Chapter 24
The hunter manages to catch a creature called a hellice—about the size of me, covered in spikes, that rolls through woods, mowing down everything in its path.
“Lucky this one wasn’t in a pack,” he says, as he pulls out his arrow. “They’re menaces. They kill countless creatures on their way to their prey.”
“Which part of them is valuable?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I just figured you both were hungry. And their meat is always tender. I wouldn’t mind a bite.”
That’s how we end up sitting on the forest floor, the fireflies moving in glittering currents above.
The hunter gets a pile of logs together, then reaches into his pack. I expect him to produce a flint rock. Instead, he unveils a shard of brilliant orange and red. He uses his knife to slice off a small piece.
The moment he throws it onto the wood, it ignites.
Beside me, Raker makes an unimpressed sound, and the immortal notices. He must think the hunter lazy or weak for using magic instead of making the fire himself.
I, on the other hand, am very impressed. I stare at the luminous rock in his hands, lips parted, and the hunter grins and says, “I thought you’d like that. Want to hold it?”
I nod, and he throws the stone to me.
It’s like hardened flame. And, as much as I’ve hated and feared fire, just like the fireflies above, I can’t help but admire this rock. It’s smooth. Slightly warm to the touch. “What is it?” I ask, handing it back.
“That’s fireglass,” he says. He shrugs. “I use it when I feel lazy … or when I want to impress a beautiful human.”
I blush, because no one but my family has ever called me beautiful. It’s stupid, really. He’s just flirting, he’s just being nice. He’s immortal. Still, the compliment makes me feel warm.
Raker makes a sound of distaste next to me. He clearly doesn’t share the immortal’s sentiment.
The hunter looks over at him warily as he begins skinning and preparing the meat. “What’s with the hood and mask?”
Raker, of course, doesn’t respond.
“He’s sparing us all of his glowering,” I say lightly.
That makes the immortal laugh. It’s a pleasant, musical sound. I find myself smiling. Raker doesn’t say a word, but I can almost feel his eyes on me.
“Tell me about the creatures you’ve hunted,” I say. “Please.” Time is always running out on this quest, but right now, as we wait for the horse to make an appearance, as the hunter roasts this meat, I can get answers.
The hunter smiles. It’s like he’s been waiting his entire immortal life for someone to ask about all his conquests.
He tells me. He tells me story after story, face alight with excitement, like he’s reliving every moment, every brush with death, every chance encounter.
He tells me about the hunter’s guild. About the rarest beasts he’s ever seen—and some that no one has ever been able to capture.
He tells me his biggest customers are typically heirs of Great Houses, who have the means to pay the most, and who are always desperate to have better resources than their counterparts.
“Especially lately, with courting season arriving,” he says, rolling his eyes. I wonder what he means. But I have a more pressing question. The hunter seems to deal with various immortals from across Starside.
“Do you know … do you know someone named Vander Evren?” Stellan did tell me to find him. The Gardener’s mention of him has me curious.
That curiosity only grows as the hunter pales. His easygoing smile fades completely. “How do you know that name?”
I’m not going to tell him about Stellan. I’m not going to answer him at all.
But I am going to wonder why a man who just single-handedly took down a beast as large as these trees, who hunts monsters for a living, is afraid of a name.
I say as much, and the hunter just shakes his head. “Some heirs spill more blood than these beasts. Vander Evren is one of them. Do not call upon him unless you want to be next in his long line of deaths.”
He’s an heir? Why would Stellan have known the name of a lord of Starside? And why would he tell me to find someone this dangerous?
“So, he’s powerful?”
He huffs a laugh. “He is power itself.”
He looks over his shoulder. As if someone could be listening. Watching.
This is the second time someone has said something about being able to summon Vander Evren. “How would I call upon him?” I ask.
“You don’t,” the hunter says, his voice firm. “If you want to live, you don’t want to. Trust me.”
“And if I do?” I press.
He sighs. His gaze flicks to my sword. “Then you summon him for a duel in the ancient way. By drawing blood, piercing a great blade into magical ground … and calling his name.”
I swallow. Summoning an immortal lord for a duel seems like a sure way to lose my sword and my head. So why would Stellan tell me to find him?
Clearly looking to change topics, the hunter pulls a satchel of spices from his pack that he’s collected across Starside, seasons the meat, then serves it.
I take a hesitant nibble, and my tongue ignites in flavors I’ve never tasted before, varieties of salts and dried garlic.
