Chapter 9 #2
The Huntress couldn’t be taken down by fog, no matter how deadly.
Her scent guided me deeper. Faster.
The small opening in the center smelled like misery.
Still, underneath it, I could sense her.
I froze, a grim reality whipping into view before me.
Alaric, the leader of the Protectorate, dead, blood soaking his chest.
The Huntress, clutching his body, beautiful eyes closed, tears still staining her rosy cheeks.
The mist circling them, a menacing creature waiting to snap its jaws.
Was she already dead?
I shouldn’t care. But I did.
This wasn’t the way a worthy opponent like her should fall.
I dashed to her side, ignoring the way my leather boots and armor constricted and hissed as I passed through the mist.
I reached out a hand toward the long column of her neck, just like she had with her cousin. It felt sacrilegious to use my powers to check.
The beckoning rhythm of her heart was faint.
She was passed out, but still breathing.
There was still hope.
I chanced a quick glance at Alaric and shuddered.
An arrow hadn’t been the one to take his life.
A dagger had.
A very familiar dagger.
If I left Alaric here, the mist would dissolve his body beyond recognition.
Perhaps that would have been the more logical, shrewd choice to make.
There was no love lost between the Blood Brotherhood and the Protectorate–but Alaric had been a fair leader.
He needed a proper funeral.
As the mist closed in on us, I made another decision which could damn us all.
I picked up Alaric’s body, muttering a prayer to forgotten gods, took out the dagger which had claimed him and placed it in my leather satchel, and threw him over my shoulder. The remaining air rushed out of his lungs, sending a deathly chill down my spine.
It had sounded too much like a warning from beyond the grave.
May the gods forgive me.
Then I picked up his daughter in my arms. Her head lolled against my elbow, exposing more of her neck to my disbelieving eyes.
I clenched my jaw.
Only minutes before, she’d been a storm in silk. A force of nature. Now she was cradled in my arms, as vulnerable as ever.
I imagined I’d have to drag her on board the ship kicking and screaming.
This was so much worse.
She would hate me for this.
I’d have to live with it.
Just as the mist finally snapped around me, I rushed toward the castle.
Behind its ornate doors, chaos ruled. People were screaming, crying, asking for justice and desperately calling out the names of relatives they probably would never see again.
Before anyone could notice me, I laid down Alaric’s body on the terrace as solemnly as I could in my haste. I made sure he faced the heavens, so the gods would receive him with open arms.
He deserved it.
Then I was off, letting the Protectorate wrestle with the death of their leader and the disappearance of their heir.
The Huntress’ wild hair whipped against my chest, as if she was fighting me.
Stubborn even when sleeping.
So many cuts and bruises marred her moon skin. The gash on her exposed thigh looked worse than the others.
But no arrow had hit her and no poison had infected her veins.
She would live.
I only stopped running once I boarded the Blood Brotherhood ship and reached Zandyr’s personal quarters.
I barged in without knocking–or making a sound.
Soryn and Zandyr stood above Elysia, who was busy changing Calyx’s bandages. Instead of red blood stains, a sickly green liquid soaked the gauze and sputtered from his wound. An arrow had barely grazed his shin, but the poison was already boiling his blood.
He was feverish and mumbling, a dangerous pallor to his face.
Worst of all, The Viper, the one who knew more about poisons, elixirs, and cures in all of Malhaven, looked worried.
“I’ve done all I can,” she whispered. “He’ll survive, but his leg…”
An ugly understanding settled between us.
More than all of us, Calyx prided himself on his strength and agility.
Our weapons’ master would not take this new reality kindly.
“Discovering what this poison is–and a cure–is our top priority,” Zandyr commanded like the true heir he was.
“One of our priorities,” I said.
They all turned toward me.
I stepped closer to them, eyes travelling over Calyx. His huge body was shaking, sweat pooling at his temples.
This poison wasn’t of this world.
Elysia bared her teeth. “What’s the she-beast doing here?”
“Making my life more complicated than it needs to be.” My arms tightened around The Huntress. Her blue dress looked so out of place between the Blood Brotherhood red and gold adorning Zandyr’s room.
I steadied her on one arm, took out the leather pouch from my armor, and handed it to Elysia. “Give this to Calyx when he wakes.”
