The Great Hunt (7 page)

Aerity did not want to speak to a soul. She sat on the edge of her bed, numb. When a soft knock sounded at her bedchamber door, she called, “Leave me be.”

The door opened a crack and Aerity saw a tangle of red curls around a tearstained face. Vixie. All at once, her sister’s offer to use her dowry and her cries on Aerity’s behalf was like a river of sentiment through her.

“Oh, Vixie, come here, love.”

Her sister came straight to her bed and climbed up into her arms, clinging to her. Aerity swallowed hard, trying to hold it together.

“I’m so mad at him, Aer.” Vixie pulled back, her pretty
lips pursed. “I refuse to call him papa anymore.”

This wounded Aerity more than anything else so far. She didn’t want this kind of divide in the family. Aerity rubbed Vixie’s arm. She understood her sister’s refusal to call him papa. Tonight, she’d felt like a king’s subject, not a king’s daughter.

“Hush now, Vix. I’m sure he’s doing what he thinks is best. . . .” The words felt vile on her tongue, though she remembered their discussion of honor and sacrifice. Those things had seemed simple in theory, when it hadn’t been her own future on the line.

“You cannot seriously be all right with this!” Vixie pulled her arm away.

Aerity was torn between what her heart felt and what her mind knew. Someday, she would be queen. All her life she’d been taught to put the kingdom first. This was the first time she’d have to see that duty in action. Never did she imagine it would be like this.

“I will have to make difficult decisions when I am queen—”

“You will never make decisions that hurt your children!”

Aerity’s breaths were shaky. She hoped to the seas she’d never be faced with something like this when she had to rule. Could she ever sacrifice one of her children’s happiness for the kingdom? If not, would that make her a weak ruler?

She swallowed hard.

“Thank you for what you said in there, Vixie. You don’t
know what it means to me.”

“I know you’re trying to be strong, and all of that queenly nonsense, but I am angry enough for both of us. I refuse to speak to him.”

Aerity choked back a laugh and took her passionate sister in her arms again. “Please don’t hold on to your anger too long.”

Vixie sniffed and looked up. “You really will do it, won’t you? You’ll marry a complete stranger.”

Aerity’s stomach turned like a rough gale. She shut her eyes. “I don’t want to,” she admitted. “But, aye. I will. I want this beast dead. I have to hope for the best, Vix.”

When Aerity opened her eyes she found Vixie studying her.

“You will make a good queen someday,” the girl said softly.

This was the thing that finally brought Aerity’s emotions to the surface, causing her to fight for breath. She didn’t feel like a future queen, and definitely not a future wife. She felt like a girl who had just lost something important. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Aye. Anything for you.”

Most males in Lochlanach focused on fishing, crabbing, and harvesting shellfish. Brothers Paxton and Tiern Seabolt were two of the few who focused on land animals. Hunting. The lands of Lochlanach were best for growing crops, not raising livestock, so meat such as poultry, pork, and beef were in low supply at any given time. Only the wealthiest merchants could afford to raise animals for personal consumption.

In winter months when meat was scarce, the village turned to the Seabolt brothers. They kept a lean-to in the nearby forest with freshly salted venison and sold it as cheaply as they could, barely making a profit, not wanting anyone to go hungry.

Even though they themselves were nearly always hungry.

It didn’t used to be that way. Before their father’s knees went out two years ago, he’d been a successful deep sea fisherman. They’d lived comfortably on an acre with a stream, eating fish as thick and meaty as beefsteaks. Now they were crammed within one of the row houses of the village, lucky to salvage bits of leftover venison jerky.

Seventeen-year-old Tiern took their family’s fall in stride, as good-natured as ever. But Paxton, two years his senior, had turned even angrier and more withdrawn than usual. Tiern suspected there was more to Paxton’s issues, secrets that Tiern had been sheltered from and reasons his older brother seemed to carry the weight of the world. But Pax was a private person, even among the ones he loved.

The fall morning was crisp as Tiern and Paxton made their way through the wooded brush with stealth, bows at the ready. For tall boys wading through fallen leaves, they scarcely made a sound. Paxton could go hours without talking. Hours of listening to sounds of the forest, staring through leaves and branches for signs of movement.

Tiern could do it as well, but he didn’t relish it the way Paxton seemed to. Inside, Tiern was bored and restless. He wished a bloody deer would show itself already so they could skin it, drain it, hang it, and have their feet up in front of the fire before the curfew. He hated the cold evenings. Why couldn’t it be summer year-round?

They found a ridge of decaying logs and nestled themselves
side by side, one brother facing each direction. And they waited.

After a while with no sign of anything but songbirds flying south, Tiern glanced at Paxton from the corner of his eye. Pax was eyeing the forest in earnest.

