Chapter Thirty-Two
HORNS CALLED, brIGHT and proud as they announced the entrance of the king.
Fyar stepped forward, adorned in his usual white, but instead of his ornate, trailing robes, he had opted for fitted trousers and a matching tunic with embroidered sleeves. A simple riding cloak tossed elegantly over his shoulders. He looked as sure and as strong as ever, if only a little paler.
The crowd had gathered in a small clearing at the edge of the western woods.
The looming labyrinth having cleared some, twisting open to create space for a smattering of tables and chairs, where the lords and ladies not participating could mingle as the hunt went on.
They all stopped where they were, bowing their heads as the king floated by.
Killian followed a few steps behind him, ever his shadow.
The hunt would last for three nights, the riders not returning until the horn called for them on the fourth morning.
Where they would then boast of their kills, each one marked with their house colors and collected by their men, and a winner was declared.
The reward was a boon—a favor or gift of their choosing—from the king himself.
There had never been a more coveted prize.
Seeing they arrived safely, Killian broke off from Fyar and headed towards where Loran was standing on the outskirts of the crowd. His expression clouded and dark.
“You’d never know he almost died last night,” Loran said lowly as Killian approached, his eyes still on Fyar. “Does nothing get to him?”
Killian shook his head grimly and clasped his hands behind his back. “It gets to him. He just can’t show it. It would be taken as weakness.”
Loran had been read in on everything, from Lyra’s suspected hand in Fyar’s attack to the outlandish grudge Lyra held against Fyar for his falsely accused crime, and then was promptly sworn to secrecy.
They didn’t want any news of dissent to spread unnecessarily.
There was still hope they could squash this before it got out of hand.
Killian was endlessly impressed by how his lieutenant was handling this. Loran was good and strong and sure. This much wouldn’t shake him.
The two guards tracked Fyar as he strolled leisurely through the green, drawing admiring eyes. Killian searched the crowd for a flash of gold. Lyra’s face was unreadable as he took in Fyar’s presence, but there was a tension in his body that gave away his displeasure.
“Search their rooms while we’re gone,” ordered Killian. “Lyra’s and all his men’s. And Porthos’.”
“You really think Porthos had a hand in this?”
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. He is loyal to his brother.”
Loran turned slowly to face Killian, a strange expression on his face. “Yes. I guess that kind of loyalty can blind you to certain flaws and misgivings.”
Killian suddenly got the feeling that Loran wasn’t only speaking of Porthos. “Speak your mind, Loran. I’m in no mood for games.”
“I’d like permission to search the other apprentice’s rooms as well. Taiga’s…and Kade’s.”
Bristling, Killian ground his jaw, but he forced it down. He knew that Loran was right. He nodded stiffly. “Do what you must.”
Loran lowered his gaze. “If there’s anything to find, I’ll find it.”
“I trust that you will.” Then, Killian spotted Kade across the clearing. His feet were moving before he even realized. “I’ll leave it to you.”
Kade was tying his packs to the saddle of his horse. He gave Killian a nervous smile as he approached. “Any last tips?”
“Trust your training and you’ll do fine.
” That clearly wasn’t what Kade had wanted to hear from the frown that tipped his lips down.
Killian sighed. “Injuries are to be expected, and deaths aren’t unheard of.
It’s a competitive game, this hunt, everyone is out for themselves no matter the group they choose.
Don’t let your guard down. Keep a distance away from the hunting party, you’ll be safe there. ”
Kade nodded and bit the inside of his cheek. “You aren’t riding with us, are you?”
“No. I’ll ride with the king and Hokda. We’ll hunt on our own.”
“I don’t like it. It’s too soon, the king is bound to still be weak. If something happens to him—if something happens to you—”
“None of that now,” Killian cut in, hushing Kade. His hands twitched, wanting to reach for Kade, but he couldn’t. Not here. “Nothing will happen.”
Kade looked away, unconvinced.
Against his better judgement, Killian hooked his pinky finger around Kade’s. Hidden. The tension in Kade’s shoulder’s relaxed at just that small, reassuring touch.
Killian melted.
There was a prickle of unease that ran up Killian’s spine. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He locked eyes with Loran over Kade’s shoulder. The lieutenant had clearly been watching them, for how long Killian couldn’t be sure.
He scowled, but Loran didn’t look away.
It was a long time before Loran turned and walked away.
Something was wrong, Killian could tell. He just didn’t know what.
Lately, there were too many goings on in the palace that Killian didn’t know about. It felt wrong down to his bones. He used to know everything, down to the stupidest, most insignificant piece of gossip. It was his job—his duty. And it felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
The next time Killian caught sight of Loran through the crowd, the lieutenant was standing with Fyar, their heads bent together as he whispered to the king. Fyar’s face was a blank mask, revealing nothing.
There was that twinge in Killian’s chest again. That nagging in his head that something was afoot. Something they refused to tell him.
Secrets.
Killian hated secrets when he was on the outside of them.
“Stay safe,” Killian said, touching his fingers to Kade’s cheek. It was all they were allowed.
“You too,” breathed Kade, leaning into the touch. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Smiling, Killian said, “Have a little faith in me.”
At the call to mount, twenty of Netyere’s lords swung into their saddles, their guards and healers not far behind them.
Fyar’s pristine white stallion danced eagerly as they waited for the start. Killian had caught the slightest trembling of Fyar’s legs as he pushed off the ground and swung into the saddle, a lingering weakness. He made a show of adjusting his reins to cover it.
Hokda and Killian settled onto their own mounts and took their places behind Fyar.
Ready.
