Chapter One
Irolled over and wished they’d all just shut the hell up. The birds chipping from atop the narrow alley walls and the merchant’s carts creaking along the cobblestone streets were tolerable. But the baker’s whistling? I stifled my groan, ignoring the ache in my hips and the ground’s cold sting.
The warm scent of fresh-baked bread drifted beneath the door I slept against, taunting me until my mouth watered. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my thoughts elsewhere and my contemptuous stomach into submission. There was still time for rest. The sun hadn’t crested the city’s ivory stone walls, but when it did, it would bring with it that godsforsaken heat Bronne was known for. Aethier’s ass. I can’t wait to leave this fucking city.
Last night, this secluded back alley seemed the perfect location to rest. It was far enough from the riverfront market to avoid the steel-happy guards, but not deep toward the city’s center where the slums waited, saturated in the filth of humanity. Though, the filth of humanity was my job.
The royal city hugged the northern border of Calrund, Westryelle’s human province. Here, the wealthy lived their lavish, ignorant lives, gazing upon that ostentatious ivory castle, all while pretending the rest of us didn’t exist. Who could blame them, though?
From the outer districts, one could spend their entire existence and never see the depths of their city’s depravity. The dark places cast in shadow and soot, where flesh and blood were as abundant as the rats. That was where I was headed today.
If I wanted my share of the highest-paying bounties in Westryelle, I had to endure these monthly trips. Luckily, I kept the only friend I ever truly had tucked into a sheath at my side. Early on, I promised myself I would only kill as a means of protection. But the truth was, I was always in danger, so I was always killing.
I never would’ve ventured within the city’s center if not for the naivety of my youth—back when I knew nothing of the dangers that awaited me. In the slums, men had zero qualms about assaulting vulnerable women in the ruddy streets. On the first night after leaving home, I saw it happen. On the second, one of them came for me.
I’d never forget the bite of cold steel in my palm, mixed with the warmth of their life source pouring from the wound I caused. Up until that point, I’d never felt powerful in my life, never felt like I had a fighting chance in this world that had taught me nothing but pain, hunger, and heartache. Survival was all I’d known. But as I watched the light leave my attacker’s eyes, and the rancid stain of his breath on my face faded, I felt relief. I saved myself.
In that brief moment of relief, an idea, fervent and unyielding, took root. I could do more than survive.
It was days later when I scored my first bounty, sealing my fate forever. I scraped by on the streets for months, learning to hunt the monsters among men. Taking them out meant safety, food, and, if I could become skilled enough, comfort. That was all I ever really wanted from life.
Now, eight years later, having worked my ass off to master the tools at my disposal, both of flesh and steel, I made a name for myself as the only female bounty hunter in the kingdom. I was eager to take on jobs with higher rewards. Doing so would enable me to establish a secure and comfortable life. And perhaps, someday, have a home of my own.
I was a new face to the greaseball who ran the bounty clerk’s office. Still, he heard my name enough to recognize me the first time I darkened his doorstep. Despite my reputation, it required some convincing for him to give me his largest bounty on the books. In the end, though, what did he care if I got myself killed?
I craved a world where tyrants who called themselves ‘gentlemen’ couldn’t prey on those weaker than themselves. Once I claimed this bounty I carried, there’d be no questioning my abilities. This would be the one to change things forever.
It was my most difficult mission to date, sure. Once I got in, however, it only took me fifteen minutes before I was on my way to Bronne with the poor bastard’s head bobbing around in my sack. My plan was the same as always; get in, get the cash, restock supplies, then get out.
Footsteps from inside the bakery startled me from my lucid rest. Before I had time to react, the door at my back swung open, replaced by the angry baker’s foot, kicking me from my resting place.
“Get outta here, you filthy little shit!”
The sweaty man clenched his fist and shook it at me, his face looking more like a plump blueberry every second. I feared it might pop if he kept yelling.
I gathered my things and stormed down the alley toward the cobblestone street. He spun a web of unnecessary expletives that followed my every step and grated on my nerves. I snatched a browning apple from my bag and chucked it at his head. He spewed another long line of insults and ducked. Despite my impressive aim, the fruit hit the doorframe with a low thud. Still muttering to himself, he waved me off with both hands, then rushed inside, slamming the door shut. Cranky fuck.
I readjusted my bag on my shoulder and ventured deeper into the city. The tempting scents of the riverfront market faded, replaced by the slum’s filthy, vermin-filled streets. The bounty house sat in this dilapidated area of town between a bloodletting clinic and a dingy pub that I wouldn’t have eaten at, even on my hungriest of days. In these parts, the buildings were decrepit and battered and the people looked much the same.
A worn sign hung from a rusty nail, pinned to a narrow wooden door with chipped, blue paint. When I pushed it open and walked inside, the expression on Goodrum’s face shifted from hopeful to indifferent.