Because he would wake. The gods weren’t that merciless.
She gave me a curious look. “What’s this?”
Our undoing, if we’re not careful.
“He’ll know.” He would be the only one who could and I trusted Elysia not to open it. “And nobody else can until then.”
Zandyr’s knowing gaze raced over me. Of course he’d sensed something was wrong. “What happened?”
“Alaric is dead,” I announced. “Stabbed straight through the heart.”
Zandyr narrowed his eyes. “Impossible.”
“I carried his body myself. He was assassinated in the middle of their blasted maze,” I said. “And now we’ve stolen their Lost Daughter and The Huntress.”
An ugly silence filled the room.
“This complicates matters,” Zandyr muttered in that detached tone he used when his mind was flitting between one solution to the next.
“Perhaps she wasn’t the main target after all,” Soryn said, cocking his head to the side. Analyzing. “Or she’s next on the kill list.”
“Let them take her,” Elysia hissed, patting her hair. “If it weren’t for the bloody Protectorate, Calyx would be standing next to us right now.”
Calyx moaned again, as if trying to argue.
Relief rushed through me.
If he could still bicker, even in babbles, he would recover. How was the question.
“We need to hide her until we reach the fortress. Whoever attacked the island might come after our ship.” I gazed down at The Huntress. My new ward . She looked so small and defenseless in my arms.
“I have an easy fix,” Soryn said. “If someone wants to kill her, best everyone thinks she’s dead already–”
“I am not sticking her down there with the dead.” I rumbled. Even if I had no love for the Vegheara family, nobody deserved to spend days in such grim conditions. “I’ll just hide her in my room and be done with it.”
I’d slept in worse conditions than on a rocking deck and the thought of our unwilling stowaway in my bed calmed some of the dread which had stuck to me from the massacre.
“There’s a better option than traumatizing the First Daughter for life.” Soryn jerked his chin at the corner behind me.
I turned hesitantly, already knowing what I’d find there.
Zandyr’s golden coffin.
The Blood Brotherhood had been built on unflinching traditions, but this one was grim, even by our standards.
Every time the heir to the throne left Phoenix Peak, he had to bring his coffin along.
They said it was to avoid carrying the heir’s body in improper circumstances in case he was killed away from home. To assure his body made it as whole as possible back for the royal funeral.
But I saw the message beyond the pomp and circumstance–win or return dead.
No other option.
Zandyr hadn’t said anything, but I saw the way his gaze grew heavy and lingered on the coffin.
Silence fell over us again, this time ugly and stunned.
“You want to stick her in a coffin ?” I finally said, voice cutting.
“That’s morbidly genius,” Elysia said gleefully.
I shot her a warning look.
“What? It’s not like Zandyr’s using it, thank the gods,” she said. “And that’ll keep her out of our hair for the entire trip. Literally.”
“I’ve enchanted it.” Soryn approached the coffin and lifted the heavy golden lid, revealing the red velvet interior.
Seared in a corner of it was a rune I didn’t recognize.
Soryn tapped it reverently. “This will keep her in the exact same state until you reach the fortress. No dying of thirst or fatigue. She’ll get to rest and wake up as if nothing happened.
And none of us will have to worry about waking up with a dagger at our throats. ”
I hesitated.
It would be better for her–and all of us, honestly–if The Huntress could sleep until we reached my fortress.
“If we’re attacked on the way, nobody will bother to look for her here,” Soryn said. “You agreed to protect her, this is the best way.”
I looked down at her face once more. I didn’t know what dreams haunted her mind, but they made her scrunch her forehead and quivered her bottom lip.
She did need to rest.
She was, despite my wishes, my ward now.
I had to take care of her, whether I wanted to or not.
I gently lowered her in the coffin that was much too big for her, making sure she slept as comfortably as possible.
The sudden weightlessness in my arms felt wrong.
Perhaps she would truly be at rest–and it took entombing her to achieve it.
There she was, in a coffin made for a future king, dress torn, skin bruised, cheeks stained, and she still looked like a force to be reckoned with, filling up the too-large space with her stuttered breaths.
If this was mercy, why did it feel like betrayal?
Before Soryn closed the lid, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this would come back to haunt me.
The Huntress would hate me for this.