Paxton’s brown hair was wild with waves, and almost long enough to tie back with a strip of leather. Tiern didn’t know how he could stand to have it in his face like that. His own hair was the same dark brown shade, but straight. He kept it pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck. More rugged. More muscular. More mysterious. That was Pax.

Tiern could make girls laugh, and flattered them with compliments. They felt comfortable in his presence. Ironically, they flocked to Paxton for just the opposite reason. His abrasiveness was a challenge that kept girls on edge. Paxton never took the time to notice anything, but a single moment of eye contact with a girl could make her cheeks flush. No words necessary. Tiern wanted to laugh at the backwardness, at how blushing lasses gravitated toward his older brother who couldn’t be arsed to give them a lick of his attention.

Tiern saw movement and tore his gaze from his brother. His eyes met the trees just in time. A brown blur moved twenty yards away. All of Tiern’s fidgeting and boredom dissolved. For one shade of a second he wondered if it might be the great beast, but he knew it never came out during daylight hours. No, the animal’s form materialized into a gentle beast, nothing to fear.

Never taking his eyes from the deer, he gently nudged Paxton before ever so slowly nocking his arrow to his bow and lifting it. Aiming. Waiting for the perfect shot.

He could feel his brother’s silent anticipation next to him.

They were different in so many ways, but in these moments they were the same—joined by the thrill of the hunt.

Tiern’s heart pumped hard and the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh through his ears became a soothing mantra. This feeling. This rush made the boredom of waiting worthwhile.

Just as the doe stepped into the clearing, making for a perfect shot, Paxton’s fingers tightened on Tiern’s shoulder and his eyes flicked to the side.

Tiern’s heart sank.

An older fawn, still sporting its fading spots, came bounding out beside its mother.

“Bucking seas,” Tiern cursed. The brothers had a rule about not killing does while they were raising babes. Once the fawns were older, losing their spots, their mothers were fair game.

Tiern lowered his bow, disappointment washing through him. Seconds later Paxton’s fingers gripped him again. He followed his brother’s gaze, and was hit with elation at the sight before them.

A giant buck with an eight-point rack stood between the trees, gazing toward the doe. A deer of that size could feed half their village this week.

“Take it,” Paxton said, so low Tiern almost couldn’t hear.

Technically the buck was on Paxton’s side, but he must have felt bad about the doe, so he was giving his little brother the go. Tiern turned himself, achingly slow, and nocked his arrow to the bow once again, pulling it rigid.

Come on, big lad, he thought. Give me a good shot.

He didn’t have to wait long. The unsuspecting buck, focused solely on the doe, stepped out.

Tiern didn’t hesitate. He let his arrow fly and it found its mark beneath the ribs. He released a huge breath of relief as the beautiful animal faltered and fell. The doe and fawn dashed away.

Paxton leaped to his feet and ran to their prey. Tiern always let him take care of this part. His brother unsheathed a dagger from his waist and squatted at the animal’s side.

“There now,” Paxton soothed. He reached out slowly, with care, and pressed a hand to the buck’s head. The animal was still alive, breathing hard. “Go, be at peace. Your life will not be wasted.”

Those words, spoken at every kill, never ceased to bring a chill of awe to Tiern. He watched as his brother raised the dagger and ended the creature’s suffering. If only the lasses in town could see Paxton here in his element—see how capable their handsome brute was of gentleness, even as he killed. They’d likely be elbowing one another out of the way and racing to see who could lift their skirts for him the quickest.

Aside from their father, Tiern was the only person who knew this side of Paxton. He felt honored, as if witnessing something private and intimate.

When Paxton was ready, they got to work.

It was stew for dinner that night. Maryn Seabolt cooked a small portion of the fresh venison in a pot with potatoes, carrots, and the last of the thick-skinned tomatoes from their summer garden. She hummed a folk song as she bustled about. When everything was ready, she made heaping bowls for her two boys and brought their suppers to them in front of the fire. They ate like kings the night of a big kill.

If only it happened more often.

“Thank you, Mum,” Tiern said.

“No, thank you, laddie.” She kissed his forehead.

“Thanks,” Paxton said. Their mother rumpled his mess of hair before turning away, humming again.

The front door swung open with a rickety creak and their father lumbered in, his cane clanking against hard, dirt floors. His body looked as pained and burdensome as always, but his eyes shone. He sniffed the air.

“I heard you got a big one, aye?”

“Aye, Father,” Paxton said, his voice deep with pride. “Tiern took it.”

The corner of Tiern’s mouth quirked up and his cheeks shaded.