“I have no more bounties to give you, girl. I’m all tapped out.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you, Goodrum, but that’s not why I’m here.” I dropped the bloodstained sack on his desk with a sickening thud.
“What the fuck, kid! Get that off my desk. I run a respectable business here.”
“Oh, please. The only thing you clean is your damn plate. A little blood is probably the least nasty thing in this office.” I plopped into the chair across the desk from the paunchy man and crossed my legs.
“So who’d you bring me?” he asked, daring to lift the bag open a bit.
I let out a mischievous laugh when he gagged and snapped it shut again. “Yeah, it’s been a couple of days. It was a long trip from Hanover.”
“Hanover, you say?” His thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows raised high. “So that’s where this ol’ son-of-a-bitch’s been hiding out?”
I nodded. “Caught him just outside town, squatting in a barn on some abandoned farmland. The place was guarded pretty well, though. Took me three days before I found an opening.”
“I tried to warn you it wasn’t gonna be easy.”
“Did you know he’d have Vylandrian guards?”
Goodrum’s ears perked, but otherwise, he seemed uninterested. “Nope. You know, most people just bring me a piece of armor, a patch of skin with a tattoo on it…” He poked the bag with the end of the fountain pen. “But no, not you. You bring me the whole godsdamn head.”
“I don’t want any confusion,” I said, bouncing my foot.
“Hmm.” He opened a drawer, then slapped the dead man’s file onto the desk. “One, Mr. Greggor Hood, let’s see.” His face pinched. “Says here, the king wants this fellow himself.” He flipped to another page. “Looks like you’ll need to take this chap ‘cross the river to get the lent you’re owed.”
I snatched the folder and reread the information. An inked decree scrawled at the bottom of the page declared whoever gained the whereabouts or proof of Mr. Greggor Hood’s death was to report to the King’s Guard.
“What does it mean?” I pressed the folder shut, then nudged it across the desk.
“Means this guy’s wanted for something pretty bad. Probably more than the murder charge they have listed.” He scratched at his chin, frowning. “I wondered why his bounty was so high.”
“You never thought to look?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Didn’t care.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t make much sense if you ask me.”
Agreed. In my eight years of hunting, I never encountered a king’s bounty placed on someone for a single murder. My shoulders slumped with my sigh. I sensed the display of defeat on my face, but I didn’t care. I intended to spend as little time as possible in this city. A trip to the castle was just about the least enticing thing I could think of. Maybe I could drop the head in an alley—grab another bounty elsewhere. But I needed the lent. Those days of scouting had cost me dearly. A roiling growl sounded from my stomach as if to echo that sentiment.
I pulled the bloodied sack from the desk. It dropped and swung like a morbid pendulum in my hand, leaving behind a grotesque smear.
Goodrum grimaced at the stain as he handed me the file. “Here, take this with you. They should cash you in up there.”
“Should?” I asked, not dampening my skepticism.
“Come on, kid. I dunno. Never had one like this before.” He held his hands up in mock surrender under my glare. “How about you stop back in here when you’re done, huh? Let me know how it goes in case I see something like this again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
I’ll be back to shove your head in a sack next if this is a piss-poor attempt at a joke.
My shoulder rammed into the old stubborn door, then I stepped out onto the dingy street. Crumbling brick and sandstone walls headlined the stagnant environment—a compliment compared to the reek of working men and emptied chamber pots.
I jammed the bloody sack into my bag and pulled out a small strip of fabric from the outer pocket. My hair’s thickness and raven-black hue was a curse in the godsdamned heat that midday would bring, and the morning air would’ve been comfortable if it weren’t for the smells it stirred up. After gathering the strands, I braided them away from my face and headed for the market.
Here, the air sweetened with aromas of delicious pastries, curing meats, fruits, and foreign spices from all over the kingdom. Their scents drifted on the breeze as if cast out, tasked with luring hungry customers. I rounded the corner and beelined for a cart that sold my favorite roasted nuts—when I caught a glimpse of the castle across the river. For fuck’s sake.
I was so hungry that I’d almost forgotten. I peered at my filthy clothes, stifling a grimace. Perhaps I should clean up first? My black, form-fitting hunting garb made it easy to sneak in and out of places unnoticed, but it’d been some time since I bathed. Blood and grime muddied my hair, and I reeked of travel.
Unfortunately, until I received my payout, I was dirt-broke—the last thing I wanted was to spend the day stealing an entire outfit.
As I passed, I looked into one of the dress shops that lined the streets. The doors were open, and the scent of roses and vanilla floated from within. The contrast between the heavenly essence and my stench stabbed at my confidence, but then I caught sight of the middle-aged woman behind the counter. Her upper lip curled like she found something nasty stuck to the bottom of her fancy shoe. I sneered back, then picked up my pace. I didn’t want any of those gaudy floral monstrosities, anyway.
