Chapter 6 Ayden
Declan certainly knew deer.
In my hours alone on the mountain, I counted more than a hundred passing by.
Most were fully grown, some sporting crowns with many points, but I was surprised by how many young deer wobbled past on their spindly legs.
At one point, three of the younger fawns pranced and played, chasing each other and eventually knocking one to the ground.
I had to stop myself from laughing at their antics.
Each deer was beautiful in its own way. Together, they were majestic.
I knew they were a herd of individuals, yet they moved as a mass, as one body, one family.
There was a sense of community in their passing, as though each knew and cared for the other.
I do not know what I expected, but it was not the remarkable scene that unfolded before me.
A few times, a member of the herd stopped.
Its ears perked up, and its head turned from one side to the other, its eyes never settling.
It sniffed the air, then scanned the area where I hid.
I was sure it spotted me, or at least identified the stranger in their midst.
It never started or ran, simply found the odd presence, acknowledged it, then resumed its lazy grazing, satisfied I posed no threat.
The thought of shooting one of those creatures sent a pang through my chest.
There were woods outside of Saltstone. My father often joined others on hunts, though those were more for sport than filling our saltbox.
I was an expert marksman, always the youngest among peers to win awards.
And yet, I’d not joined the men’s parties, not even once.
I supposed my studies or other distractions of youth stood in the way.
All I recalled was my mother objecting and Father yielding to her desires.
Logically, I knew the meat that landed on our table back home came from such animals.
Still, seeing the majesty of the beasts as they passed before me, watching how mothers herded their young and cared for their every stride, made me cringe at the thought of one of them falling to my arrow, dying by my hand.
I chuckled to myself. Declan would likely deride such notions. He strode through the woods like a creature born of bark and bramble. Still, I wondered if his conscience gave him pause as he took aim and a deer stared back at him. Perhaps . . . likely not.
Luckily—however odd it might seem to consider such failure lucky, given our mission—I never saw a yellow ribbon. I was never forced to choose between my heart’s song and our mission’s objective.
As the day’s heat ebbed and darkness descended, I began to wonder when Declan might return. Would he break through the trees with a limp body dangling across his shoulders?
I winced at that image.
Success would mean graduation, an attainment of both our dreams; and yet, it also meant the end for one of the herd.
Would I sacrifice my dream for a deer’s life?
That sounded so silly in my mind. We ate venison at least once each week, and here I grappled with bringing sustenance back and achieving a lifelong goal?
Maybe that robed man had choked me harder than I remembered.
I was being ridiculous.
Thinking of the robed man brought up the image of Declan, lying on the ground, grasping his throat and gasping for breath.
I was doing the same, but my fear, in that moment, was not for myself.
I was terrified for him. I could see the life draining from his eyes, and everything inside me wanted to race to his side and give him the last of my breath.
This man I barely knew.
This man who loathed me.
By the Phoenix, I was turning into an idiot. Why was I so obsessed with Declan Rea? He had consumed my thoughts since the first day I watched him with his team.
I knew he despised me. What I did not know was if he even preferred men to women.
It was one thing to hope a man might change his mind about one’s character, to see past assumptions into the heart of another and find something worthy of love.
It was entirely another thing to wish a man to lust after that which he never would.
Melucian society had long since accepted couples of any combination, but within the Rangers and Guard, men still clung to deep-rooted views. If discovered, the Green would not be stripped from my shoulders, but I would be shunned by many of my brothers.
Add to everything else, I was Mute. In every way, lacking a Gift was scorned far more than loving another man.
Even simple farmers cherished Gifts that allowed crops to grow larger and deeper into autumn.
What use could the world have for ones such as us, ones without even the slightest ability to contribute?
I held less resentment than Declan—he was deeply bitter about his magical lot, that much was obvious—and yet, being spurned by the Phoenix felt a bit like being rejected by one’s ancestors, as though the Spirits had pronounced one “outcast” or “beyond repair.”
Was finding another to love, another man and a Mute, worth that risk?
As if to answer, Declan’s image reformed in my mind’s eye.
His blond hair was unlike any I’d ever seen, unruly and wild, practically beaming with its own sunlight, a perfect representation of the man I was coming to know. I wanted to plunge my hands into it, tangle my fingers in his curls, lose myself . . .
