Human Again

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  Only then did Kiara finally offer the Huntsman her characteristic warmth. “A friend of Azahr’s is a friend of mine,” she said sincerely. “You are welcome to stay as long as need be.”

  Daimyon shot me a subtle look in reaction to Kiara’s free use of my name, which I chose to ignore. He turned his attentions back to Kiara.

  “I’m grateful for your hospitality,” he said with a chivalrous bow. “If there is any way I may be of service, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  At that, Kiara’s smile grew even larger. “Well,” she said, “we have been rather short on staff, and we are planning a bit of a party.”

  Daimyon stayed for close to three months, though it hardly felt as such because he was often out of bed with the sunrise and absent from the castle until long past moonrise. And, while we hardly saw the bat again inside, I know he kept the window in his room open, no matter how cold it was. I have no idea what he was about all that time, especially as he was no longer in his queen’s service. Still, I don’t think myself remiss in thinking his silent forays did somehow employ his very unique skillset.

  For a man primarily secluded for over a year, it was quite a change to suddenly have two guests of some import to me in the house, vastly different though they were. Kiara was an eternal ray of sunshine, a beacon of light within my enveloping darkness. She was a friend to all, and all loved her in return, and she certainly had no equal when it came to playing the harp and bringing Heaven’s music to our mortal ears.

  Nothing could be said against Daimyon as a guest, but there was something about him that didn’t sit right with the others in the castle. He was real and human enough, and yet he was a shadow, a looming presence that was sensed more than seen. It set the servants on edge in a way different from how they behaved toward me, even when he was only innocently accompanying Kiara on the piano, much to everyone’s surprise. I know because I wasn’t the only one to catch himself looking over his shoulder for no discernible reason while he was around.

  “He’s the shiver in the spine,” Kellan most aptly put it.

  From that first introduction, Kiara was always kind to him, but she also gave him a wide berth. He made Kellan jittery, Jaxel watched him with ill-suppressed awe, and Alvie, for a reason none of us, including the Huntsman himself, could fathom, took to him quite eagerly, gladly accepting his addition to our odd little family and even following him around on more than one occasion.

  I was half-tempted to leak word to the villagers that a man of his abilities was now lurking around Monsephe. Whether to calm their fears of the beast or my own, I’m still hardly sure. I only knew that were any village delegation to visit again, they could probably rely on him for safety, no matter how many dogs trotted along.

  Then again, I don’t know if Daimyon could’ve really protected them all if the beast decided to make an appearance, though it hadn’t in weeks. Which should’ve comforted me, should’ve given me hope in the fear it evidently had of the Huntsman and the warmth it received from Kiara, but it didn’t. Not one bit.

  True to his word, and despite his long and odd hours, Daimyon helped Kiara with anything she requested, which mainly manifested in helping the servants turn out and clean up the myriad rooms in the castle that had been neglected for far too long. He never shrugged off the menial work, and I even suspect he enjoyed setting his mind to tasks as simple as rearranging furniture, because then he could numb it to his tangled circumstances.

  I never openly watched him, something he surely wouldn’t take well to, however, his image lingered long in my mind as I thought about what it was to be a man raised for a very specific role and then have it all taken away so quickly. I could relate rather well, as those cursed years should have been my time to prove my worth at court, my ability to step into my brother’s shoes, to work beside my father even as he reluctantly trained me for the day I would wear the crown.

  Despite my hopes, I was never fully certain that I would make it back to the palace, that I would redeem myself before my father grew old and saw fit to appoint a new successor because he no longer believed in my return. I often worked to suppress such thoughts, but they were always there, an inescapable pressure rudely pressing at the back of my mind.

  If anything, although this line of thinking often stirred the inner pot of my anger, I was able to temper it with thoughts of Kiara’s reasoning for the party. Maybe, just maybe, if I could survive one night around others, word would get back to my parents and it wouldn’t be long before I retook my rightful place in the kingdom. Still, I forced myself to ignore the other possibility, that the night would be anything other than a success. I couldn’t bear to think on that probable reality.

  I had to make this party work, I vowed. For Kiara’s sake as well as for my own, I just had to.

  Pushing down the bubbling fears did nothing to alleviate them, of course, so it wasn’t long before they began sneaking out of their own accord. I became snappish over little things, and was soon nitpicking with Kiara over the minutest of details.

  One particular incident, which shakes me to my core even in memory, happened just a few short weeks before the party. The days were already warming up then, and winter was beginning to say its first round of goodbyes.

  Kiara and I were ambling around the castle grounds, both agreeing that we needed some time outdoors to clear our minds and stretch our legs. As we circled back to the entrance, we passed by the roses where I had seen her father, those same roses which had brought me Kiara.

  “I do hope they’ll bloom in time for the party,” she commented as we passed them.

  “The gardens will be beautiful no matter what,” I assured her.

  “I would so like to use them for decoration,” she continued. “The petals would be quite lovely sprinkled about the buffet.”

  The thought of my roses, the symbol of everything good and decent in my life—because they had brought me Kiara—cut up for table decorations did not sit well with me. In fact, the very thought prodded the beast within, as if Kiara was implying that these roses were not significant, as if their importance to me and our relationship was irrelevant to her.

