Chapter 9 #3
Will I need to speak to the dowager duchess? my anxiety asks hesitantly. The thought of it fills me with a sensation of woe. The late duke was kind and embracing; the dowager duchess is unpleasant at the best of times. Duty insists, I will look for her at the ball, nonetheless.
One of the attendants now stands at Isabeau’s side and holds out a cup.
The queen nods. “Fortification. Drink it.”
“You have my tonic here? Why?” Isabeau’s words slur, but she drinks the mysterious tonic.
The queen glances at me before she sends a sad smile at Isabeau. “Go dance, child. You have some time before the vow renewals begin and the sun drops.”
“May I ask a question, Auntie Mor?”
The queen pauses. “Of course.”
“Is the Hunter a woman? There was a creature in the park, and a noblewoman dispatched it.” As Isabeau asks the question, my heart races.
She saw me, and she knew who I am—at least recognized my role if not my body.
The magic that protects the Hunter ought to have softened the edges of her perception.
Perhaps the magic of her curse is interfering with the Hunter’s magic.
The queen scoffs. “And you think she is the Hunter? Simply because she fought a faery? Most of them aren’t so fierce. I would suspect you could duel one. My guards have done so.”
My pride prickles at the dismissive tone. There is no faery as weak as a human. If killing them were so easy, the Hunter would not exist.
“Fine.” Isabeau paces briefly and then adds, “I would like to court her, whoever she is. Will you tell me the name of the noblewoman who could fight and defeat a faery?”
The queen laughs. “No, but I will enjoy watching you try to find her. You do know her, of course.”
“If I do find her, will you tell me that she’s the one I seek? I must know her, Auntie Mor. I feel it in here.” Isabeau pats her chest over her heart. “I’ve only ever felt such interest in one other woman, and she refused me.”
I what? I glare at her through the curtain. I have never refused her. It hits me then like a bolt to the heart. She must mean someone else. She feels such love for someone else. Tears press in my eyes, and I am grateful to be hidden.
“I will confirm her identify if you do find her,” Morag says mildly, expression betraying none of the secrets she holds in her hand.
Then Isabeau broaches an equally dangerous topic—or perhaps the same one—as she asks, “There have been at least two deaths in Brimmond Wood this last month. Are you aware? Is the Hunter aware?”
“The Hunter sent a missive.”
“So the Hunter knows?” Isabeau presses.
“He does.” The queen doesn’t glance at me, and for that I am grateful.
Isabeau is like a hound on a trail, though. “May I speak to him? I want to offer my assistance . . . for whatever it’s worth now that I am cursed. I can no longer stay awake when the sun rests. I fall into a deep sleep, impervious to all.”
“Let the Hunter do as he does. What harm is a little rest?” The queen’s stoic expression slips. “I would rather not lose you as well, child. Losing Isaac has broken my heart.”
“Mine, too. My father was the best man I’ve ever met, and I am lost in a world without him.
Let me help the Hunter, Auntie Mor. I have trained for battle for twenty years.
I need to do something. Sitting with my thoughts, trying to make sense of this curse, I am lost.” Her voice fractures in the admission.
“I am cursed now, Auntie Mor. Cursed and grieving.”
The queen glances my way before saying, “Let us discuss your curse another day.”
“It cannot be another night, not anymore,” Isabeau says, bitterness and anger seeping into her voice. “I have lost the stars. Why did no one warn me? Why was I left to find this out now?”
She sounds so sad that my heart aches. Even as I want to pull Isabeau into my arms, I choose to hide.
My heart twists at the pain in her voice.
The woman I love is grieving, lost, and I wish I could offer her comfort.
She stands in a room asking for my name.
Both as the woman in the park and the Hunter-in-Training, I could offer some answers.
Perhaps, I could answer questions on the curse even, but to do so would mean violating the promise I made to her father.
All I want in this instant is to take her in my arms and let her forget her pain for a moment.
“The curse—”
“Now is not the time,” Queen Morag says firmly. “We will sort out the curse. You simply need a wife.”
The queen knows far more than Isabeau, and I make a note that I will find out exactly what the queen knows even as I wonder why the queen wants to hide things from me—and from Isabeau.
Her glance at the curtains where I hide, her refusal to let Isabeau discuss the matter, these are about keeping secrets from me.
I want to know why, but I cannot expose myself to ask without revealing my own secrets to the duke.
“Risking your life is not the answer, child.” The queen pulls Isabeau closer, embracing the taller woman tightly. “Now put your mask on and go dance. You won’t find anyone if you’re waiting in here with me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Isabeau wipes her face and departs.