Chapter 18 Neirin #2
“You do not carry yourself like a huntsman,” I said bluntly.
“Yet you know I am one.” The man turned his gaze on me and held his hand out. “Nox.”
“Lark.” I shook his hand. “I am in need of your services for a most significant purpose.”
“Tell me, Lark.” The huntsman leaned back casually in his chair. “Are the intentions of your task honorable?”
Honorable? “Never have I met a huntsman who concerned himself with the concepts of honor.”
Nox clasped his hands behind his head and raised a brow.
“My task is honorable,” I growled, annoyed by the man and his unusual candor. “The bard tells me you carry your assignments out with discretion. I need a letter brought to the capital, delivered by hand to the prince.”
“As long as intent is honorable, I am discreet, yes. If I find it is not—” His lips twisted in a considered expression. “Well, I will weigh that at such a point.”
“Compelling.” My patience was waning.
“So sober you are, friend.” The huntsman beamed an easy smile. “The bard has played well on this night. The season is changing, outside warmth carries on the breeze. Within these walls, there is mirth and plenty of mead. Yet you are terribly dour.”
Gritting my teeth, I placed my palms on the table and stood. There would be other huntsmen.
“Is it me who has put you in a foul mood?” Nox drew his brows together. When I set him with a glare, and gave no response, he smiled. “Apologies. As I said, plenty of mead.” He swirled his tankard. The third, I’d brought him. Yet, he did not seem intoxicated, at least not beyond faintly so.
“I will find someone else to carry out the task,” I said, turning to leave.
“Not many huntsmen have access to the castle. Though I suspect as a guard, you would know that.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I turned to face him. “How do you know that?”
With an expression of feigned innocence, Nox tilted his head to the side. “That most huntsmen do not have access, or …?”
I sat again, and the chair screeched across the wooden floorboards at my rough movement. “That I am a guard.”
“Well,” he mused, “I could claim it is the way you hold yourself or the way you speak, for in truth the hood you wear does very little to conceal that you do not come from the same place as these men and women do. But alas, such things would not be enough to draw a clear deduction. It is simply that I have seen you before. In Urandun.”
“Yet I do not recall you.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Nox Perdere.” He dipped his head. “The youngest of Commander Perdere’s sons and his greatest disappointment. It's not difficult to overlook me, I admit.”
“A huntsman, the son of a commander?” I scoffed.
“See, now you sound like my father.” There was no malice, no condescension in the huntsman’s tone. The man had not once lost his casual demeanor since I began our conversation. “But it is because I am his son that I have access to the castle.”
“I have seen others deliver letters by hand before. You lie.”
“No, friend. I do not lie, or at least, I make a great effort not to. I suppose we all lie on occasion, when there is no other choice or if it is for the benefit of preserving the feelings of those we care for.” When I did not reply, he continued.
“Security has been tightened since the King’s death. ”
A flash of adrenaline heated my body. “The King’s death?”
“Discretion goes more than one way, you must realize. However, what I am about to tell you is not a great secret. Word has been carried out to the commanders of Cilicia’s major garrisons, and within the capital itself, the knowledge is already quite versed among the general populace.
I suspect it will be here, as well, within a day or two.
People do so like to talk. However, the fact that you are unaware of the heightened security, and that you are serving mead at an inn, lends me to believe you no longer serve the guard. Would you like to tell me why that is?”
“I would not.”
He frowned. “Very well. What do you have as payment?”
“I will pay upon completion, whatever your price may be.”
The huntsman ruffled the hair at the back of his head. “Guards. All the same. Little to no regard for coin.” He nodded then to my left hand. “I will take that as insurance.”
Mother’s ring.
The inn’s front doors swung open, and all eyes turned to the man in the doorway.
Aaron, the son of the local lord, stood tall, anxious energy tightening his expression.
I recognized the man immediately, though I doubted he would take any notice of me.
Lords and their kin so rarely even acknowledged the guards who stood posted within the castle during their visits to speak with the King.