  “I rather think they look their loveliest right here,” I countered, “in their natural setting.”

  Kiara giggled. “We’ll only take a few,” she reassured, “and the rest will grow back, in time.”

  I definitely did not like the idea of having to wait for the roses to grow back. What if they only came after the beast was in full control, when it was too late to anchor me before the final takeover?

  “Time is not something I have in much supply,” I growled peevishly.

  Frankly, it is rather embarrassing to think of just how irrationally I behaved, how I so quickly concluded that her disregard for the roses was a type of disregard for me, but such was the nature of the darkness and such was the fuel of the beast. It never needed a real reason, or even a parboiled excuse, to attack.

  I dropped Kiara’s arm, and she must have recognized what was coming because she took an involuntary step back before she could catch herself. Her eyes widened in horror and her lips fluttered as she scrambled for something to say, but it was too late.

  Finally.

  I had seen it, and so had the beast, which smelled fear the way a hyena smells a fresh kill, pouncing on it just as fiercely.

  I turned on her, my lips already curling in rage, and only noticed my rising hand when I caught sight of its mal-intent. I froze just long enough to be horrified, to sear onto my soul that moment when my rage readied to remove such an important grip from my hold on humanity.

  Next, I was looking up at the sky, flat on my back in the muddy ground as the pressure of two knees drove into me. I let out a vicious snarl and pushed back, throwing off my attacker with all the force of my massive frame and the unleashed power of a raging beast.

  I sprang to my feet and crouched like a wild animal, ready to attack, ready to rip to shreds whoever dared confront me.

  “Miss Kiara, in
side!” a commanding voice ordered. “Now!”

  The order was followed by an unearthly screech, which must have convinced her to listen. At least if the rapid beat of retreating footsteps spoke true.

  I sought out the voice that had dared command Kiara, the beast asserting itself in the brief pause of her retreat. My body cooled even more as a chilling wave of icy fury coursed through my veins, replacing the blood just as the beast slowly replaced my humane side with its feral idea of one. And as before, I was conscious throughout of what was happening to me, conscious of the way the beast had shoved aside my dismay to once again take more and more from me.

  I spotted Daimyon as he lunged for me and sidestepped him quickly, knowing the only chance I had against him was in ending the fight as swiftly as possible. But, of course, that also played to the Huntsman’s strengths.

  I immediately attacked, clawing at Daimyon even before he could pivot to face me. He dodged me easily, leaving behind a series of rapid movements that left the sides of my arms and torso stinging. I roared and swiped at him, catching the side of his face and spinning him downward. He surely underestimated the power of the beast, and he certainly hadn’t much practice fighting someone my size either.

  Daimyon was down on one knee, the side of his face smarting red from where I’d struck him. He grinned up at me, a mockery of the pain I’d inflicted. He seemed to relish the thought of bringing down the man snarling at him.

  He feinted. I stepped back. We moved for each other at the same time.

  I saw him come in high, aiming for my chest and I braced myself accordingly, but in the next moment his body somehow dropped and he took me out by my feet.

  This time he didn’t bother with the knees, he had a knife at my throat and another pricking me under the ribs before I could blink. A shadow passed over my face and I knew it was Daimyon’s bat, a warning that he hadn’t even shown me a sliver of what he could do. Even the beast conceded it had been bested for now.

  “Will you come back to yourself, Highness, or must we go at it again?” he asked gruffly, though I heard faint amusement in his voice, his attempt at levity for the way he’d just spoken, for what he’d just done to me.

  I wouldn’t blame him for struggling to respect a man he had pinned to the ground like an animal. Though I had to commend his efforts at treating me as a prince even then.

  “I’m fine,” I growled.

  Daimyon looked me over, taking an extra minute to plunge into my eyes and seek out traces of the soul that should’ve been there. “Not yet,” he disagreed. “But I’ll wait.”

  I didn’t appreciate that and foolishly shifted under his knives to let him know it, but he just laughed, a short, abbreviated sound that didn’t sound quite as merry from him. Then he went absolutely still, and his body stayed as such until my breathing took up its regular cadence, until the leftover vapors cleared, until he nodded to himself that my human mind had indeed returned. He stepped back slowly, the knives disappearing suddenly as they’d appeared.

  “What happened?” he asked directly.

  I released a bark of a laugh. “The curse.”

  Daimyon raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t seem surprised. I glanced down at my hands, which seemed to be dripping blood even though I hadn’t touched Kiara. I looked at Daimyon, broken. “I almost hit her.”

  “You didn’t,” he said shortly.

  “I almost did,” I countered.

  “But you didn’t,” he emphasized.

  I shook my head at him; he didn’t understand how serious this was. What would’ve happened had he not interfered?

  “I could never forgive myself if I did,” I declared.

  Daimyon gave me a measured look. “Then don’t.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I replied.

  Daimyon raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “Because,” I began to say, then stopped myself.

  How could I explain to him that this went back to childhood, how the beginnings of the beast were born in the void left behind when Adlard died? How could I capture in words a monstrosity I barely understood? How could I tell him about a stone-cold heart in a deserted landscape of a body where goodness could no longer grow?

