“Two attacks on the Hunter-in-Training, one Hunter murdered—I feel like it knows what we are and targets us. I should send my regrets to the Chathams and come along,” I mutter. “These obligations irritated my father, and I’m starting to see why. I have no interest in soirees. I have work to do. Damn the magic that makes me unable to ignore this summons.”
“You’ll be heading back to the forest tomorrow, won’t you?” Nolan stares at me in silence, then says, “Sometimes the hardest thing about commanding troops is trusting them to do what they must. I’ve been there. If you don’t trust them, trust in me, Hunter. I’d lay down my life for your family.”
I nod. “I know ... and I do trust you. I fear I’m not ready for this, Nolan, not the title and not the rest.”
“Fair enough.” He doesn’t press me to say things will be fine, and I like him a little extra for it. There are no guarantees that anything will work out as we hope.
“Rylan is the next Hunter if I die. Guard her well. Get them home safely, and then ...”
“We’ll do our jobs, Hunter. No need worrying about that.” Nolan claps my shoulder like he used to do with my father, then pauses as if he did something wrong.
So I clap my hand on his shoulder, though the gesture feels odd to make. He relaxes under my hand, and I think that this, at the least, I can manage. I trust him, and I can wait one last day to join them. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“We’ll have the convoy ready for the countess and your sister within the hour.” With those parting words, Nolan leaves.
I am less worried, knowing that my family will be in capable hands. I’d prefer that they stay here, but my mother and sister are adults, and I will not pretend that they are unaware of the threats that wait in the world. They may not have gone into the woods with Father as I did, but they saw his battered body time and again when he faced a monster that was stronger than what ought to be allowed through the gate.
Once this is all over, we are stationing guards in the wood,my fear announces.
I think of the queen and her secrets. Is this another such case? I need an accounting of what all side accords are in play if I am to do my duty. That, too, is on my growing list of tasks to manage.
By the time my mother and sister depart, I am alone in the house with Clarissa and a cook. The rest of the group travels to Fleuriste. Everyone wants to be there for Mother, and I cannot fault them for it. I will join them on the morrow.
At least I will see Isabeau one last time before I must spill my secrets to her. I want one small spot of heaven. Is that wrong? I am not shirking my duty as Hunter or daughter or earl. I want one small bite of joy to carry me along.
In my near-empty house, I stand in my room with a steel box that looks older than I care to know. I open it and look at the rings nestled inside. Two truths about faeries are that they cannot lie, nor can they stand the touch of cold iron or its by-product, steel. The touch of it breaks their magicalglamours.
“What are those?” Clarissa asks.
“Hunter’s rings.” I hate the feel of them, but they’re a tool I should make use of now. The bands are golden, but the ornaments on top are all iron. Questions swirl in my mind: If the queen wouldn’t answer my questions, does that mean there are people within the court withglamours? Are there faeries in this world? Is the queen compromised in some way?
“Your dress,” Clarissa says, motioning to the heavy gray gown I must don.
I quickly slip a ring on each of my hands, on my smallest fingers. It leaves my thumb, first, ring, and middle finger naked, but if I am to brush against people, this feels like the most subtle option. It seems wrong, but if I am at a party surrounded by nobles ... I am desperate for clues, and I don’t want to wait for a fourth dead man to get them.
Once I am dressed, Clarissa helps affix my mask, the same one I wore to the palace. I have a twinge of worry about whispers, since I left the dance with the cursed duke while wearing this, but my reputation is not my focus today.
“May I touch you with this?” I wiggle the finger with the ring.
“Of course.” Clarissa extends an arm.
I practice casually bumping against her with the ring a few times. “The trick seems to be brushing against wrists as I walk. Lower your arm.”
I practice a few more gestures before I depart and walk to the Chathams’ house.
As I join the swirl of dancing, mingling nobles, I keep tapping my rings against bare arms and wrists.
When I accept small sandwiches from servants, I do the same. My gaze clocks the crowd of people as I sip an aperitif. I cannot imagine how much I’d need to dance to try to check each noble—and doing it when they are masked does little to eliminate suspects. I need to be at the theater or the museum or anunmaskedball.
As I plot how to eliminate the nobles strategically, I listen to conversations rise and fall. Sometimes I think people forget that those around them can hear their words. Other times, I am certain they simply don’t care that they are rude.
“Did you hear? Both the duke and the earl? Dead. Chest complaints both.”
“Something wrong with the game over there? Were they poisoned?”
“Two commoners murdered over there, too,” a third, raspy voice joins in.
“No sons either one of them,” the first voice stresses. “All those women with plenty of money and no man to help them manage.”