Their father rumbled a laugh and gave his youngest boy
a punch on his lean shoulder before falling into his chair with an
oof
. Their mother was at his side the next moment with a steaming bowl.

“Grab a bowl and join us, Maryn,” he told her. “There’s news. Big news.”

Her hand flew to her heart. “Not another killing?”

“Nae, nae. But it does have to do with the great beast. Our king has issued a proclamation.”

Her eyebrows rose, and the boys traded looks of interest.

“We didn’t hear about any proclamation when we were in the market,” Tiern said.

“It was just issued. Hurry yourself,” Mr. Seabolt said, giving his wife a smack on the bottom.

She rushed off with an uncharacteristic giggle and Paxton shook his head at his grinning brother, turning his attention back to his stew.

“So the king finally believes there’s a beast and plans to do something about it?” Paxton asked. “Now that his own men have been killed and not just peasants?”

“It would seem so,” his father said with a frown.

Paxton grumbled.

Tiern and his father ignored Paxton’s gibe and tone. They were accustomed to his negativity toward the king, and toward everything in general. When the four of them were gathered around the fire, Mr. Seabolt set down his empty bowl and placed his large palms on his knees. All attention turned to him.

“The king’s proclamation states that the best hunters from all of Eurona are invited to Lochlanach for a massive hunt. Whoever kills the great beast will get the most valuable reward the king can offer . . .” He paused and the room was thick with expectancy. “The hand of Princess Aerity.”

Mrs. Seabolt gasped, nearly toppling her bowl.

“No shite?” Tiern breathed. His mother must have been in shock because she didn’t even swat him for his language.

“Aye,” their father said.

Tiern and Paxton stared at each other, their eyes distant as their minds swirled with possibility.

Killing the great beast would turn a regular man—a mere hunter, a commoner—into royalty. He would marry a princess, thereby earning himself the most gorgeous of waterway lands with abundant crops, enclosed within the safety of the legendary stone wall. Their family would be comfortable for generations. Beyond comfortable.

“Get it out of your minds. It’s too dangerous,” Mrs. Seabolt whispered, panicked. “Even soldiers cannot kill it!”

“The boys are smart,” their father said. “The king’s soldiers have become lazy due to our blessed lack of war, and they train primarily for sea battles and defensive attacks, not tracking. Our boys know the forests. They have common sense and a world of skill. I think they should both enter. Someone has to kill this beast. It may as well be them. They’d be heroes, and think of the prize!”

Mrs. Seabolt pursed her lips at him.

“I’d be out hunting the beast anyhow if it weren’t for the bloody curfew threatening to arrest everyone,” Paxton said.

His mother propped a hand on her hip. “Pfft! I don’t think so, young man!” But they all knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

Tiern and his brother became lost in visions of the ultimate hunt.

Their mother absently fiddled with her apron, twisting it and then smoothing it, a nervous habit. “This is absurd. I think . . .”

Their father’s eyebrows drew together. “What, dear?”

“It’s just that . . .” Her eyes slid to Tiern with worry and he sat up straighter.

“He can rival any hunter, Mother,” Paxton told her.

“Aye, but he’s young still.” She swallowed and shook her head.

Tiern ground his teeth. When would she stop viewing him as a wee lad? He knew how children were valued in their society, but he hated to be coddled and sheltered. He shot her a pleading expression.

“I’m seventeen, Mother. Not a child.”

Her eyes scanned his lean frame as if he were still five. “I know, dear.” She barely got the words out before tears were escaping. “But this beast . . .”

“Now, now.” Mr. Seabolt sighed and reached for his wife’s hand. “Fear not. The boys will look out for each other—”

“You’re not frightened at all?” she asked, louder now. “I
don’t care about the riches! I care about my boys. You can stop them! Forbid them.”

Both boys turned to their father. Indeed, Tiern could see there was reluctance, and something darker, in the man’s face. Maybe fear. But he knew their father could see the hunt for what it was: an honor and the opportunity of a lifetime.

“The boys do not have to go, Maryn, but if they choose to participate, I will not stop them.”

“Mother.” Paxton’s voice was firm, his eyes like strong mahogany as he held her gaze. He spoke with absolute conviction, and Tiern wondered if he’d ever be able to talk like that and be taken as seriously as his older brother. “I vow not to let harm come to Tiern. One of us will kill this beast and we will both return home safely. We will make you proud. Please, let us go with your blessing.”

Their mother covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. After a long pause, she finally nodded, letting out a whimper. Their father patted her knee, beaming at his boys.

Tiern and Paxton met gazes, the older brother giving him a nod, solidifying their partnership in this adventure. Tiern’s chest swelled with pride and excitement. The ultimate hunt. The hand of a princess. What could be better?