  I’d created the beast in defiance of never wanting to hurt again, but that very creation was causing me more pain than I’d ever experienced. And now it was keeping me from ever truly opening myself up again to something good, especially as I feared the possibility of pain it may yet bring.

  Daimyon watched me carefully, perhaps understanding, perhaps only trying to, all that I wanted to say but couldn’t. “Do not confuse the power something holds over you with your own ability to fight it,” he advised.

  I shook my head at him again. Perhaps these types of phrases made sense to a Huntsman, a man whose control over himself was so refined he seemed near superhuman, even without magic. I was merely only ever human, or trying to be.

  “A lion was once taking a stroll, and all the animals respectfully made way for their king,” Daimyon spoke into the heavy pause. “The lion was very pleased with their behavior and was feeling rather proud of himself.

  “Suddenly, a voice rang out amidst the trees. ‘Why, he’s nothing but a glorified cat!’ it proclaimed. ‘A golden ball of fur!’

  “The lion turned fiercely toward the source of the slander, his body poised and ready to take down the animal who dared deliver such insult. However, when he turned, all he saw was a donkey, the sure source of the voice that spoke against him, evidenced further by the cheeky smirk on its face.

  “The lion looked the donkey up and down, down and up, then turned away in disgust, not bothering to acknowledge the actions of such a foolish and unworthy creature.”

  I stared at him, only knowing the Huntsman was once more trying to tell me something respectfully couched within a tale.

  Daimyon must have noticed my blank look. “Your Highness is mistaken in thinking he is just a man battling the powers of a rabid beast,” he explained. “In truth, His Highness is a lion and his anger a braying donkey.”

  A firm motion of his hand cut off my attempt to respond. “I do not deny the faery’s curse and what it did,” he said further. “But perhaps consider if the curse may also cloud judgement, turning the donkey into something far more intimidating than what it really is.”

  I considered this, though it seemed too simple to be right. “That may have been true once, before, but not any longer,” I told him. “You suggest I merely exchange one creature for another to strip it of its strength.”

  “An adjusted perspective,” he clarified.

  What could I say to him? Did I want to keep arguing a point, or was I willing to accept the help offered by the man before me? Maybe, as Yarrow had hoped, Daimyon was the one whom Heaven had sent because he had a real idea of the beast and the power it had over me.

  Since that long-ago day when my father turned away and left me to fight my demons alone, I had been isolated from others and only compounded that by shutting everyone and everything else out, too. Despite all the recent changes since Kiara’s arrival, I knew the beast was taking control in ways it hadn’t been able to before, that the darkness was growing so strong it need merely assert itself to take over. Yet, for the first time in all the years since I’d identified my anger for what it was, I could see there were things beckoning to me beyond it, if I could only get there.

  However, as long as the curse was still around no one would be safe from me. The moment I almost struck Kiara remained burnished in my mind’s eye, a painful accusation of what I’d almost succumbed to. With the party just over one month away, I couldn’t trust myself not to lose control, not to lose myself once more in the tantalizing embrace of numbing anger that would one day strike out strong enough to bring the castle down around me. I had to make it through the night without ruining anything or hurting anyone in the process. I was desperate for some positive reports to find their way back to my father. Let him know how wrong he’d been in turnin
g his back on me all those nights ago. Let him know how foolish he was to have never given me a real chance to be the favored son. Let him hold the crown for me until I returned to claim it.

  Daimyon was planning on leaving before the party, which was wise as too many people would be around that night, too many mouths repeating too many whispers that would surely make their way back to his queen. Even a rumor of him staying here wouldn’t bode well for relations between our two kingdoms if it ever leaked that the banished heir had harbored the most wanted fugitive across the realms. Yet I needed someone to keep me in line.

  Daimyon patiently waited for me to speak.

  “I need insurance for the party,” I finally said. “Can you get in touch with Yarrow?”

  Daimyon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t challenge my request. He closed his eyes and rubbed something around his wrist hidden by his cuff.

  After a significant pause, Daimyon opened his eyes and focused on me. “He’ll be here in a moment,” he told me. “If you allow it.”

  “Yarrow, I welcome you here!” I called out, ridiculous as it made me feel.

  No sooner had the words left my lips then the air beside Daimyon rippled. Yarrow materialized from a purple mist, a playful grin on his face as he noticed the look on mine from his sudden presence in my castle garden. He looked just as he had the first time we met, though he’d let his beard fill out since then.

  His intelligent purple eyes swept me up and down, searing into me.

  “Your Highness,” he greeted me with a familiar tilt of his head, “seems to have run afoul of a faery with a bad temper.”

  “Yes, I need—” I started to say, but he cut me off.

  “I’ve already warned that I do not meddle with human emotion, Your Highness” he said, keeping his tone polite but firm.

  “This isn’t only for me,” I rushed to assure him. “There’s someone—”

  “There always is,” Yarrow cut in again. “Same rule applies.”

  “But I don’t want to hurt her!” I pleaded, shamelessly setting aside my pride. “It’s just for one night. I know you can’t make it go away, but perhaps you could give me something, anything, to suppress it for a few hours. Please!”