Chapter 15
“The Irish legends . . . circle, in general, round the mythus of the fairy, a bright and beautiful creation, only living for pleasure, music, and the dance, and rarely malignant or ill-natured, except when their dancing grounds are interfered with.”
Being in the city as the Hunter feels different, freeing rather than oppressive.
I did not wish for Father’s death—and if I could undo it, I would.
His death wounds my mother and thrusts me into a fate I am not prepared to face.
Yet I will not lie and say there are not freedoms that come with my duty.
The Hunter’s mission is and has always been to capture, contain, or kill any faery who violates the Queens’ Treaty.
I am going to make changes to how that’s done, changes that my father rejected.
At midday, I pull a hooded cloak over my dark day dress, twist a dark silken scarf over the lower half of my face, and set out for a quick patrol.
The streets are surprisingly empty of civilians, but the W?chter has a greater presence, even under the steady rain.
The water makes the paths slick and the ground boggy.
“Nolan.” I nod to the sergeant.
“My condolences on your father’s passing.” The sergeant doesn’t offer lengthy words or any such thing. He merely holds my gaze and says, “I have complete faith in you, Hunter. I had it before you were the one.”
“Are you married?” I ask.
“I am widowed.”
I pause to weigh my next words, as they are decidedly impolite. “Are you a skirt chaser, Nolan? Or fond of the drink?”
He scowls. “I am not, although I’m not sure why you are asking. Did you hear something that—”
“The monster in the wood killed two men before the Hunter. The first was a skirt chaser. We know little about the second man, but the most defining traits about the first were his drinking and carousing. However, it also killed the Hunter, and I know he was faithful. I suspect his death was because he cornered the beast.” I push away the rising images in my mind of my father holding his innards inside with a shaking hand.
I have few memories of the man that are not surrounded by death of some sort, but I am determined to learn to think of those instead of the last ones I have.
After an awkward pause, Nolan says, “Are you asking if I’ll come to the woods, Hunter?”
“I’m asking if you think I ought to have only women soldiers on the task,” I admit.
“All its victims are men so far. We thought it was because the first was a lecher who was fond of his drink. A strange man. Then the Hunter . . .” My frustration tinges my words as I ask, “How am I to figure out what it is if I cannot find better clues?”
“I don’t know, Hunter.”
“Me either.” I stare at him as he waits. The man is twice my age, but I am his commanding officer now. I am in command of all of them. “I don’t want to make mistakes.”
“If you’re alive, you will make missteps. He did, too. You forget that truth, Hunter, and the beast already’s won.” Nolan looks around the park after he speaks, and I follow his gaze.
It appears idyllic, and if I had my way, it would be. Faeries can’t resist the lure of nature, so green spaces are more frequently patrolled—as are wooded areas or fields—but we shouldn’t have to feel unsafe here.
“Do you want to lead the group I am moving to Brimmond Wood?” I ask.
“Aye. Good of you to ask.” He flashes a smile that feels like a good-natured laugh.
“If you think it’s unwise . . .”
“I think your father was a cautious man, and he’s dead. We owe him finding the monster that did it.” Nolan’s gruff voice draws a smile from me.
“That, I’ll do.”
“And I’ll help you,” Nolan adds.
I take in the empty streets and shuttered windows, but my gaze catches on the house directly across from us. Isabeau’s house. I can see her there, staring down at us, and a thrill goes through me at the thought of her watching what’s about to happen.
“Would you like one or two squadrons sent to assist you in the wood?” Nolan prompts, pulling my attention to the show of force about to happen.
“Two.” I flash a smile up at Isabeau before I say, “Shall we see who will lead them? Or do you want to pick your people? Maybe they’ll surprise us.”
“There’s always one young buck thinking he’s tough. It wasn’t me when the last Hunter came to meet us, but I was there. You being a woman and all . . . It has to happen. I almost feel for them,” Sergeant Nolan says in a low voice before he makes brief eye contact with the soldiers approaching us.
They stop as one directly in front of us.
“The Hunter.” Sergeant Nolan gestures at me as if in introduction.
I nod at them, but I keep my hood up. There are no nobles in the park, but I still value my privacy.
I can feel the soldiers’ eyes assessing me, weighing me.
Though many of them have met me over the years, and a few have even seen me nearly behead a faery recently, I still remember my father’s warning: “There’s always one who wants to test your strength before obeying.
