12. More Monster than Man
12
MORE MONSTER THAN MAN
GAbrIEL
T ime has never moved more slowly than it has in the hours that have crawled by since I commanded the Given to run. Every minute feels like an eternity, giving me ample time to think over and regret my actions. I still can’t believe I let Wren go. What in Esyn’s holy name was I thinking?
One day’s head start.
Groaning, I run my hands through my hair for the hundredth time since she left. The deal was made by a foolish, desperate man, and it might very well have been my final act as a Hunter.
A lesser man would’ve broken his word and gone after his prey early. It would’ve been the easier and smarter thing to do. But gods help me, I can’t get my grandmother Marilla’s voice out of my head.
Of all my relatives, she and I were always the closest. Not that she had much competition—the fact that she looked at me with kindness in her eyes automatically put her at the top of the list. Sometimes, hers was the only smile I received in a day. When I was a young boy, she’d invite me to sit with her in the afternoons. She’d embroider while I studied, and then she would share whatever sweet treat came on her tea cart that day.
A man without morals is more monster than man, Gabe .
Grandmother would often say that to me, especially on days when my father was crueler than usual. She’s since passed across the Veil and joined the god of death, Adros, in the Underworld. Her death doesn’t stop her advice from acting as my leash, though. The problem is, she’s right. I might be a Hunter, but I’m a man of my word, first and foremost.
So, as much as it pains me, I don’t follow Wren.
Rather than pursuing my prey, I spend most of the day searching for my missing weapons. My sword never turns up, and I’m assuming the assholes who accosted me took it. After several hours of combing through the forest, I locate my small bone dagger beneath some fallen leaves. Thankful to be armed again, I forage a handful of berries and some edible greens before returning to the shale where it all went to shit.
“You’re a suns-damned idiot, Gabe,” I chide myself, staring at the scattered mushrooms on the rocks. A few grey squirrels are picking at the easy meal, but they scurry off at the sound of my voice, leaving their snack behind.
Dropping down and resting my back against the rock beneath the overhang, I groan. My head falls into my hands, and I resist the urge to scream. This is an unmitigated disaster, and with every passing minute, it feels like my promotion is slipping further away.
I’m not sure how long I stay like that, but the air has cooled by the time I lift my head. The suns are setting, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t pull my mind away from the little bird.
Wren.
I hate that I know her name for the same reason that I hate that, for a few minutes, I saw her as something other than a gods-blessed. It felt like a connection was growing between us before I saw her Mark. I would’ve liked to get to know her more; interacting with her had been easy in a way I never experienced before.
Knowing her as anything other than a Given will make doing my job so much harder. I can’t think of her having a name, nor can I think about our blossoming connection because I need to bring her back. I can’t think about why she seemed desperate to get away, can’t wonder whether she hates the gods or simply doesn’t want to serve them for the rest of her life. Those thoughts aren’t going to help me at all.
Instead, I wonder where Wren is right now. Is she racing through the woods, or has she decided to try and hide? Will she find people and try to blend in, or will she take her chances in the wild? Will she sleep or run through the night?
There are so many paths she can take, so many choices she can make, and I’m just sitting here while she gets further away.
“Fuck!” I bellow, slamming my fist into the rocks beneath me. My hand stings from the impact, and I curse.
No one is around to hear my outburst. Even Mist hasn’t returned from wherever she ran off to after the attack. My bond with her thrums in my chest, and I rub my fist over it. She’s far enough away that the thrum is quiet, but I can still feel her.
Mist and I bonded nine years ago when I turned eighteen and joined the Hunters. Each Hunter has a bonded animal, a gift from the gods to help us connect with the land. The king’s magic forms the bond, and both the animal and the Hunter must approve of and desire the connection. It’s old magic, the kind whispered about in the corners of taverns late at night.
I knew Mist was destined to be my familiar the moment we first locked eyes with each other. We’ve been together ever since our fateful meeting, and she’s joined me on every hunt. Even though she sometimes disappears for a few days to feed, she always returns.
She seems on edge, though. There’s a franticness to our bond that wasn’t there earlier, and my brows crease as I prod at our connection.
“What are you up to?” I murmur.
I can’t hear my familiar’s thoughts, but I send some inquisitive feelings down the rope that ties us together. A few moments later, heat suffuses my chest.
