The Great Hunt (15 page)

Paxton was taken straight into the infirmary wing of the castle, along with four other men. Several refused treatment. Eight had been killed that night. Six Kalorians, one Lochlan, and the youngest Zandalee. Paxton considered himself lucky, though his injuries were worse than he’d first assumed.

The gash on his arm gaped, filled with dirt. A path of now-dried blood had run down to his hand, soaking his tan tunic, so he removed it. His back, chest, and stomach were bruised. And on his left side he had cracked ribs and several severe scratches where the beast had kicked him.

But he was alive.

He leaned against the wall on the cot in the infirmary
room where the guards had left him alone. The room was small and clean with only a cot, a side table, and a chair. He’d cleaned his wounds and now sat waiting.

Without a knock, the wooden door opened and an old woman stepped in pushing a cart with a covered plate. She had a long, gray braid across her shoulder. Her eyes were wise as she approached Paxton. Perhaps it was in his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt static in the air. Energy. Immediately, he knew the woman was Lashed and he felt a strange feeling of peace and tenderness—something he hadn’t felt since childhood.

She came to his side without smiling. “Don’t be afraid, Paxton Seabolt. My name is Mrs. Rathbrook. With your permission, I will heal you.”

“I don’t fear you,” he said. His voice sounded reverent to his own ears. Paxton openly stared at the woman. He had expected the royal Lashed to be much younger. He’d never seen a Lashed person of her age, or one in such good health. Mrs. Rathbrook had to be in her sixties.

Emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for many years rose up and overflowed his system. The words poured out against his will. “My grandmother was Lashed.”

He’d never said those words out loud. A pang of fear for his family tightened inside his chest, until Mrs. Rathbrook took his mangled hand in her own. Looking down at his injury, she said, “I know. I knew Margaret Seabolt well.”

Paxton’s heart kicked. “You . . . you knew her?”

“Sh. Let me work.” The woman held his hand, touching his skin around the injury on his arm without brushing the torn flesh. “You’ll feel heat. It will be uncomfortable for a moment. Stay still.”

Paxton nodded and the woman closed her eyes. His heart went erratic . . . but it had nothing to do with the magic pouring into him.

She knew his grandmother.

He became so engrossed in his thoughts that he hardly noticed the intense heat rushing through his veins, straight to his hand where the magic flamed, stitching his skin and muscle back together. He watched in awe as purple lines fused in the tiny space of white at the bottom of her nails. Her entire fingernails were purple with the exception of two paper-thin white lines near the top. Mrs. Rathbrook let out a hum of satisfaction.

Her cool hands moved across his chest. He closed his eyes as she worked, and allowed himself to fully remember his grandmother for the first time in so long. Her tiny cottage on the ocean where she lived by herself after his grandfather’s passing at sea. While Tiern ran about in the sand, picking up shells and terrorizing crabs, Paxton gravitated to his grandmother’s side. He’d known she was special before he knew she was Lashed. He experienced that same static energy in her presence.

Their grandmother Seabolt had looked after the boys during the day while their father fished and their mother haggled with vendors.

He recalled the summer morning when he was eight and a woman round with pregnancy came bursting into his grandmother’s cottage.

“It’s not moving! Something is wrong—I can sense it. Please, help me, miss!”

Paxton had been confused by the woman’s frantic pleading. He couldn’t understand what his grandmother could possibly do to help.

His grandmother had gone an ashen shade of gray. “I cannot help you. I’m so very sorry.”

“Please!” The woman had begged, her shaking hands splayed across her belly. “I know you’re Lashed! My own mother told me. I know you can feel for its heart and . . . and . . .” She began crying. “This is my sixth pregnancy. None have lasted this long. Please . . .”

Paxton had hated the sad feeling that overtook him at the woman’s desperate sobbing, and the way his grandmother’s eyes filled with tears.

“If I help you, I will be killed when they do the census. I have grandsons to care for. I cannot risk it. Please . . . you must go.”

Paxton’s eyes burned as the memory faded and a hot bout of flame overtook the skin at his waist. He hissed and watched in awe as the bloodied claw marks sealed themselves between the woman’s splayed fingers. Mrs. Rathbrook’s creased forehead relaxed and she opened her eyes.

“There now. Good as new.”

“Thank you.” He slowly pushed himself up, marveling at the lack of pain. But the woman placed a hand on his shoulder and urged him to lie back.

