I smother a sigh at the increasing need to update Isabeau about my sacred duty. One more day, maybe two; surely I can have that! I blurt out, “Not Maudite.”
“Fine,” Anders agrees. “Where, then?”
My eyes catch on a flash of a tail in the river as I say, “There is an unused barracks near the Dancing Goose in the village of Fleuriste. When you arrive in the village, tell the innkeeper—Girard—that the Hunter sent you. Girard will walk you over with the key to the building, and he will provide provisions until you have the larder stocked. He’s trustworthy.”
It seems a small word, but the feeling behind it is deep. Idotrust him. I trust him with my secret, trusted him with my body, and I haveno doubt he’ll provide for the soldiers. A part of me wishes I could’ve trusted him with my heart, that I was made differently, but he will make a fine husband for someone else.
“We’ll reach the village before nightfall, and we can start patrols by morning.” Lowell pitches her voice lower as a couple walks past us. “Does the duke not know ...?”
“Who I am? No. I have not yet told the new duke that I’m the Hunter.” I don’t add that I think she ought to have at least guessed it, but the thought crosses my mind. Again. Isabeau sees only the person who is a noblewoman, not the killer of monsters. She seems to have no idea of my duty to Alveus.
“Not that we’re questioning your choices, Hunter,” Anders hurriedly adds. “I don’t want to misstep and speak a truth that will result in losing my tongue.”
“Understandable. You can speak freely in the village. Everyone there knows, and Maudite will know. Soon, I expect. However, her father recently passed.” I watch a young couple lean their heads together as they stroll. They are oblivious of the dangers that lurk in the water near them, and I wonder if the gleaming tail I saw a few moments ago is that of a long-gone threat, or if it lurks still. Most citizens will never see a faery, or if they do, it’ll be the small faery animals that pose no threat.
“Maudite needs time to mourn,” I tell the soldiers.
“Your father passed more recently, but you’re here.” Lowell glances at her companion before hurriedly adding, “Respectfully.”
“Iam the Hunter. The expectations are different. I am allowing the duke time to grieve before she must contemplate vile deeds and dead men in the woods.” I glance over at a splash in the water. “I promised her father.”
“Yes, m’lord ... m’lady ... Hunter. Sir.” Anders bows. “I don’t know the right term for you. The last Hunter was a man.”
“They’ve all been men, haven’t they?” I muse. Though I intend to make changes, this change is not one I chose. Not really. It simply is a reality. “I am not sure of the terms to address me either. We don’t needthe whole of the peerage to know that the Hunter is a woman, do we? We’ll figure it out as we go. I’m less interested in titles and more interested in finding the faery murdering men in the Brimmond Wood.”
“Fair enough.” Lowell nods. She glances at the couple, who instinctively move away from the water when the tail breaks the surface again. I suspect some people are more attuned to threats than others are. “Should the queen ask for an emissary to go talk to the evil queen, I’ll go with you.”
I startle at the thought.Going to Faery?The idea sounds terrifying—and extremely unnecessary. I can think of no reason to go there, to surround myself with the monsters banned from our world.
“Plenty of us would volunteer to go with you,” Anders adds.
“I don’t imagine it’ll come to that,” I say with a slight grimace they can’t see behind my face covering. “Nor do I think the faery queen is rightlyevil. No good can come of dealing with faeries.”
A cry startles all of us before I can add that the faeries aren’t properly evil, simply not used to the same ideas of right and wrong. They can’t be, although the temptation to think that is there. If they were evil, I’d have no guilt when I must end their lives.
Anders and Lowell are already in motion toward the cry.
I follow, passing them in a heartbeat. Now that I’m the Hunter, I am faster than them, but there is comfort in having them follow me. This is one of the things I will change as Hunter—why should it beoneperson against the monsters? Why not permanently station soldiers nearby to aid me? Why not train them in Brimmond Wood and send them to the city with more experience?
A second wavering scream rings out.
I speed up, racing through the park until I see Emma Iversson crumpled on the ground, unbloodied.
“Lady Emma,” I say hesitantly, peering around in expectation of seeing a body or at the least a severed head.
All I see is her, breathing too rapidly, chest heaving like an agitated animal’s with each inhalation. Her blush-hued gown gives her cheeks arosy shade, and her golden hair is lovely in the watery sunlight. Her hair is slightly mussed, and her breathing is irregular, but she looks otherwise unharmed. No faery blood marks her person or the ground. I cannot fathom why she screamed so loudly. Could it have been a serpent? A turned ankle? The tips of an Aughiska’s mane flashing in the current? The creature whose tail I saw?
Emma stares at me, hand covering her décolletage. “Why areyouhere?”
“You screamed.” My hand goes to my face covering to be sure I’m hidden as well as can be, although she seems not to recognize me.
“I did scream.” She dabs at the corners of her seemingly dry eyes. “I was horrified.”
I still cannot see any threat, even as my mind continues to list a catalog of dangers. The mundane does not vanish simply because I hunt a killer of men. I debate telling her that I need to know what she saw, but do I want to reveal my identity to her?
Anders catches up then and, without a word, extends a hand to Emma. As Emma ripples to her feet like some half-dressed Bird of Paradise leaving her abbey, I notice the furrows in her gown. Three diagonal cuts mar the pale-pink fabric. I grab her gown and drop to my knees to stare at the marks.
The edges are jagged, hesitant cut patterns, and I tilt it to check for any blood.