Difficult circumstances aside, I was no stranger to what it felt like to wear fine clothes, feast on rich dishes, and live among the elite. Though, thinking about those days left a sour taste on my tongue. Yet another reason I hated this city. Memories always clawed to the surface, no matter how deeply I buried them.
I turned to appraise myself in a storefront window, studying the lean lines of my limbs. My fair skin seemed to glow in contrast to the darkness of my hair and clothes. The glare made it impossible to see my burgundy eyes, but I knew they were ringed with heavy purple splotches due to my lack of decent sleep.
My attention lingered as I backed away. I spun on my heel to move on, immediately colliding with a passerby.
“Oh, my apologies.” The man grabbed my elbow to steady me.
A string of curses sat on the edge of my tongue, but I cut them off when I met his gaze, then offered a smile instead. “My fault.”
His tailored royal-blue overcoat felt clean and well-made beneath my grimy hand. His straight-backed stature and handsome, groomed appearance reeked of prestige.
Once settled on my feet, I took a step back and dipped my head in submission. “Thank you.”
With a quick nod, he continued on his way.
I turned the small leather pouch over in my hand. After testing its weight, a wry smirk tugged the corners of my lips. I had plenty to suit my needs. I stuffed the man’s lent in my pocket and started for the cart with roasted nuts.
Once I ate, bathed, and finished shopping with the lifted lent, I made my way to the castle. At the main gate, I handed the bounty file to the guard, and he hurried off with a barked order to stay put. When he returned, he appeared a bit more sweaty and red than before.
“The king would like to offer you a short wait in the gardens. We will retrieve you for an audience with His Majesty shortly.”
“What? Why?” I demanded. “Just give me my payment so I can leave.”
The guard’s expression didn’t change. He stood aside, then gestured with an outstretched arm for me to enter. With a sharp scowl, I passed through the large iron gates, unable to ignore the gnawing skepticism in the back of my mind. Why would the king request to meet the hunter of a bounty? The drive to bolt itched at my limbs, but I reminded myself, again, that I needed this money.
Three thousand lent—that’s what I stood to gain. That would set me up for months. I could find a horse, stock up on supplies, and make it to Westryelle’s southern province before autumn set in. Breckenridge, known for its sandy coasts and comfortable climate, was a good place to ride out the winter months. I just had to get out of this hellhole first.
When the guards left me outside the garden’s entrance, taking the head with them, I lingered a short while before my curiosity got the better of me and I meandered toward the flowers. The romantic perfume of roses and the calming layer of lavender created a pleasant ambiance as my fingers danced along the delicate bells that grew in rows on the lavender’s stem. A bumblebee hovered inches away from my hand, its fuzzy body caked in small bundles of pollen. I smiled as it dipped into another waiting flower.
I’d love to have a lush garden brimming with lavender and roses someday. My long days would crawl by while I watched bumblebees and hummingbirds zip in and out. I’d sip tea and read in the sunshine. Just like my mother used to do.
The thought pulled me into childhood memories of overflowing planters that hung from balcony railings. Their gentle scents wafted through our family home. Those were simpler times—back when my father was still the royal foreman. And my mother was still alive.
I followed the path of trimmed and polished stone, seeking a place to sit. When I rounded a bend of puffy hydrangeas, the expanse opened into a clearing. A large marble bench sat facing an elaborate fountain at the plaza’s heart. As I found my seat, I rubbed at the tight muscles in my shoulders, studying the craftsmanship. The fountain’s center depicted the god of light, Aethier, as a tall man with a falcon’s head. The water fell in a glossy sheet at his back, creating the illusion of a tower of light. At the base were etchings and engravings of humans, all kneeling in worship.
I swung around and kicked up my feet, positioning myself to take in the array of flowers instead. I never paid much mind to the gods or their stories. That’d been more my mother’s thing. Besides, prayer never proved as effective as quick wit or a steel dagger.
As I waited, anxiety simmered in the pit of my stomach. What had the sorry bastard done to warrant not only his death, but required me to answer for it, too? I scraped at the underside of my nails with the point of a small throwing blade, considering a multitude of scenarios. Had I killed a man who never murdered anyone? I overheard talk of illegal assassin work disguised as bounties, but never put much merit in those rumors. My frown tightened at the notion. If that were true, taking his life would contradict everything I stood for, violating the promise I made to myself.
There was nothing to be done about it now. For fuck’s sake, I was still picking the remnants of the man’s blood from under my nails. I earned this bounty—I might as well get my pay.
The symphony of clacking metal drew my attention as two guards approached. The glare of sunlight off their bronze armor had me squinting to make out the emblazoned seal on their chest. These were the King’s Guard.