“Magic can take a toll on the body. You’ll need to rest for
a bit and eat something.” She pushed a cart to his side filled with sliced fruit, bread, juice, and dark coffee, a delicacy impored from the forests of Kalor.

“Thank you,” he said again.

Mrs. Rathbrook gave him a small smile and pushed his hair out of his face. When she turned to go, he called out, “Wait.”

She faced him again, her head tilting.

“She wasn’t very old when she died,” Paxton said. He felt like a child, unable to hold back the words, remembering. “Her health declined so quickly.”

“Aye.” Mrs. Rathbrook nodded solemnly. “As do all Lashed who do not use their powers.”

Paxton sat up, wincing, and the woman gently pushed him back down. “Easy now.”

He propped up on his elbows to see her face better. “So the two
are
linked? A Lashed One’s health to their magic?”

“Aye. How do you think I’ve lived this long?” Indeed. It was just as he’d feared.

“I thought perhaps Lashed had shorter lifespans by nature, or that some were sickly from a lack of nutrition. I hoped it was coincidence.” He felt like a fool for not acknowledging the truth of it sooner. He lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I miss her.” Deep seas . . . he hadn’t spoken of her in years. He expected to feel weak after vocalizing his feelings, but he didn’t. He felt only loss and regret.

“I’m sure you do,” the Lashed woman murmured in
return. She gave his cheek a fond pat. “I hope you’ll visit me whenever you’re in the castle, Paxton Seabolt.”

And with that, the woman with magic hands left him, and Paxton fell back, rubbing his eyes, chest burning with familiar anger. His grandmother could have lived longer had she used her magic. He could still have her today if it weren’t for the law of the land.

Princess Aerity woke with a start as she remembered the hunters leaving for last night’s hunt. She untangled her long nightgown from the covers and ran to the window, heart racing as she threw aside the thick curtains. Her eyes squinted against the bright morning sky as she scanned the people below.

Her stomach turned, realizing there were definitely fewer hunters, and they didn’t seem to be celebratory. Some were milling about, taking off their weapons. Others were clustered in small groups, slumped as they spoke. She recognized three of the Zandalee in all black, facing the wall on their knees, as if praying. Had they lost one? Aerity’s stomach dropped in sadness.

She scanned the crowd, and found fewer dark-haired men. There was Harrison’s short hair—thank the seas! He seemed well, and her stomach began to right itself. She spotted Tiern Seabolt next. Her eyes circled all around him, but didn’t find his brother at his side.

Where was Paxton Seabolt? The brothers were always together. Air moved faster into her lungs, pressed out in short spurts. She shouldn’t care this much. He’d never even been civil to her. Still, concern ate at her.

She jumped from the window seat and snatched her robe from the hook, throwing it over her arms. Aerity yanked open the door and found her maid standing there with a tray. Caitrin jumped and let out a small squeal.

“I’ll be right back!” Aerity ran past her.

“But, miss! Your Highness, your shoes!”

It wasn’t proper to be seen outside her chambers in nightclothes, and it was even more uncivilized to be seen barefoot. Aerity didn’t care, driven by some frantic fear for a complete stranger. She ignored the open stares from servants as she passed, and she barely noticed the guards following as she burst from the castle doors and ran down the path to the west commons area. It wasn’t until she neared the vine-covered gates and men came into view that she began to worry about her state.

Based on the gawking of the guards at the gates, she must have looked a fright, tangled hair and all. She stopped and peeked through the end of the gate until she found Tiern
again. He appeared stern as he cleaned his boots, but not heartbroken. Aerity hastily ran her finger through her hair and twisted it over her shoulder.

She then moved forward, speaking to the closest guard. “Excuse me. Can you please fetch that lad, Tiern Seabolt? I wish to ask him about the hunt.” He glanced at her bare feet and blinked before obeying. Aerity wiggled her toes against the cool stones, feeling foolish and nervous as guards watched her.

Tiern ventured out of the commons, and stopped in his tracks at the sight of her. She resisted the urge to smooth her hair back again.

“I apologize for my appearance. I was eager to hear how last night went . . . ?”

Tiern’s face darkened as he recalled it.

“Is your brother all right?” she blurted before he’d had a chance to speak.

His eyebrows rose. “Er, aye. He’s in the castle for his injuries, but he’ll heal.”