I’m fine , she seems to say.
Is she? I’m not sure.
Come back to me , I reply after a moment.
The bond hums, and I choose to assume that means she’s going to do as I asked. Instead of worrying over my familiar, I stretch out on the ground and cross my arms behind my head. I have nothing better to do—the Given’s day is still underway.
Stars shimmer in the night sky, twinkling as if they know something I don’t. And they probably do. Somewhere in this kingdom, Wren is looking at the same stars. Does she know their names?
That thought makes me growl in frustration, and I slam my eyes shut. Gods. Why can’t I get her out of my head? No one has ever gotten under my skin so quickly or so thoroughly before.
When I was younger, I used to love looking at the constellations. Studying their names and the stories behind them was nearly as fun as tracking their patterns across the sky.
Now, those stars just remind me that I’ve been a fucking fool.
I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, but rest is just out of my reach. My mind won’t stop whirling, wondering where the Given has gone. Eventually, minutes drag into hours.
My thoughts shift from the present to my past. Memories I’d long since buried force themselves to the forefront of my mind.
The first execution I remember witnessing. I was five when a courtier spoke out of turn in King Andreas’s court. The king used his magic to behead the man that very hour.
My first kill—a wild stag.
And the first time I saw a Hunter face repercussions for failing their task. I will never forget his name: Yves Thornhill.
He had failed to retrieve a criminal who’d escaped from The Ice Prison, and the king had convened the court, along with the entire company of Hunters, to witness his trial. I’d been ten at the time, altogether too young to be a part of something so dark, but darkness is a part of life in King Andreas’s court.
Even though I was young when the trial took place, I’ll never forget it. Fear had wafted off the Hunter as he’d walked down the aisle towards the angry king. I sensed it from my position at the back of the throne room. I will never forget Yves’s cry of shock when the king played judge and jury, sentencing the Hunter to a year without his familiar. That was the first time I’d seen a grown man cry.
That memory, more than any of the others, haunts me as I toss and turn, trying to fall asleep. Tonight, I will remember why I cannot fail because tomorrow, my hunt begins in earnest.
* * *
“Gabriel Moreau.” King Andreas’s booming voice echoes through the throne room as he calls me. “Step forward.”
What? My head and limbs feel heavy as if they don’t truly belong to me.
I blink, trying to figure out how I got here, but I’m not entirely sure. Looking down, my torn clothes are gone, replaced by traditional black Hunter’s garb. The forest has vanished, and I’m standing in Rose Palace.
I have no idea how this is happening, but there’s no time to question it because the king’s command is ringing through the throne room. Just like when I was ten, the space is filled with hundreds of courtiers and the entire company of Hunters.
But this time, I’m not a small child watching Yves’s trial. This time, I’m the one who failed. I know that, just like I know that making King Andreas wait is a bad idea. Dream or not, I can’t risk evoking his ire.
I do as the king commands, striding past hundreds of courtiers. All dressed in the latest fashion, they’re silent, faceless blobs as I pass them by. My boots click on the stone floor, and I keep my eyes trained on the gold stone that sits directly in front of the stairs leading up to the Ruby Thrones.
Even though I don’t look at the crowd, the gathered Hunters, or the guards, I’m aware of their presence. Their gazes follow me as I stride through the expansive throne room, just like they followed the other Hunter all those years ago.
Then, like now, the court was completely silent. A pin dropping would be as loud as a boom of thunder, and my footsteps echo off the white walls. My failure is an anvil hanging around my neck, and each step is harder than the last. Being in the king’s presence has never been so intimidating.
When I reach the golden stone at the front, I drop to my knees. I don’t have to look up to know that the king is perched above me, scowling. He’s always doing that.
What is a surprise, and what sends my stomach twisting into a tight knot, is the queen’s unusual silence. She usually has a lot of say about me, but little of it is good. I can feel her eyes drilling into the top of my head.
The silence stretches as the monarchs choose not to speak. This didn’t happen the last time. Yves’s trial was fast. He came in, the king declared him guilty of failing, and his sentence was read.
Today, it seems the king wants to play… and I’m his favorite toy.
I kneel for so long that my knees ache, but I still don’t move. Doing so without permission would only incur the king’s displeasure, which I am intimately familiar with. My back tenses, reminding me that angering the royal is a bad idea.
