Chapter Thirteen #2
“Bram, memorize her scent now.” She elbowed her companion, calling my attention to thorn-green markings across her arms. “It’ll make tracking easier later.”
His nostrils flared. “She’s got no Wolvryn, my lady. I can barely smell her at all.”
A hint of a smile curved the Black Wolf’s jaw beneath the helm, but I could have imagined it. My grin was downright brazen.
“Then find another way,” she hissed.
Myra Bolt stepped between us in her Stormhallow navy tunic, lightning white stitched along her sleeves. Her hunter stood beside Bram, watching the sky like it might answer if he stared hard enough.
“Don’t worry, Kade will have no trouble following her trail,” said Myra. She too had runes up and down her arms, like every other daughter I’d seen. Each one varied in color and pattern.
Only Hollows lacked those blessed marks from the goddess.
With an eyeroll Rhosyn stepped closer. “The Hollow whelp.” A feral grin displayed her teeth. “Do the elders know you called for a run you cannot finish?”
Myra slid closer with a smile that did not touch her eyes. “She thinks she knows what she’s doing. She will make a very pretty prize for a real queen to parade.”
I kept my mouth level. “You two can practice sharing a crown while I practice running.”
Rhosyn’s smile sharpened. “Careful. Those soft Hollow hands will bleed.”
“Trust me, they already have.” I kept my gaze pinned to hers. Did they really think they could intimidate me? Just because they were blessed by the goddess with a damned beast? They’d soon learn I’d be the most fearsome creature in the hunt.
I flicked Rhosyn my first two fingers, palm inward, knuckles out, wrist tipped like a snarl. We called the Wolvryn’s crude sign ‘showing fangs’ in Hollowcrest.
She only laughed, eyes narrowing.
As if my guard could sense my deteriorating mood, he crowded my space without ever touching me, and the females were forced to move on.
Last of all stood the envoys from the Saltspire Court, the land from which my parents hailed. The territory we had been banished from once I’d been found wolfless. Anger bubbled up at the sight of Saltspire’s perfect daughter. I bet she’d never been whipped by the former Alpha.
Halla Beacon’s fiery auburn hair was gathered in a high knot like a lighthouse flame.
I wanted to hate her. She was everything I wasn’t, everything I could have been if only Selraya had blessed me with a Wolvryn soul.
Her hunter moved in front of her with shoulders browned by sun and eyes bleached pale from the glare off the water.
“Halla,” I muttered. The word tasted like childhood. Though we’d never been close, we had been acquaintances once. “My family were born along your shore.”
“I know.” Halla’s gaze softened a breath. “Salt spills into every cup,” she said quietly. “Right, Fen?”
Her hunter nodded. I’d never met the male when I was young.
Then she leaned closer. “Do not trust the shoreline edges near moonrise. The tides are shifting early this week. Our watchers confirmed it.” A pause. “If you win, remember who told you.”
“I—I will,” I stuttered stupidly. I’d never expected a friendly tip from Halla, but I was more than thankful for it.
“Saltspire remembers blood,” Fen added. “Good run to you.” He tapped two fingers to his brow and moved on.
Priestesses came back down the lines with linen blindfolds coiled over their wrists.
One stopped before me and lifted my crescents, peering along the curves for cracks.
“Clean,” she said. Chalk kissed each blade and my palm.
“By law and witness.” She tied a small cord around the base of my rope, checked my boot for hidden spikes, and stepped aside.
Two Frostcrag guards carried the oaken chest that held the moonbraids. Neris herself opened it. One by one, the hunters stepped forward to touch the braids and swear their oaths.
From what I’d learned of the rite, hunters rarely killed daughters. It was in their Courts’ best interest to capture, not murder them. The daughters, on the other hand, were another matter entirely.
On our side of the line, small storms started and fizzled out.
A hunter’s hook scratched stone and drew a warning look from a priestess.
Rhosyn accidentally shouldered Alma, and Alma did not move an inch.
Keir shifted just enough that Rhosyn’s elbow met the hard point of his. She hissed but said nothing.
If this was a sign of the hunt to come, it would not be a pretty one.
The Black Wolf returned from his own inspection of our competition and took his place at my left again. He set two fingers, light as a tap, on my wrist. “Trust no one,” he murmured.
I nodded. “I don’t intend to.” Him included. There was too much at risk.
A horn sounded from the southern parapet, low and long, rolling over the stone like surf. The yard froze as if a hand had pressed it flat.
Neris lifted her palms once more. “Daughters,” she called, voice clear. “To the cliff stairs.”
Rhosyn brushed my shoulder, not gently, as she passed. Myra let her gaze drift over my face and then down to my throat, like she was measuring where to slice or maybe set a collar. Alma fell into step beside me instead, quick and quiet.
“Breathe on the fourth step down,” she murmured, like a joke only I would understand. “Everyone forgets to.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
We moved as a single line toward the cut in the wall where the stairs dropped to the boats. The wind out of the north carried frost and the taste of tides. The first blindfolds swung from the priestesses’ hands like flags.
Neris raised her hands and silence rippled across the cliffside. “The Blood Hunt begins...”