of the heart,” the countess says. “She expressed that he was unable to make vows because of it, and we withheld our mourning because of the vows.”
The explanation is a weak one.
“Are they expecting him to behere? In state?” Mourning traditions vary, but in many cases, guests come to wish a farewell to the dead by looking upon the body of the deceased. My father’s body is ash in the forest now.
“I have said that he was interred last week,” Mother says in a voice that invites no more questions.
I leave her there and head to my room to dress.
“Shall we?” Clarissa asks softly as she gestures to the vanity chair. I appreciate that she is both a trained healer and a maid. Having someone from the village, someone who knows my whole truth, also eases my emotions.
“I am grateful for you,” I say as I sit.
I watch in the mirror as Clarissa twists my hair into a flattering knot and jabs a series of dark wooden sticks into the mass.
“I do not want to do this,” I whisper.
“I suspect that’s why the countess made the plans before you were alert enough to stop her,” Clarissa says gently. “I am sorry for yourloss, Hunter. Sorrier still that the burden is now yours. Them that’s here today won’t know that, but ... at home, there will be truer words awaiting you. Today is for your mother’s grief, not yours.”
“I need to hunt, though, and this ...” I shake my head at the coldness in my voice. In two days, I have already come to understand my father in a way I have not for all my life. The pressure to fulfill my duty pulses in my skin to the expense of all else.
“Your mother was his haven,” Clarissa says. “She protected his heart and his home, filled it with love, eased his burdens. You need a haven, too. You protect the queen’s land, our village, our world. Someone should protect you.”
“Oh.” I lower my gaze. “That is kind of you.”
The heavy weight of a jeweled necklace, dark sapphires, settles around my throat. Matching stones are fastened to each earlobe. I cannot stand the thought of emeralds. Not today. Possibly not ever again.
“A lot of people hoped Girard would be your man,” Clarissa blurts out. “I like the lady duke, though. I saw you laugh with her when you were a girl. Laughter is healing. I want that feeling for myself someday.”
“I do, too,” I manage to admit awkwardly. Guilt flares at the thought of the things made possible by my father’s death. I cannot think of it long, not until I hunt and kill the beast that took Father, but Isabeau is no longer forbidden. My father’s ill-conceived notion that the Hunter’s magic would pass to a spouse is moot now. I am the Hunter.
By the time the first set of guests arrives, I am not surprised to see Isabeau in my home. I feel as if my thoughts have summoned her.
“You remember my eldest daughter,” the countess says as I join them.
I curtsy. Maudite has always outranked me, but she is adukenow, the only woman to hold that rank currently. Only the queen or Prince Alaric outrank her now.
“Lady Gabrielle.” Isabeau bows far deeper than she ought to do. “My deepest sympathy on the loss of the earl.”
“And I on the loss of the duke,” I reply.
“Please excuse me, Your Grace.” The countess flees, and I am not sure if she cannot bear the talk or whether she is using this moment to let us exchange words in privacy.
“Does she not know that I saw you only a few days ago?” Isabeau asks, voice too low to be overheard in the conversational hum of the room.
“Isabeau,” I whisper. “Please . . .”
“I would not have spoken ill of him at the palace if I knew he had died, Gabrielle.” She looks stricken at a callousness that is untrue, but I cannot tell her this truth either. Even now, I am haunted by a sea of lies between us.
Eyes dart to us as we speak in hushed tones.
“We were not close, not like you and your father,” I say.