King Andreas, the ninth of his name, delights in bloodshed, pain, and death. I know this more than most, not that anyone in Myreth is unfamiliar with the king’s unusual aptitude for death and darkness.
How could they be when public executions take place weekly for the smallest of offenses? Some days, there is so much death that Rosebridge’s cobblestone streets run red with blood. On those days, King Andreas seems the happiest.
It feels like an eternity passes before the king clears his throat. The sound echoes through the throne room and reverberates in the depths of my soul.
“Look at me, Hunter Moreau,” the royal orders.
The air thickens, and the collective intake of breath at my back sounds like a clap of thunder. My heart pounds, and I draw deep breaths as I force myself to follow the king’s command and meet his dark gaze.
His eyes bore into mine, lacking any hint of kindness. His face is hard and merciless, a reflection of his black soul. Skin as pale as snow clings to his frame. His black hair makes the stark whiteness of his flesh stand out even more. The ruby crown on his brow seems to absorb the light, becoming darker with every passing moment. His royal robes are as dark as his soulless eyes.
Is this a dream? I can’t tell. Real or not, looking at the king for more than a few seconds hurts. I pull my gaze over to Queen Lucille. Pale blonde, almost white hair falls in an intricate, gem-studded braid over her right shoulder. Her velvet gown is made of a blue so dark it’s almost black, and her russet skin seems to glow in the light of the flickering candles.
A third, currently vacant throne sits on the king’s right. The Crown Prince must’ve decided there was a better use for his time than this. He was there for Yves’s trial, but apparently, I’m not to be afforded the same courtesy.
On either side of the thrones, flanking them like celestial soldiers, are a head priest and priestess. The hems of their crimson robes are lined with silver, and their expressions are hard as they stare into the crowd. The priest on the left bears a green Mark on his collarbone, and even though I can’t see the head priestess’s Mark, I’m sure it’s there.
Is this a dream?
I can’t tell.
“Gabriel Moreau, you have been accused of failing your gods-given duty.” The king’s deep tenor fills the throne room, pulling my attention back to him as he utters the same words he did the day of Yves’s trial. “How do you plead?”
“Your Majesties, I found the runaway Given,” I say, pleading my case.
Even now, she flashes through my mind’s eye. I’ll never forget her for as long as I live.
“And yet, records show that she was not returned to her village temple.” The king’s cold voice causes goosebumps to erupt on my flesh, and I bite back a shiver. “Do you dispute these facts?”
This is all my fault. I never should’ve given Wren the head start. Morals be damned, I should’ve just grabbed her and taken her in. I knew letting her go was a bad idea the moment I opened my mouth, and now…
Now, I’ll be the one to suffer King Andreas’s wrath. My position as Master Hunter was right there, but it slipped away… just like the Given.
The silence in the throne room presses down on my shoulders. My ears echo with the pulsing of my heart, and streaks of phantom pains run down my back. I hate being this close to the king. There’s a reason the woods bring me peace—I’m far from him.
My voice is hoarse as I force myself to rasp, “No, my king. Your records are infallible, and I do not dispute them.”
The king slams his fist down on the armrest of his throne. The sound is a booming crash. Crimson sparks dance around his hand. For a split second, it seems like the throne room wavers around him before solidifying.
Dream or not? I don’t know.
“You failed me,” he snarls. “You failed the Hunters.” His voice deepens, and ghosts of past hurts dart down my back. My scars are coming alive beneath the king’s furious gaze. “You failed the gods .”
That knot in my stomach twists tighter and tighter as the king’s words find their mark, sharper than any sword. I don’t need him to remind me that my mission was a failure. I’ve been telling myself the same thing every suns-damned day since the gods-blessed ran into the woods.
The king doesn’t want an apology. I know that. The soldiers know that. The court does, too. It’s too late for things like apologies now. Wren is gone. I have failed. Everything is about to come crashing down.
More time passes. I’m not sure whether minutes or hours crawl by. The air is heavier, and each breath is harder to take than the last. I pinch my leg, trying to wake up, but it isn’t working.
Maybe this is real?
When the king breaks his silence again, his voice is deeper. Colder. In my heart of hearts, I know I made a grave mistake in letting Wren Nightingale go.