I eat every bite, listening as the hunter continues recounting his various adventures.
When the fire is put out, the skyhorse finally appears. It approaches my apple steadily, and this isn’t the same horse I met before. No, this one is so tall, I have to hold my arm up just to offer it the fruit. It sniffs the frozen apple. Huffs.
Then takes the whole fruit in its mouth. It chews, ice shattering against its strong teeth. After a few seconds, it spits the core onto the ground.
The translucent fur deepens before my eyes, darkens to the most glorious silver-blue, until it’s fully solid. It huffs, its breath cool against the top of my head.
“Keep feeding it apples, and it’ll keep going, for as long as it can,” the hunter says, handing me a simple satchel full of the frozen fruit, from the larger pack Invira carries.
Raker steps to my side. I try not to let my worry reach my face as I stare up at the horse, but he reads me immediately.
He scoffs, and I can almost hear his voice in my head saying, Of course you can’t fucking ride a horse without a saddle.
It’s not like there were many opportunities to learn. I’ve only ridden a horse a handful of times—always with a saddle—and one of those times was during the Culling.
Raker shakes his head. Then, in half a moment, he’s gripping my waist and hauling me up onto the horse, as if I weigh absolutely nothing.
My shoulders hike up. The horse is freezing. I lean forward and run a hand down its neck. I scratch behind its ears, and it makes a pleased sound.
I tense as Raker climbs on behind me. Of course. There’s only one horse, and two of us. I knew that, but still, I didn’t really consider what it would be like until he was right at my back.
As if sensing my discomfort, Raker says, voice far too close to my ear, “Would you prefer I ride in front?”
His voice is acid. As if he knows I, of course, would not prefer to cling to him for the entire journey.
“No,” I say, just as terse.
The hunter comes into view. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Aris,” he says. “May our paths cross again.” He tips his head in goodbye, at me, then Raker. Invira breathes out a puff of cold air.
All Raker does is kick the horse’s sides—and the skyhorse jolts forward.
The forest becomes streaks of gold and silver and green as the horse runs faster than the wind. My grip loosens and I fall back with the speed, crashing into Raker’s chest, head banging on his armor. I nearly slip off, but his arms are on either side of me, keeping me on, his own hold steady.
And now … now there isn’t a single inch between us. Our bodies are completely flush. My ass is between his legs. His thighs are bracketing mine.
It shouldn’t make my skin prickle. It shouldn’t make it hard to breathe. I have seen what this body can do—I should fear it, but I don’t. I hate him.
But that doesn’t mean I am blind to his attractiveness.
I wonder if he senses at all that my heart is racing, or that I can’t even form a single coherent thought, my muscles tensed, my entire awareness narrowing to the feel of him. Apparently, he can.
“Breathe, Aris,” he says, deep voice piercing even the wind, and it does absolutely nothing to slow my pulse.
He shifts back, as if to put some space between us, as if knowing that’s why I’ve suddenly revealed myself to be a statue, but we’re going so fast, I just slip right back between his legs.
He’s in armor. I know that. I’m just feeling metal.
But we’re so close. And I’m so cold, but he’s radiating heat.
I’m leaning back slightly to get closer to it.
I’m wondering what it would feel like if he wasn’t in his armor.
If he was in fabrics just as thin as the ones that now are brushing uncomfortably against my heated skin.
I must be losing my fucking mind.
Especially when Raker lets go of the horse with one hand and uses the other to take my hair in his fist.
I lose the ability to think.
“It’s getting in my face,” he says, his voice a rough whisper in my ear, as if he’s leaning down so that I can hear him, and I swallow as he twists my long braid around and around his wrist, turning it into a knot. Pulling just the slightest bit.
“Alleged face,” I breathe, in an attempt at humor at a time when my skin feels like it’s on fire.
He gently tucks the knot of my hair beneath my collar, and I feel the faint brush of his rough fingers against my nape.
The skyhorse rides through the night, so quickly its hooves hardly touch the ground. Looking too closely at the rushing woods makes my eyes hurt after a while, so, after I give the horse her second apple, I close them.
Sometime later, I jolt awake, gasping. Only to find that I’m completely, shamelessly slumped against Raker. He’s the only thing keeping me on this racing horse. My body is draped against his chest. His arms are on either side of me. To hold me still, his large body is curved around me.
I’m sure he’s not fucking happy about it.