“Promise me that you will be careful with your own safety,” I blurt out.
She pauses. “Gabrielle? Love?”
“He died in Brimmond Wood,” I confess. “He died in the wood, and I was there with him.”
“How? Why?” Isabeau clutches my hand under the table. “You must let the Hunter handle these things. I will speak to Auntie Mor again about sending word to him.”
I make a noise and quickly hide my face in the hope that Isabeau thinks it was a sob or muffled grief sound. When I pull my hand away, I realize my mother is looking at us. She is still steadily weeping without a sound as she listens to the snippets of conversation that rise and fall, but a sliver of a smile graces her lips when she sees us. Without warning, I see that she stares at us as the queen has done, and this time, a flicker of hope for the future flares inside me.
Now is not the time, but as I hold Isabeau’s hand, I understand that there is something strengthening about finding the person who is your haven. My mother had that. She had a partner in this life, one she accepted even though she knew death would take him early and he chose her over his duty. He asked her to stop trying to carry babies because he would rather have her in this world than a son. Father chose her over duty. Mother chose him, knowing that she was destining her child to this duty.
I cannot give her back her heart, but I can find the monster who took her husband. I will find the beast and slaughter it for her.
I will protect her and Rylan, Father,I swear silently.I will sit here as you would have wanted, and then tomorrow I will resume my search for the creature.
And afterward, I will tell the truth to the woman who already holds my heart in the palm of her hand, who has held it for years, and maybe Isabeau will not reject me.
Chapter 15
“The Irish legends ... circle, in general, round the mythus of the fairy, a bright and beautiful creation, only living for pleasure, music, and the dance, and rarely malignant or ill-natured, except when their dancing grounds are interfered with.”
—Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Irelandby Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde [1887]
Being in the city as the Hunter feels different, freeing rather than oppressive. I did not wish for Father’s death—and if I could undo it, I would. His death wounds my mother and thrusts me into a fate I am not prepared to face. Yet I will not lie and say there are not freedoms that come with my duty. The Hunter’s mission is and has always been to capture, contain, or kill any faery who violates the Queens’ Treaty. I am going to make changes tohowthat’s done, changes that my father rejected.
At midday, I pull a hooded cloak over my dark day dress, twist a dark silken scarf over the lower half of my face, and set out for a quick patrol. The streets are surprisingly empty of civilians, but theWächterhas a greater presence, even under the steady rain. The water makes the paths slick and the ground boggy.
“Nolan.” I nod to the sergeant.
“My condolences on your father’s passing.” The sergeant doesn’t offer lengthy words or any such thing. He merely holds my gaze and says, “I have complete faith in you, Hunter. I had it before you were the one.”
“Are you married?” I ask.
“I am widowed.”
I pause to weigh my next words, as they are decidedly impolite. “Are you a skirt chaser, Nolan? Or fond of the drink?”
He scowls. “I am not, although I’m not sure why you are asking. Did you hear something that—”
“The monster in the wood killed two men before the Hunter. The first was a skirt chaser. We know little about the second man, but the most defining traits about the first were his drinking and carousing. However, italsokilled the Hunter, and I know he was faithful. I suspect his death was because he cornered the beast.” I push away the rising images in my mind of my father holding his innards inside with a shaking hand. I have few memories of the man that are not surrounded by death of some sort, but I am determined to learn to think of those instead of the last ones I have.
After an awkward pause, Nolan says, “Are you asking if I’ll come to the woods, Hunter?”
“I’m asking if you think I ought to have only women soldiers on the task,” I admit. “All its victims are men so far. We thought it was because the first was a lecher who was fond of his drink. A strange man. Then the Hunter ...” My frustration tinges my words as I ask, “How am I to figure out what it is if I cannot find better clues?”
“I don’t know, Hunter.”
“Me either.” I stare at him as he waits. The man is twice my age, but I am his commanding officer now. I am in command ofallof them. “I don’t want to make mistakes.”
“If you’re alive, you will make missteps. He did, too. You forget that truth, Hunter, and the beast already’s won.” Nolan looks around the park after he speaks, and I follow his gaze.
It appears idyllic, and if I had my way, itwouldbe. Faeries can’t resist the lure of nature, so green spaces are more frequently patrolled—as are wooded areas or fields—but we shouldn’t have to feel unsafe here.
“Do you want to lead the group I am moving to Brimmond Wood?” I ask.
“Aye. Good of you to ask.” He flashes a smile that feels like a good-natured laugh.
“If you think it’s unwise ...”