Leather reins cracked and heels dug into horses ribs at the long, coiling sound of the starting horn. There was the thundering sound of stampeding hooves as they set off at a gallop.
Not long after entering the forest, the group broke. Hokda and Killian followed Fyar while the others split into four or five distinct groups.
The horses were sure over the uneven terrain, strong legs pumping, tearing through the soft earth under their feet.
It didn’t take long for Fyar to pull up on his reins and slow their pace.
His intentions to take the first day slow were clear despite never having been spoken aloud.
Out of the public eye, Fyar let his exhaustion show, his shoulders sagged and he swayed a bit in the saddle.
He needed to rest. It wasn’t like it was much of a competition to him anyway.
Killian’s teeth curled over his lip in disgust as the eight legs of the giant arachnid curled inwards after death, caving in on itself like a worm drying in the sun.
Gods, Killian hated spiders. He always had and he always will, no matter the size. It didn’t help that these arachnids were larger than the horses that they rode, their huge bulbous bodies weighing hundreds of pounds and their eight furry legs meters long.
Killian hoped it was the last arachnid that they would encounter, not wanting to lay eyes on one ever again, and he wasn’t even the one in the ring with it.
He was watching from a distance, Hokda at his side, holding Fyar’s reins, like a useless idiot.
He hated just having to stand as Fyar fought alone.
It made him antsy. Itchy. It went against every fiber of his being.
Guards were forbidden from interfering in the hunt, no matter the situation. The lords were to fight and die on their own. Only after, or if they fled, could healers approach.
There were beads of sweat at Fyar’s hairline as he wiped blood off of his blade.
Hokda dismounted and approached the carcass carefully. He stuck a large spoke into the body, a white flag waving on the end. Fyar’s colors. It would tell the runners who made the kill as they went around each night to collect the bounty of the hunt.
The healer then crouched at the arachnid’s mouth and started milking out venom from the pincers near its mouth.
Killian leaned against his saddle horn. “We should make camp for the night.”
Fyar grunted. “It’s barely midday.”
“You need rest. You barely slept last night.”
“You’re not any better.”
“Exactly,” said Killian. “None of us slept. Which is why we should camp now. You can sleep. I can sleep.” As if that would sweeten the pot and make camping early more enticing.
Fyar didn’t look convinced.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Hokda piped up from where he was still picking the arachnid’s body clean of any medicinal parts.
“I’d like to remind you, Fyar, that you also went against my advice when you decided not to drop out of this event.
The captain has the right idea, we should camp as early as possible. You’re still recovering.”
A pin drop could be heard in that forest.
Hokda paused his collection as the silence dragged on. He turned slowly, still knelt low to the ground, to face Killian and Fyar. Both wore matching expressions of utter bewilderment.
Killian gaped. “Is he sick?”
“Dying, I imagine,” remarked Fyar.
Hokda pursed his lips and gave them a dry laugh. Ha ha.
“You know why I couldn’t drop out,” said Fyar. “I would hate for my cousin to think he got to me. It would only encourage him.”
“It’s only us here now,” said Killian. “You can let down your guard and rest.”
“Oh,” Fyar drawled, a sharpness to his voice, his eyes on Killian. “Can I?”
Killian bristled.
Hokda cut in before anything could truly start.
“We’ve been riding for hours already. I think it’s a good enough spot as any to make camp.
I, myself, can admit I wouldn’t mind the rest. It’s exhausting being out in this forest.” He looked down at the arachnid at his feet.
“Actually, we could stand to go a few paces upwind.”
“We have no right to be tired,” Killian scoffed. “We’ve done fuck all today. You haven’t even been standing on your own, your fat ass has been sat in a saddle the entire time.”
“This fat ass is quite delicate, I’ll have you know.” Hokda put his hands on his hips as he glared up at Killian. “I’m not cut out for this brutish work.”
“Delicate?” That was the most ridiculous thing Killian had ever heard. “You wouldn’t know delicate if it punched you in the face.”
“Says you? The very definition of a violent brute. How many times have I had to mend broken bones and black eyes, all your doing?”
“The Guard need hands-on training.” Killian shrugged. “Remind me, Healer, out of the three of us, who was it that gutted me, lit me on fire—”
“I never lit you on fire!”
“—and poisoned me, all in the same two hours? Who was that again?”
Fyar arched an eyebrow, looking on in amusement. “Gutted? Lit on fire? I don’t remember your tests being so…extreme when we discussed them.”
Hokda looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. “You weren’t on fire. There were no flames.” Because that’s the part he wanted to clarify. He then stuck up his nose like a child. “The apprentices need hands-on training.”
Killian rolled his eyes.
Humming thoughtfully, Fyar turned bright eyes on his healer, as if looking at him in a new light. “A thought just occurred to me. You seem to have a certain…affinity for poison. Should I be concerned, Hokda? You do have unlimited access to my quarters. And other more restricted areas of my estate.”
The healer looked stricken. “Don’t even joke about that. I would never.”
“But you have no qualms with poisoning Killian?”
“None,” said Hokda without hesitation. “Why would I?”
Killian put a hand over his heart. “That hurts. It really does. I thought we were friends.”
Hokda stuck out his tongue. “As if.”
Cracking, Fyar let out a low string of chuckles, shaking his head fondly at the two bickering in front of him.
Hokda and Killian stopped, and shared a smile before catching themselves and turning away pointedly.
They knew what they were doing, and were just happy that Fyar was beginning to lighten up.
“I guess this area is as good as any,” Fyar said, taking back his reins and swinging into the saddle. “We could all use the rest.”