Aerity let out a breath, embarrassed. “What happened, then? Did you see the beast? Has it been killed?” Her blood pumped rapidly, only slowing when Tiern gave a regretful shake of his head.

“It still lives.”

The princess was torn between disappointment that the beast would live another day, and relief that the fate of her future marriage was not yet sealed.

“What happened out there?”

Tiern retold the night’s events, each detail making Aerity’s skin crawl.

Aerity considered calling Harrison over to discuss it all, but hot shame filled her at the thought of him seeing her like this. He’d only laugh and tease her, but he knew her well enough to know she had to have been out of sorts to leave her room in such a state. She thanked Tiern and rushed back into the castle before one of her parents or aunts caught sight of her.

Twenty minutes later she bustled down the infirmary hall wearing her favorite pale pink gown that cinched extrafirm at her waist and dipped a bit lower at the top than her other dresses. She told herself she’d grabbed it from her wardrobe at random, but she knew it was a lie.

Aerity stopped a nurse her age. The girl’s eyes widened and she dipped into a curtsy. “Your Highness.”

“Hello, miss. Can you please tell me where the hunter Paxton Seabolt might be?”

“Certainly, Princess. Last door to your left.”

Aerity rushed to the closed door and paused, hesitating with a hand pressed to her nervous stomach. She only wanted to see him, to see for herself that his injuries weren’t too grave, and then she would leave. She knocked softly, but heard nothing. After a few seconds she slowly pushed the door open and peeked inside. A gas lamp dimly lit the room. Aerity held her
breath as she beheld a sleeping Paxton on the cot, one arm curved over his head and the other draped across his middle. He lay shirtless, his brown trousers slung low. Muddied leather boots were splayed on the floor.

She stared openly from the doorway at his body. It was the most skin she’d ever seen on a grown man. He had a small, brown trail of hair down his taut stomach. Aerity found herself holding her breath as the air around her closed in.

She wondered how it would feel to touch him, this lad she hardly knew who intrigued her so.

High seas, why did her skin feel so prickly and her blood so . . . heavy?

He was obviously well. She needed to close the door and leave before someone caught her staring. But then Paxton inhaled a ragged breath and sat up, as if waking from a dream. His eyes were alert and untrusting as they darted around the room, landing on the princess. Aerity gripped the door, caught.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I only wanted to see how you fared. You look . . . healthy.” She swallowed and backed up. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Wait.” He slung his legs over the side of the cot and gripped the edge. “Have you seen my brother?”

Aerity stopped and nodded. “He told me what happened last night. I can’t believe it can swim.”

Paxton dragged a hand through his dirty hair and grimaced. “Aye. That complicates things indeed.” He was
speaking to her in a civil manner. Aerity hid her surprise.

The hunter looked down at his abdomen and then back up at the princess. He rubbed a hand down his stomach. “I’m not sure where my tunic’s gone . . . it was bloodied.”

Aerity waved off his comment with a shaking hand and said, “It’s all right.” As if she were used to being in the presence of half-naked, attractive men.

Do not look at his chest . . . or his stomach . . .

“Only a few Kalorians remain to hunt,” Paxton said. “They were extraordinary last night. They attacked it and gave chase.”

He was being awfully chatty. Perhaps a near-death experience would do that to a person.

“Tiern said you did the very same thing, attacked it without fear.”

Paxton shook his head and paused as he looked down at his hands. “It wasn’t enough. I was like a rag doll against its power.”

Ah, so Paxton Seabolt had been humbled. His hair was a mess, and she wanted to brush it from his face.

“But it won’t be so next time,” he said, his voice lowering. “I know the beast’s weakness now, and I will kill it.”

Paxton’s eyes bored into hers. His words echoed in her mind.

He wanted to kill the beast. And if he did . . . he would become her husband.

Aerity felt a heady rush of bravery. She glanced over her
shoulder at the empty hall and then let the door slide closed behind her. She swallowed hard and leaned against it. Oh, lands below, what had she done? She’d just closed herself in a room with him! Her mother would die if she found out. Gossip would fly.

“I didn’t want our conversation to upset anyone,” Aerity explained lamely.

Paxton crossed his arms, examining her, scrutinizing. “If you knew anything about us villager lads, you’d know better than to shut yourself in with one of us.” His eyebrow rose and fell provocatively.

