“The queen—”
“No one.” I think for a moment that she hears what I am saying, but the sun is falling fast. Hurriedly, I ask, “What was in the vial?”
“The vial? Oh! My tonic. It’s changed as I aged, but it still smells of the rotting grass you hated when we were girls. Do you remember when I had to steal my father’s mead before we could kiss?”
I flush at the memory. “All I recall is the time spent talking and kissing. Not your gooey grass drink.”
Isabeau glances at the sky again. “Could we go inside, love? I did not have all my tonic, and I feel out of sorts. I don’t fancy being dead to the world outside your stable. I cannot picture you carrying me.”
I could, of course, but telling her that will wait on dawn. Lightly I ask, “Has the tonic changed?”
“Several times as I grew older,” Isabeau says.
“Recently?”
“Of course. There was a change when His Grace grew ill, as I was ill with worry.” She frowns at me. “Why do you ask?”
We stop at the door to the manor. “Because your reaction to it spilling seems out of character.” When she says nothing more, we walk in silence to the room where she’ll rest. At the threshold, I add, “The door will be guarded. You are safe here.”
“I am certain of that, love.” Isabeau brushes a quick kiss over my lips, and then she’s gone into the room. I listen for the heavy bar to be slid home, securing her inside.
My lover, my sister, and my mother are all safely inside Fleuriste Manor. Light falls, and I do not need to journey to Maudite Castle this night. Instead, I can patrol. Though the order has gone out from Her Majesty that Brimmond Wood is to be avoided, it does not apply to me. I am meant to go there, to hunt, and hopefully to end the Beast of Brimmond’s reign of terror.
Once I am alone, I open Isabeau’s letter and read:
Hunter,
I am offering you my services to stop the monster in the forest. It has killed the Earl of Fleuriste and others. Such violence cannot be tolerated. Please let me know how I may assist you. Will you accept my request to stop the Beast of Brimmond?
Isabeau, Seventh Duke of Maudite
I reread her letter twice, smiling despite my irritation. She does not askifshe can assist, buthowshe can.
I trail my finger over her signature and aloud, I say, “I do accept, Your Grace. I will kill the Beast of Brimmond.”
My body responds to the vow viscerally. Until I stop the monster, I will feel this pressing need, this obsession. I’ve seen my father in the throes of it. My vow is writ in my bone and blood now. I can feel it in each beat of my heart and every draw of air into my lungs. It rattles inside me like a demand.
“I will kill it,” I repeat.
It’s that or die from the pressure to do so. This is what it means to be a Hunter. I thought I understood, but feeling this urgency now is different than the drive ofchoosingto do it. This is ageas, a magical vow.
Chapter 24
“He also heard the sound of a bugle-horn winding in the air, and there seemed to be invisible hunters riding by. He then began to be afraid, but recollected his having heard that any person seeing Gwyllion may drive them away by drawing out a knife. So he drew out his knife, and the fairies vanished directly.”
—British Goblins: Welsh Folk-lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditionsby Wirt Sikes [1880]
Not long after the moon fully rises, I feel a pull toward the wood, as if a clawed hand reaches into my belly and hooks my bones. Although I felt the magic call to me when Father was dying, I’ve never felt this before. I draw a sharp breath, hand going to my stomach.
“Gabrielle?” Rylan asks.
“Geas.Imustpatrol.” I turn away from her and concentrate on taking each step at a quick trot. I want to run. I want to be out of doors. I want tohunt. The magic tells me my prey must be hunted, and for the first time since Father died, I am certain of who I am, where I go, and why.
I gather weapons, fill my pockets with a mixture of salt and seeds, and then walk through the basement door into the tunnel to the stables.
Clatterbuck sees me and nickers. Father’s horse, Imp, also watches me. He’s silent, likely recognizing the night lantern. Clatterbuck hasn’t experienced the wood while wearing the lantern harness.
“Take Imp.” Mother’s voice comes out of the shadows in the stable. “He’s a smart horse, and he came home for your use after your father died.” She tenses as she speaks the word, but she says it aloud.