A twig snapped nearby, and I jolted. As quietly as possible, I reached for my bow. I had leaned it against a nearby tree while watching the deer pass.
Another snap.
My heart began to race.
Were the robed men back? Would they . . .
“Told you I’d find you.”
Declan’s lopsided grin sent my heart pounding even louder. I was sure he could hear it in the night’s silence.
“Oh, hi. I heard . . . I mean, I wasn’t going to . . . you’re back. Good.” I forced myself to stop talking.
His grin widened. He loved my discomfort. I should hate him for that, but my chest swelled at his smile, his smile for me. I didn’t care that it was a smirk of ridicule; it was my smirk, my ridicule, from him.
Spirits, I was drowning and could not see the shore.
“Any luck?” He glanced around, I supposed in search of the mythical deer with the yellow tag I should have slain.
I shook my head. “You were right. I saw many pass here, but none bore the tag.”
“Yeah, that’s what I saw, too.” Declan scanned the area where the deer had passed below, then spoke, his voice distant with memory.
“They really were something. There was one buck, he must’ve had twenty points, maybe more. He was huge, and his muscles were powerful, and his eyes—Ayden, they looked ancient, like he had always been here. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s how it felt.
I swear he looked right at me and inclined his head. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. It was the strangest thing.”
Listening to his excitement, I could barely breathe. It was like watching a child experience something for the first time, at once beautiful and innocent. I wanted to cup his cheek and laugh and ask him to tell me about it again and again.
“That sounds . . . incredible,” I ventured.
His smile beamed, lighting the dark forest around us.
“I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been in these woods a lot over the past couple of years. You should’ve seen it, Ayden. It was amazing.”
I smiled despite myself.
Leaning my bow back against the tree, I asked, “What do we do now?”
“We won’t be able to hunt in the night. Let’s get some rest and start early in the morning. If we haven’t spotted anything within the first few hours, we’ll have to head back and hope we find one on the way.”
Declan dropped his pack and unhitched his bedroll. “This is as good a place as any. How are you for water?”
I lifted my canteen and shook it. “Still half full.”
“All right, we can work our way back to the stream in the morning. That should take us through another couple of areas where the deer congregate.”
My brows rose.
“What?”
“Congregate. Big word, orphan boy,” I teased, then realized I might have just hit a very sensitive spot.
He gaped, then scrunched his nose. “Me smart. Me talk good. You no smart or pretty.”
I burst out laughing. “You are terrible, you know that, right?”
“I’ve been called worse.” He grinned and flicked his hair off his forehead.
As he settled, I couldn’t stop words from escaping my lips. “You are not what I . . . what I expected.”
He looked up. “And what did you expect?”
“A typical Ranger.”
“What does that mean?”
Spirits, he is making me spell this out. Why did I not keep my mouth closed?
“Like Commander Geros,” I said. “It is as though someone cut him out of the perfect mold of a Ranger drawn by an ancient hand.”
Declan laughed. “You saying I’m not the perfect Ranger?”
“No,” I said too quickly. “No, I didn’t mean that. I mean . . . you’re not . . . perfect . . . I mean . . . shit.”
His laugh grew, and my toes began to tingle at the sound.
“Let me try this again.” I sucked in a breath and tried to stop the stupid tingling from spreading.
“Geros is all the good things we hope for in a Ranger, but he is also proud and strong-headed, sometimes too stubborn. He flaunts his women and wants the men around him to do the same. He is a man’s man, and a Ranger’s Ranger.”
“How do you know how strong-headed he is? We’re cadets, and he’s one of the senior-most officers.”
I fiddled with my fingers, desperate to not make eye contact.
“He and Captain Whitman are seen in Saltstone often. They come to meet with the Triad, but remain to make the rounds in the social circuit. I am sure their goal is to maintain support within the noble houses, but in that pursuit, they expose themselves to people.”
Declan snorted. “Are you saying one of them exposed themselves to you?”
“No!” I jerked up, horrified. Seeing the triumphant smirk on his lips, I relaxed. “Of course not. I have simply seen them in social settings, and Geros has a way about him, like a thick-necked ox.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying, but keep going. This is giving me lots of ammunition for the future.” His smile grew with every word. “How am I not—how did you say it—a thick-necked ox?”