Chapter 18
“Pookas are black-featured fellows mounted on good horses; and are horse-dealers.”
My mind is a jumble that does not improve when I return to our home in the city.
I am barely inside the door when Mother bars my path, stopping me.
She steps up to me, her cane extended to the side like a barricade, folds her arms, and stares at me.
I take her in, noticing that her dress is draped in a long black cloak, and I realize that she needs more mourning clothes, as she’s having to layer black fabric awkwardly over her gowns.
“I need to return to the manor at once,” she says. “I am done with the city. I must go home.”
“No. You are safer here in the city.” I am curt, but of all the things that feel out of my reach to manage, this one I think I can accomplish.
I must keep her safe; the only thing I can still do for my murdered father is to protect his widow.
“The beast kills there, not here. There were no deaths by the creature in the city, and so I think—”
“Is that an order?” Mother stares at me in a way that makes my stomach roil like I’ve eaten bad meat.
“I can have the seamstress come and see to proper mourning garb,” I offer in a softer tone. “There is no need to travel to—”
“Nothing here smells of him.” Mother wrings her hands and whispers, “At home the sheets, his clothing . . .” Her words get lost in a sob, and she leans toward me. “My bed there still smells of him. Here? Nothing. He hated the city. I want to go home.”
“I am sorry.” I take her weight against me, holding her upright as she collapses in sobs. “I wish he could be here for you.”
“All I have left of him is the scent, and it will fade.” Her words are garbled against me. “I need to go home before it’s gone, too.”
My shoulders sag at the grief in her voice. She’s been patient, and at first, I think I believed she would be fine. Many people adapt when their spouse dies, but theirs was a love match. Her grief is larger than I noticed until this moment.
“I will send the W?chter to accompany you.” I motion for Clarissa to bring me a notepad. “I will get a message to them, and they will escort you. Several soldiers can garrison there, too.”
“We have our regular—”
“The beast killed Father, after it left a body at the manor.” I watch her face blanch as I speak, but there is no option beyond directness. “I will send soldiers.”
“The beast only has killed men,” she objects, voice softer now.
“In the park today, it attacked a woman.” I meet her gaze. “It has attacked me twice, Mother.”
“It . . . ?”
“Attacked me,” I say. “I am fine, Mother. I didn’t mention it, but I thought it was simply because I was the next in line to be Hunter. Then it attacked Emma Iversson today.”
“Is she well?” Mother’s hand goes to her throat.
“The beast tore her gown.” I pause. “Truthfully, I am not convinced that she was truly attacked by the same beast, or possibly at all. She thought Isabeau was the Hunter, and I think she was seeking attention. I cannot be certain.”
“But it attacked you. The beast that killed your father?” my mother asks. “If it was targeting the next Hunter, your sister—”
“Will be guarded as truly as the queen,” I interject. “As will you. If you want to go to the manor, the W?chter soldiers will accompany you. If you want to leave the grounds of the manor, do not. If we return to the city, we will be escorted.”
“Gabrielle.” Mother frowns.
“There is nothing that matters more to me than keeping you and Ry safe. I will find the beast, but until I do, the W?chter will patrol Brimmond Wood. They were already going to garrison at Fleuriste . . . but I can station a contingent at the manor. Or”—I hold up a hand to pause whatever objection is coming—“you will stay here. I gave my word to Father that I would keep you and Ry safe.”
For a moment, I think she will continue to object, but she gives me a fond smile.
“You are already adopting the Hunter’s less-appealing traits, Gabrielle.
Even when you are controlling, I will still love you—and I will forgive you, just as I forgave your father.
” Mother pats my cheek like I am a small child.
“I will tell your sister to be ready to depart immediately.”
The urge to go with them to Fleuriste Manor wars with the need to attend the Chatham Ball. The W?chter will guard my family well. Of that I am certain. My heart wants to leave the city, to protect my mother and sister, but I feel magic compelling me to stay.
I scribble a note to Nolan hastily and send it off with a guard I motion to me when I step outside.
I stand there, pen and a second piece of paper still in hand, and weigh the possibility of sending my regrets to the Chathams. While the illusions that protect the Hunter exist, the tradeoff for that is that Queen Morag I—predecessor of our current queen—dictated that when the Hunter was said to be in attendance, the Hunter would be there.