“Gabriel Charles Aiden Moreau, by the power of my crown and the Ruby Thrones, so bestowed upon me by the gods, I hereby strip you of your titles and your position as a Hunter.”
Ice cascades down my spine, and my stomach lurches. I thought I was prepared for this, but I was wrong. Gods above, I was so wrong.
And then, as if that isn’t punishment enough, the king continues. “Additionally, your bond with your familiar will immediately be severed.”
What? My head jerks up, and a collective gasp of horror comes from behind me. My fists clench, and my nails slice half-moons into my palms, but I barely register the pain.
I must have misheard him. There’s no way the king would’ve commanded such an awful thing. Yves’s punishment hadn’t been nearly this severe.
My heart races in my chest. Mist isn’t just some animal. We’ve been bonded for nine fucking years. Stripping us of our connection would be devastating for both of us since bonds grow stronger the longer they exist. Forcing us apart now would be akin to ripping our souls in two and leaving us to die.
The queen sucks in a sharp breath, placing her hand on the king’s. Her manicured nails are black, a stark contrast to her husband’s pale flesh. I’m not accustomed to hearing her speak up for me, so it’s a shock when she says, “Andreas, perhaps this is?—”
“Silence!” the king roars. He shoves himself to his feet, shaking off his wife’s touch. “I did not ask for your opinion.”
The queen wilts in on herself, her face paling as her lips slam into a thin line. My jaw clenches, and I wish for both our sakes that she hadn’t spoken up. No one, not even the queen, deserves to have the king’s wrath pointed at them.
“I have made my ruling.” The king’s voice booms, and he flicks his hand toward four guards at a side entrance. “Bring in the creature.”
The soldiers, all dressed in matching black uniforms, step through a door cut into the wall.
No. This cannot be happening. This has to be a dream. Please.
I squeeze my fists and try desperately to wake up. My surroundings don’t shift, though. The throne room is still here, the cruel king is still in front of me, and my failure is still weighing me down.
This can’t be real. But if it is… I return my gaze to the king. “Your Majesty, I know I failed you, but?—”
“Unless you wish for your head to be removed from your shoulders, soon-to-be-former Hunter Moreau, you will cease speaking immediately .”
The king prowls down the steps and leans over me, his frigid breath brushing against the shell of my ear. He lowers his voice, his next words meant for me and me alone.
“You will take this punishment as a man, Gabriel, or Esyn help me, I will toss you into the dungeons myself and throw away the key. Forget about ever seeing the suns and moons again. You will be lucky to be fed and clothed.”
I hate him.
I hate him so fucking much that I can barely breathe.
Red tinges my vision as I force myself to dip my chin. This is my fault for letting her go. Burning suns, I fucked up so badly.
The sound of a struggle comes from my right as the king straightens and steps back. The four guards from before reappear, holding silver chains. Their faces strain as they pull Mist towards the Ruby Thrones.
She’s digging her claws into the stone, gouging long marks, and she snarls at her captors. The predatory, feline sound echoes through the throne room, and behind me, a woman shouts in alarm. Someone else screams.
I barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. Mist’s black coat is usually shiny, but today, it is matted with blood. She’s limping, and anger is reflected in her silver gaze. Fury fills our bond, a tempest of pure rage.
The guards drag my struggling panther across the floor, and my chest warms with pride at her fight. She’s growling and biting at their legs. One of the guards slams the blunt side of his sword against Mist’s flank, and I mark his face. I will kill him for this.
The vow echoes in my soul as my familiar lets out a pained howl. My heart aches as though it’s been stabbed with a hundred daggers.
I’d take any punishment over this. A thousand lashings. Continuous beatings. But this? Why did he have to pick this ?
I glare at the king, hoping he can feel the contempt rolling off me in waves.
One day, I will drive a knife through your heart and kill you, I silently promise. I will hold him close and twist the knife, letting his blood coat my hands so he knows I am the one who finally bested him, finally killed him.
But that day isn’t today.
The guards stop a few feet away from me, keeping Mist just out of my reach. King Andreas stands in front of the dais, making some bullshit speech about how all crimes within Myreth must be punished, but I don’t listen to him.
Instead, I turn my attention to Mist and look into her silver eyes.