Her mouth dropped open. This had been a bad idea. Very bad, indeed. Paxton might be a brave hunter, but she didn’t know this man at all. And he was right; the kind of flirting banter popular among commoners was seen as inappropriate among royalty, though he made no move to come near her.

“You’re a cheeky one,” Aerity managed to say, trying and failing to cover her embarrassment. Paxton’s mouth pulled to the side in a smirk that made her stomach flip.

“You’ve no idea, Princess.”

She’d only wanted to continue talking in private. Instead, she’d made things horribly awkward. At a loss, the princess blurted, “My cousin saw the beast. She . . . it killed her fiancé.” The words made her light-headed.

Paxton’s face dropped. “Lady Wyneth . . . aye. I’d heard the captain was engaged to a lady, but I never put it together.” He stared past her shoulder, in thought. Then his eyes slid back
to hers with newfound intensity. “It will die. Your cousin and all the others will be avenged.”

“Good.” Aerity cleared her throat against the dry croak that had invaded, made worse by Paxton Seabolt’s intrusive searching of her face.

“What is it that you want from me, Aerity?” There was an edge to his voice. “You want me to kill the great beast?”

Her breath caught. Aerity. Not
princess
. No formal title. Only familiarity, which they hadn’t yet earned. Still it warmed her to her core.

She stammered, “Of course I want the beast to be killed.”

Paxton remained leaning against the cot with his arms crossed. “But do you want
me
to be the one to kill it? Is that why you’re here? To persuade me?” His words were spoken in a low voice, sending Aerity’s thoughts into a whirlpool of confusion.

“No. I mean . . . I . . .” She tried to sort out any hidden meaning in his words, but he was difficult to read.

If he killed the beast, she would get to touch him. Run her hands over him. He might not like Aerity for whatever reason, but from the heat in his gaze she knew he’d welcome her hands on him. He’d probably welcome any lass’s hands on him. That thought darkened Aerity’s musings.

“Or is it Harrison you want? Do you still think you have a say in who marries you?” he asked. “Even after your father’s proclamation?”

And with that, Aerity felt her wits returning as she
returned his steely stare. Did he think she was some girl to be toyed with? How dare he make light of her situation?

“If you’re looking to have your ego stroked, Paxton Seabolt, you’ve asked the wrong lass. I would prefer my future husband to love me, if you must know. This arrangement does not please me, but the safety of the kingdom is more important than what I wish for. So don’t speak lightly of my circumstances.”

And why had he mentioned Harrison? Had there been a twinge of jealousy in his voice?

His eyes roamed her face as if searching for cracks in her words. He appeared unapologetic for any disrespect he might have meant. Aerity could not understand this bold man or how he perceived her.

As they stared, Aerity felt a sudden nudge at her back from the opening door. The princess jumped and saw Mrs. Rathbrook. Paxton uncrossed his arms and stood straight. Aerity’s cheeks heated and she pressed a hand to her chest. This must have looked bad, but the woman smiled at them both with apparent delight.

“My apologies, Mrs. Rathbrook,” Aerity said. “I heard Mr. Seabolt was injured so I came to check on him, but he’s already in perfect condition, thanks to you. I was just leaving.”

Mrs. Rathbrook reached out and took Aerity’s clammy hand, squeezing it as if to calm her. In the woman’s other hand was a man’s tunic. Paxton looked back and forth between the
woman and girl, seeming almost confused or surprised about something. The older woman tossed the shirt at his face and he caught it.

“It’s not proper to go around shirtless in front of a royal lass,” she gently admonished, “no matter how beautiful she might be.”

She winked at Aerity, who blushed all over again.

“Please don’t tell my father or mother,” Aerity began, but the woman only chuckled and shook her head.

“There is nothing to tell. Two people talking.”

Aerity, beyond thankful, embraced the woman and kissed her cheek.

She felt Paxton watching her with a keen awareness, but she refused to acknowledge him or say good-bye. She peered around the door and slipped into the empty infirmary hall, gulping breaths of cool air. Her hands shook and she curled her fingers into tight fists to fight the trembling.

She didn’t doubt that Paxton had felt her attraction. It’s surely what gave him the confidence to be as forward as he pleased. But she couldn’t allow another moment like that to happen between them. In his eyes lived something deep, dark, and untold. Something that frightened her.

But it didn’t scare her enough to make her want to stay away from him. Not nearly enough.