“Tell me who sent the summons.”
“The Duke of Maudite. She would like to speak to theHunterabout the slayings in Brimmond Wood.”
“The summons is fromIsabeau? I know you were with her at the palace, but I thought it was romance. Was itthis? She came to see you in the city after that, and I thought ...”
My cheeks burn as I think about kissing the duke. “I didn’t say I waswithIsa.”
Rylan gives me a look that she typically reserves for absurd statements. “I watched you leave with her. I saw her confront you after her vow. Everyone saw it.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And everyone knew she’d seducedsomeonebefore vows,” Rylan continues, speaking over me. “She practically proposed to you at the ceremony.”
“She didn’t!” I sound shrill, perhaps because Isabeau has been blunt with me about that very thing. I don’t want to tell Rylan how much of my romance I’ve rekindled, but it’s clear I don’t need the words. “She ... we ... I don’t know what to do.”
Rylan stares at me, but my reflection is stern. “She still loves you.”
“I know.” My shoulders drop. “What if she thinks I’m loathsome when she learns my secret?”
“Fear is normal,” Rylan reminds me, seeing the soft parts of my heart with the sort of clarity that no one else ever has.
“Fear leads to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death,” I quote one of the many mantras Father insisted I learn and recite.
“You never could think clearly when Isabeau was involved. Some things obviously don’t change.” Rylan flounces out of the room.
My heart coils in on itself with pain for what is to come, and I wish I could speak of it. I am grateful for the one afternoon I had with Isabeau, and I will treasure that memory when she turns me away. In a somber mood, I walk to my room and into the dressing chamber that ought to be filled with gowns. Those are present, too, but the far back wall of my closet slides inward when I press on a particular stone.
I open the secret doorway. I tug on trousers and soft-soled boots. Tonight I will dress as the Hunter, not as a lady. I will ride to see Isabeau, and she will at last know what my secret is. I will tell her that the Hunter is a solitary fighter, aside from the soldiers I command now. I will tell her that I understand if our trysts must end.
Blue thoughts in mind, I slip through a gap in the wall. The space is wider than I need, the original opening intended for the wider shoulders of a young man. For my father. My grandfather. My great-grandfather. His father before him.
And for a son that died.
Once, this was Father’s room. He thought this room would be for his own son, but the Countess of Fleuriste lay in a bed near death several times after the births of her twin daughters. We knew that there was a brother arriving. Several brothers.
Then he was gone.
Every time.
Mother risked death repeatedly, losing children, trying to give the Hunter the son he required.
I was what Father made do with, not the child he wanted.That thought still haunts me sometimes. I was never enough. Even in the last months, he was trying to replace me.And now I’m all that’s left.
Inside the opening in the wall, a worn stone staircase leads me in a spiraling path to my laboratory and the burning chamber. The twisting stairs have the same worn marks as older castle staircases. Many years of footsteps have left an impression, and as I descend, I think about the Fleuriste men who have descended these steps to reach the wide room at the base.
Swords. Poleaxes. Shields. Myriad weapons. Some are honed, and others are broken. A few are bloodstained. In an inset space, carved into the stone, are oak shelves. And on those shelves are delicate glass vessels filled with poisons—or antidotes. I gather supplies, filling a bag with several vials and adding assorted knives into the satchel that I will wear.
The next time I face the beast I will not lose. I add a bow and quiver. These weapons will not make facing Isabeau easier, but perhaps they will help her see me as I truly am—a weapon for the queen to aim.
First, I will go to Maudite Castle. I will ask questions of the dowager duchess and Isabeau. This curse of Isabeau’s leaves me with questions, and whether the revelations exonerate her mother of duplicity or confirm Isabeau’s curse as real, I will have answers.
Then I will give Isabeau my secret: I am the Hunter, and I will answer her summons. However, she is merely a duke, and she cannot join my hunt. My duty must come before all else, and worrying about the woman I love will make my work immeasurably more challenging.
Chapter 23
“One day when [they] were hunting in the forest they came to a stately dun, white-walled, with coloured thatching on the roof, and they entered it to seek hospitality ... In the midst there was a table set forth with a sumptuous feast of boar’s flesh and venison, and a great vat of yew wood full of red wine, and cups of gold and silver ... So they knew they were being entrapped by some enchantment of the Fairy Folk.”
—Myths and Legends of the Celtic Raceby Thomas Rolleston [1911]