Let them. Word will spread after, but they can’t understand what it feels like.
I cannot imagine you even can imagine how you’ll change. ”
The one that volunteers to be my first fight ends up being a man easily my father’s age. He steps forward, and I wait. As he reaches me, the soldier shoots out a fist as if to punch me. The others watch.
I catch the man’s hand, step closer, and bend his elbow uncomfortably until he has to choose between a fractured elbow or landing prone on the ground. The whole process is a matter of a heartbeat. I, unlike every member of the squadron, don’t move at the speed of humans now.
It feels strange, as it’s only a couple of days now that I’ve felt these changes.
The second attack comes from one of the fittest men in the group. He charges forward, and when he is in reach, he lunges. I duck under his grip and grab his knee. I straighten, still holding his knee as I pull it to the side and upward, flipping him two body lengths away from me.
He grunts, but he stands up and bobs his head in deference.
“I am faster than any person here,” I says in a level voice. “Stronger than any of you. If you would like to sustain more injuries, feel free to approach again.”
“You’re a noblewoman. Nobs don’t—”
“Well spotted!” a voice answers, and I am glad I didn’t state why I am faster and stronger, though I expect she ought to guess it after what she saw.
I glance to my side to find Isabeau no longer at the window, but here in the park. The way she stares at me has my heart racing far more than the brief show of force with the soldiers did.
“If you have more questions, I will answer them for you. Nolan has assignments.” I look at the few women in the group. One is trying not to smile; another simply laughs. Both are within a few years of my age, with muscle-hewn bodies, straight spines, and attentive gazes. “What is your name?”
“Anders,” the taller of the two women says.
“Lowell.” She has the darker skin of someone born in one of the southerly nations.
“Those two, Nolan. Twenty others. Two squadrons. Twelve-hour shifts. I will draft plans. Keep in mind what I said. Warn them.”
As the soldiers leave, I turn to do the same.
“Truly?” Isabeau speeds up so we are again side by side. She reaches as if to tug my hood back.
I catch her wrist. “Please do not place hands on me without my express permission. As you saw, it rarely goes well.”
“I have already touched far more delicate parts of you, love.” Isabeau stays where she is. “Join me for a meal or conversation or . . .”
“You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met.” I turn again to walk away. I am waiting for her to say the words, to overcome the Hunter’s magic that keeps people from figuring out the Hunter’s identity. I walk faster, trying to move us to a more private location.
She keeps pace.
We are several steps away when Isabeau says, “You are beauty in motion when you fight. I thought that the morning I saw you fight that faery. These soldiers were lucky to be allowed to fight you.”
“I simply had the leverage in that position,” I demur, although the awe in her voice makes me feel warm and joyous.
“Why were you fighting them?” she asks.
“Why do you think?” I brace myself for the statement, the outing, the very inevitable conclusion I have feared all these years.
As we walk closer to the duke’s house, we have privacy enough for the truth to be less dangerous to speak.
I made a promise to her father, but she saw me. Surely, she knows now what I am.
Finally Isabeau says, “Are you enlisting in the W?chter? I know they don’t accept nobles. Is that why you refuse me? Have you fallen into financial straits? That ruined dress . . . I should’ve insisted you take my dresses. I can have them couriered to you.”
Truly? That’s what she thinks? I stare at her in amazement. People accept the thinnest ruse, partly because of the magic that protects me, but I have to wonder if it’s also because they don’t want to accept the truth.
“I knew the last Hunter’s daughter,” I offer lightly. I am not technically lying; I do know my twin quite well. “I trained with the Hunter.”
I feel as if I am throwing the obvious in front of her, as if I can give her enough clues that she will overcome the magic protecting my anonymity. I want her to know, but I promised her father that I would not tell her while she is grieving.
“Why will you not look at me?” The duke’s voice sounds as frustrated as I feel, albeit for different reasons. “I will not tell others that you were trained to fight. You might recall that I was, as well.”
I let out a loud sigh. “I have been to plenty of house parties at Maudite Castle when we were much younger. You are adept enough with a blade.”
“Adept?”
“I won’t insult you or women by adding ‘for a woman’ or ‘for a noble.’” I scan the park as we walk. We look like a young couple out for a stroll. I wish that were the truth.
“You are saying you are better than me?” The duke moves to step in front of me.