Father thought it a foolish conceit, and I agreed, but after my brief exchange with the current queen at the archive, I now begin to wonder if there is more magic afoot in Alveus than I’ve ever realized.
Moments pass while I’m still standing with paper in hand, wrinkling it in my fist, when Nolan is already shown into the house.
“Hunter. I was near. So . . .” He bobs his head in a respectful bow, as if reminding me that I am his commanding officer.
W?chter soldiers serve the queen, but they are also the Hunter’s army if we call upon them. My father rarely did, but I am not as much a solitary person as he was.
“The countess and my sister will be traveling through Brimmond Wood.” I keep my voice low. “I need to know that your soldiers understand their importance.”
“They know, and I’ll be with them on the trip.” Nolan gives me a solemn look. “I won’t let a thing happen to your mum or sister. My word on it.”
I trust him. I always have, though our conversations have been fleeting and often impersonal. I feel like I have his measure. “Are you sure you are safe? Neither a drinker nor a man about town.”
He guffaws. “Hunter, I am too old to be looking for anything but a good night’s sleep anymore. I read a bit. Sometimes, I have a larger than usual slice of a good pie, but . . . my worst vice is more berries than a man rightly needs when summer rolls by.”
“And the others?”
“Mostly lasses. Cranshaw is the only other man. He wants to earn your praise after you tossed him on his arse in the park.” Nolan nods as if to himself. “The man swears he has no vices that will make a risk, and of course, both Lowell and Anders have vetted all the rest. Good soldiers, they are.”
“Anders and Lowell told you about the woman in the park?”
“They did. Two attacks on you, one on another nob, and then three men murdered,” Nolan summarizes.
“Two attacks on the Hunter-in-Training, one Hunter murdered—I feel like it knows what we are and targets us. I should send my regrets to the Chathams and come along,” I mutter.
“These obligations irritated my father, and I’m starting to see why.
I have no interest in soirees. I have work to do.
Damn the magic that makes me unable to ignore this summons. ”
“You’ll be heading back to the forest tomorrow, won’t you?” Nolan stares at me in silence, then says, “Sometimes the hardest thing about commanding troops is trusting them to do what they must. I’ve been there. If you don’t trust them, trust in me, Hunter. I’d lay down my life for your family.”
I nod. “I know . . . and I do trust you. I fear I’m not ready for this, Nolan, not the title and not the rest.”
“Fair enough.” He doesn’t press me to say things will be fine, and I like him a little extra for it. There are no guarantees that anything will work out as we hope.
“Rylan is the next Hunter if I die. Guard her well. Get them home safely, and then . . .”
“We’ll do our jobs, Hunter. No need worrying about that.” Nolan claps my shoulder like he used to do with my father, then pauses as if he did something wrong.
So I clap my hand on his shoulder, though the gesture feels odd to make. He relaxes under my hand, and I think that this, at the least, I can manage. I trust him, and I can wait one last day to join them. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“We’ll have the convoy ready for the countess and your sister within the hour.” With those parting words, Nolan leaves.
I am less worried, knowing that my family will be in capable hands.
I’d prefer that they stay here, but my mother and sister are adults, and I will not pretend that they are unaware of the threats that wait in the world.
They may not have gone into the woods with Father as I did, but they saw his battered body time and again when he faced a monster that was stronger than what ought to be allowed through the gate.
Once this is all over, we are stationing guards in the wood, my fear announces.
I think of the queen and her secrets. Is this another such case? I need an accounting of what all side accords are in play if I am to do my duty. That, too, is on my growing list of tasks to manage.
By the time my mother and sister depart, I am alone in the house with Clarissa and a cook. The rest of the group travels to Fleuriste. Everyone wants to be there for Mother, and I cannot fault them for it. I will join them on the morrow.
At least I will see Isabeau one last time before I must spill my secrets to her. I want one small spot of heaven. Is that wrong? I am not shirking my duty as Hunter or daughter or earl. I want one small bite of joy to carry me along.
In my near-empty house, I stand in my room with a steel box that looks older than I care to know.
I open it and look at the rings nestled inside.
Two truths about faeries are that they cannot lie, nor can they stand the touch of cold iron or its by-product, steel.
The touch of it breaks their magical glamours.
“What are those?” Clarissa asks.