Still, I brushed at the silver hairs that stuck out of my hood above my brows and adjusted the cloth.
Hinges creaked as Aaron stepped into the room, skirted by three soldiers.
He scanned the room, then spoke to those gathered, his voice confident and coming from deep in his chest. “There is a fire in the southern fields.” He raised his hands as a gesture for quiet when whispers broke out.
“Report is, a group of men set it. I need all those capable to join me immediately.”
At the back of the room, the five soldiers rose to their feet, one of them bumping the table and spilling a drink I would later have to clean. A few others stood too—travelers carrying swords sheathed at their hips and bearing rugged expressions.
Those able, followed him from the inn. Though it was no longer my place, my heart thrummed at the prospect of joining them.
I hungered for a fight. Longed for the hum of a sword as it cut the air.
Taking lives was a part of who I was, and though it chilled me, it gave me a sense of grounding.
For in the moment of battle, no other thoughts could persist. Every breath belonged to movement and step, to execution.
Drawing the letter I’d written on my first night in Elrune from the band of my pants beneath my cloak, I addressed the huntsman with a low threat. “It is imperative that this gets to the prince without interception. Is that clear?”
“The King?”
I swallowed. “Yes, the King.” Removing Mother’s ring from my index finger, I set it atop the hardened wax seal of the note. “Beyond that, I expect you to carry back a response.”
“And what if the King does not wish to offer a reply to”—he studied me—“a tavern worker?”
“He will give a response.” He must. For if he did not, what could I do for him?
Stepping foot within the capital as things were was a certain death sentence.
Even with the hidden passageways to the castle in the woods to the east, there was no other crossing point at the river than the single bridge, which would certainly have become a checkpoint by now.
Even if I were to dye my hair, I would not make it to the castle without discovery and, likely, a hastened execution.
What was the price on my head as the alleged slayer of the King?
“Very well, Lark.” The huntsman stood and counted out coppers from his coin purse. Putting the rough, rounded metal pieces on the table, he tipped back the remainder of his mead. “You can expect me back within a fortnight.”
“It should not take that long,” I growled.
Nox only shrugged. “If it does not take that long, then I will return earlier.” Briefly, he examined the ring then tossed it in the air and caught it.
“Good evening to you.” He dipped his head with the sort of bow that did not mock, yet did not engender respect, either.
Like everything else the huntsman did, he acted with casual familiarity and a disconcerting lightness.
Without further word, the young man took the letter, tucked it into his jacket, and exited the inn.
Only a few patrons remained—half a dozen older men, two women, the bard, and a portly man who appeared to never have wielded a sword a day in his life.
The desire to join the group headed to the field and fight returned to me on a rush.
“You aren’t going?”
The question came from behind me, and I turned to find Maerel approaching.
“You told me you’re a routier. Is this sort of task not what you do?” One of her dark brows rose.
“I have no sword.” The words were hardly out of my mouth before I noticed the sheathed blade and leather scabbard she carried at her side.
“It was my husband’s,” she said, offering it. “Go and aid the men.”
Weary of the woman, I narrowed my eyes. “I won’t be further in your debt.”
Maerel scoffed. “I’m not giving it to you. I’m letting you borrow it. Aaron will pay those who help well. Of course, you knew that already, didn’t you?” The implication was clear, and I grunted. If I were truly a routier, this would be the sort of work I’d take eagerly.
Without responding, I reached for the sword and pulled it from its sheath. It was simple in design but well-kept, its edges sharp. My reflection caught in the silver surface, and my stomach lurched. Gritting my teeth, I sheathed the blade.
If Maerel noticed my reaction, she didn’t draw attention to it. Beneath my skin, my monster sought control, but I could push him down. The excitement of the battle ahead coursed through my veins. The thrill of it was wrong, I knew, but intoxicating, nonetheless.
“I’ll be back shortly,” I told her.
Maerel nodded and gestured with her head to the front doors. “Go. And don’t get yourself killed. You’re still in my debt.”