“Come with us,” one said, though I couldn’t tell which spoke. Their head-to-toe armor concealed any distinguishing features.
They escorted me to a side entrance, then down the castle halls to a set of polished wooden doors laden with decorative iron filigree. Floral fragrances permeated the air as I passed between two beautiful arrangements cascading from pearled vases. My nose crinkled as I fought the urge to sneeze. Chrysanthemums.
The hall’s glass ceilings were steep and dramatic. Framed and focused as the centerpiece was a throne, ceremoniously raised upon a dais. Pillars painted in ostentatious design depicted victorious battle scenes. They stood tall and sturdy, supporting a shadowed balcony that oversaw the space.
One such pillar portrayed an armor-clad druid warrior and a human soldier caught side by side in the throes of battle against a drak. As the pillar curved, the scene revealed how the druid used his magic to ensnare the flying demon in a web of tangled roots, and the human’s sword sank through the beast’s chest. Its skeletal head was thrown back, epitomizing a guttural scream.
My mother often told me stories of when humans and druids fought against the drak. And how, following their victory, the former king built this castle at the center of the kingdom to encourage peace between the northern races of Vylandria and the southern human strongholds. One of her most precious possessions was a shield passed down through her family line, said to be used during the war. It’d been the only thing of hers I stowed in our carriage the night we fled the royal city following her death. I cherished it until the day my father stole it from my room, then sold it to buy more ale. Bastard.
The metallic creak of a door hinge echoed off the stone walls as King Atreus entered. He moved with the smooth, commanding confidence of a lion. All the while, the heat of his predatory stare made me feel like a potential meal.
When he came to a stop beside his throne, I sucked in a deep, steadying breath, then approached the dais. At the base of the stairs, I sank into as perfect a curtsy as I could manage in my leather and lace corset, and fought the urge to meet his eyes.
“So you are the bounty hunter who has brought me Hood’s head.”
The guard behind me moved forward and dropped the sack at my feet.
I searched my memory for the last remaining bit of tact I possessed. “Yes, Your Majesty.” My voice was steady—a small mercy.
I finally lifted my gaze. His face was professional, soft at first, but something indiscernible crossed his umber eyes and his expression narrowed with suspicion. An icy chill prickled across my scalp.
“What do you call yourself?” he asked.
“Mira, Your Majesty.”
“Mira?” He strung the question out, seeking my surname—one I refused to give ever again.
“Just Mira.”
“And how old are you, just Mira?”
“Twenty-three.”
He said nothing for a long moment. The depth of his gaze made me want to crawl inside myself and disappear. This was an excessive amount of attention to handle in one day, but I stood resolute, my eyes fixed ahead, longing for it to be over.
“Am I to believe that this,” he nodded toward the sack at my feet, “is your doing?”
“If you’re asking if I killed him, then yes.”
The king’s eye nearly twitched at my tone, but my patience was wearing thin.
“That’s a big job for such a small girl.”
My eyes narrowed at the patronizing comment, but I did my best to feign indifference. “I came here with the understanding that I would receive my payment and be on my way, Your Majesty. Unless there’s anything else, I would like to do so.”
“Who helped you?” he asked, ignoring my statement.
“No one.”
“Who taught you?”
“No one.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
His grip on the back of the throne grew increasingly strained, and I almost expected to hear the wood crack beneath his white-knuckled fist.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
The unenthusiastic bite in my tone was not lost on him. He pressed his lips and stood there, glaring as if I were a vexing puzzle to be solved. My heart threatened to pound out of my chest as I surreptitiously gauged every exit, the number of guards, and how many weapons I had on my person.
My weapons.
If they meant me harm, wouldn’t they have searched me? Surely they knew a hunter would be armed to the teeth. This agitation buzzing beneath my skin had to be paranoia—nothing more.
The king drew in a slow, deep breath before saying, “I’d invite you to stay, if you would, Mira. I have someone I would like for you to meet.”
“I’m not sure I–”
“It won’t take long, I assure you.”
I wasn’t eager to indulge the king’s request. Every nerve screamed a warning, but I pushed those instincts aside and gave a single quick nod.
“Good.”
With a nearly imperceptible gesture of his head, the guards seized my arms, their gauntlets bruising my skin. Another approached and searched for my weapons. I struggled against them, straining to shove them off. I banged my shin on a guard’s greaves in an attempt to kick him off. Pain drew a hiss past my lips as they shoved me to my knees. My effort to stand again was overpowered as they finished their search.
“Why are you doing this?” Panic stained my furious tone.
Without a word, King Atreus left the way he’d come. The guards jerked me to my feet and dragged me from the great hall like a feral animal. I kicked, thrashed, and screamed until they tossed me into the dank dungeon in the belly of the castle.