I’m sorry, I tell her through our bond. I’m so fucking sorry.
She shouldn’t have to pay the price of my failure.
The king’s eyes glimmer with malice as he finishes speaking and turns to me. The bond in my chest tightens, and agony is a tsunami flooding through me. Mist knows what’s happening, I’m sure of it.
My heart is breaking into a million pieces. This was never supposed to happen. Becoming a Hunter was supposed to give me a purpose and a way out of the life I was born into. It was never meant to end like this.
I’m so sorry .
I repeat the words over and over again, sending them down our bond. It’s pointless. No apology will save us now, but I can’t seem to stop.
King Andreas spreads his hands, his palms outstretched at his sides and facing the ceiling. Crimson sparks rise, and a muted red glow surrounds him, as if he’s painted in the blood of the countless souls he’s taken.
Silence blankets the throne room, save for a single inhale of breath at the back that sounds like a stampede of elephants.
The king’s mouth moves as he murmurs words too low for me to hear. Sparks rise from his hands, hovering in the air. More of them gather until hundreds of them float around him.
His mouth stops moving, and time seems to slow for one long, never-ending moment. It’s a heartbeat and a lifetime. A second and an eternity. I gather all my love, care, and hope, shoving it down the bond. I give it to Mist, hoping she understands what I’m trying to do.
If this is real, I need her to know she’s the best thing to ever happen to me. The only good thing to ever happen to me.
The king’s lips curl upwards, a cruel smile painting his lips. It’s the same one that has haunted my nightmares for as long as I can remember. He turns his palms until they’re facing me.
“ Break ,” he commands.
Crimson magic flings itself at me and Mist. The red sparks are tiny daggers of death as they embed themselves into my flesh and burrow beneath my skin, burning a path to my soul. I’m being flayed apart from the inside out as pieces of my very being are ripped from me.
I roar , the sound utterly animalistic as it echoes through the throne room.
The king’s magic weaves through my body, leaving a crimson trail of destruction in its wake. Each moment is worse than the last as he digs his claws into the essence of my soul.
My chest heaves, and I fall forward, slamming my hands against the tile. There isn’t a single part of me that is left untouched by the king’s powerful magic.
I am pain, and pain is me. My chest burns, burns, burns as the embers weave themselves into the tapestry of my soul.
Mist howls, the sound worse than anything else I’ve ever heard. Something deep within me frays, and it’s like I’m being torn in two.
The king says something, but I can’t hear him over the cacophonous roar in my ears. At first, I think the sound is in my head, but then I realize it’s coming from my mouth.
My panther wails, the never-ending sound one of pure agony as it stretches on and on.
And then, it all stops. The roaring. The burning. The pain. It vanishes, and I’m left with…
Nothing.
The king lowers his hands and steps back as Mist collapses, unmoving. I take deep, shuddering breaths, staring at my hands in despair.
The bond is gone, and now, I have nothing.
* * *
I wake with a roar, jolting into a sitting position. My chest heaves, and my fingers grapple at the cold shale beneath me.
“Mist,” I groan, her name sounding shattered as it slips from my lips.
I search within myself for our bond, and it’s…
There. The rope is still present within me, and our connection hums as I poke and prod it disbelievingly. It feels the same as it has every day since we bonded.
Fucking hell.
Pressing a hand against my racing heart, I force myself to breathe. It was just a nightmare, but by the gods, it felt so bloody real.
I can still feel the king’s magic crawling against my skin like bees, still feel the agony of having my bond ripped from my chest. My ears still echo with the remnants of Mist’s pain.
It doesn’t matter whether the nightmare was a warning, a premonition, a message that I’m not ready to think about, or simply a bad dream conjured by my stupidity.
I will never forget the feeling of emptiness in my chest or the horror of having everything I care about stripped from me. Finishing this task is the only thing I can do, because I refuse to allow that future to come to pass, no matter the cost.
When my heart has calmed, I look up. I’ve slept longer than I thought I would, and the suns are approaching the midway point in the blue sky. I gather my things, staring out into the forest as if the act will conjure the Marked One.
“I hope you ran quickly, Wren, because I’m coming for you.”
I won’t stop hunting until I’ve caught her. This isn’t just about my promotion anymore—I can’t risk losing Mist.
The king has left me no other choice.