Reflexively, my hand goes to a hilt under my walking cloak. “Don’t test me right now, Isa.”
“I like testing your boundaries, love.” Isabeau’s smile slides across her face like a sunrise on a dark morning. Slowly. Invitingly. “I can propose a solution, however. Simply accept the inevitability of us. Let me love you, Gabrielle, and the matter of your secret is resolved.”
Nothing is solved, but it still takes an absurd degree of restraint to not kiss her just then. “You are a menace. I ought not like you.”
“But you still do.”
“A negligible amount. So minuscule that it would take a pack of hounds to locate that smidgen of interest.”
“Liar.” Isabeau straightens. “Say yes, love. Admit you want to be in my arms, in my home, in my heart. It’s where you belong.”
“Do you ever give up?”
“On you? Never.” Isabeau pushes my hood back slightly as she reaches up to cup my cheek in her palm. Her thumb slides over the edge of my lip. “I have loved you before I understood the word. I suspect I loved you before I knew you existed.”
“You are absurd,” I object, but my heart fills with her adoration and I return it as fervently, although I do not know the words to say it as prettily as she does.
What I know is that my beloved appreciates clarity, so I say, “I will offer this. If you find me at the Chathams when I am masked, and if you are particularly striking, and if you charm me, I might be convinced to dance with you.”
“I will be there.” Her eyes all but gleam in happiness.
I motion her forward. “First, though, I am insisting that you enter your home.”
“Alone?”
I laugh. “Yes, Isabeau. Alone.”
“What if the danger is inside the house? And you aren’t there to protect me, oh noble future soldier?” Isabeau teases, but something in the words pricks my pride.
“Do you doubt I could protect you?” I stare at her, feeling the twin desires to demonstrate just how capable I am and to beg Isabeau to think I am already enough.
The epiphany comes over me: I want Isabeau to find me irresistible as myself, not once she knows I am the Hunter. And I want her to still love me once she knows I am a weapon against monsters. I am difficult to love, and yet she persists in trying.
“No doubts at all,” Isabeau says. “The W?chter would be lucky to have you.”
“Isa?” I sound cautious, but I can’t help it. I need answers; I need assurances.
“Love?” she says in the same serious tone.
“When did you know I was me at the ball?”
The duke gives me such an adoring look that I know her answer before I hear her say, “I know your voice, love. I know the feel of you in my arms. I know the taste of you. By any name, under any mask, I know you, Gabrielle Fleuriste. When I asked you to dance, I knew who you were. I let you have your ruse, but . . .” She pauses and smiles in a fond way.
This time when she reaches out to push my scarf away from my lips and nose, I do not resist. I cannot. She has stolen my will, my heart, my words. And still she continues to seduce me with her words.
“I will always know you, Gabrielle,” Isabeau vows.
“Your voice, your shape, your taste. The way your brow crinkles right here”—she traces a line in the center of my forehead—“when you are staring into one of your microscopes at some leaf or insect you gathered or reading something with which you don’t agree. ”
I swallow hard against the urge to step closer.
“The way you suck in your cheeks when you are holding back words . . .” Isabeau runs the same finger over the line of my cheek. She pauses and then traces it over my lips as a sigh escapes me. “The way you sigh just like that when you can’t decide whether to kiss or correct me.”
“Isa—”
“Yes?” Isabeau taps my lips gently. “Shall I tell you which I prefer?”
“I already know.” I step out of reach. It’s either that or I am going to follow her inside and kiss her until we are senseless. “Find me at the Chatham Ball tomorrow, please.”
“And when I find you? Will you stop pretending there is no future between us?” Isabeau’s voice sounds less confident in the moment, and that weakens any lingering resolve I have.
She deserves the whole truth. If she still wants me, if knowing the truth of my duty doesn’t end her interest, I cannot keep refusing her.
“Perhaps.” My voice sounds too rough when I admit, “I have things I must tell you, and I fear it will change everything.”
“It won’t. Nothing can—”
“Hush.” I pivot before I can confess why I have been refusing the possibility of us. Over my shoulder I say, “At the least you may have a kiss. Or several. That much, I can offer you. Once I can tell you why, we will see if you still want a future with me.”
“I will,” she insists.
I meet her eyes. “I hope so, Isa. I truly do, but please know that I already forgive you if you change your mind.”