He wasn’t asking about the party, that much was obvious. I held my breath, anxious to hear her answer to something I frequently wondered about, too.
“It’s the curse—”
“That you won’t acknowledge,” Daimyon cut in. “Inattention won’t break it.”
Kiara sighed. “I just—I don’t want to give it any more credence.”
“That won’t help him,” the Huntsman warned.
“But so much more time is passing between his lapses!” she protested. “That must be a sign of improvement.”
“This curse, it doesn’t stand on its own,” Daimyon countered. “It latched onto something already there. If anything, it runs much deeper than you or I realize.”
“Which is why I must stay!” Kiara cried. “To be a rope in a blizzard, a rock—”
“—that erodes in the winds.”
A pause. I held my breath.
“It won’t come to that,” Kiara insisted, her voice quiet but firm.
“Won’t it?” Daimyon challenged. “How much do you really know about this curse? Or what it will take from him before it’s finally broken?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kiara countered. “Because even if he only ever succeeds at keeping it at bay, he still wins.”
“A shallow victory at best.”
“What’s shallow about showing just how much a man can do?” Kiara demanded. “His victory will prove that it’s possible, that it’s worth it, to fight. Let any man facing demons think on that and no longer be afraid!”
I was stunned. I never would have thought it, but for the first time I heard the full truth in her voice. Kiara didn’t only think I was worth fighting for, that I could be enough, but that I could be even more, too.
Another pause, then Daimyon’s voice again, softer, kinder. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure your fee—”
I’d heard enough, so I ducked away before he finished. Besides, I wasn’t brave enough to hear her next response.
That conversation—and ensuing revelation—aside, there was a second advantage to Daimyon’s delayed departure.
“I need your help.” I approached him late one afternoon where he was standing patiently balancing four bolts of velvet as Kiara and Ms. Potsdam took swatches to the wall to choose new drapery.
He stood perfectly still, as if he were nothing more than a shimmering mirage in the room. When I spoke, though, he turned toward me and raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“To hunt a stag,” I explained.
“Surely a man like you doesn’t require assistance from a man like me,” he observed.
His eyes flicked over the entirely of my frame, speaking the rest of his thoughts for him. Tall as he was, he was still shorter than me, though I always had an uncanny feeling that he never had to look up, seemingly sharing the same vantage from which I viewed the world.
“It’s not that simple,” I began to explain.
“Of course,” Daimyon replied, as if he already knew what I was about to say.
I said it anyway, just to be clear. “Before a crown prince’s eighteenth birthday, tradition holds that he hunt a stag for his celebratory feast. Due to extenuating circumstances, I never celebrated my eighteenth birthday.”
“You never hunted the stag,” Daimyon concluded.
“The head of each crown prince’s stag is mounted on the wall near his royal portrait,” I explained. “The head beside my father’s is the biggest of all.”
“I understand.”
“I want something that will weigh down the very walls of that gallery, the most magnificent head ever mounted in that palace. I want people to talk about it for the rest of their lives.”
That was all Daimyon needed to know, far as I was concerned, even though this stag was also about the image, the message, the words that would grow and ripen on the court gossip vines. The statement that, if given a chance, I would be more than my brother ever could have been.
Daimyon nodded. “We’ll leave at week’s end,” he said. “Before dawn. Pack for two days.”
“Horses?” I asked.
My horse was still skittish around me, and Kiara seemed to be the only one capable of calming him. I doubted Daimyon was the man to soothe the horse’s fears away, though I would never underestimate a Huntsman.
Daimyon grinned. “Better without.”
“Agreed,” I replied, relieved.
That night I told Kiara of our plans, and her forehead immediately wrinkled in concern. “I don’t like you setting out to hunt so close to the party,” she said. “What if something happens to you?”
I kept the beast from reacting to her words as her tone was vastly different from my father’s the wretched night he refused me. Father had doubted my ability to hunt and return to the palace a man. Kiara was only worried about my overall wellbeing. It was rather encouraging.
“I’ll be all right. Daimyon will be with me,” I pointed out.
“Daimyon, too?”
“He’s leaving anyway,” I reminded her.
Kiara nodded in understanding. She looked tired, worn down from the flurry of preparations and desire to make this party something special. She’d asked permission to hire some of the locals from the village to help fill out the staff necessary to ensure a smooth event, but that meant she also had to oversee their training. Had I been in her place, most of what had been done would have already been destroyed and more than one person would have been injured.
“Ms. Potsdam will pack you some food,” Kiara switched to planning. “She’ll include enough for Daimyon.”
“But he—” I began.
“And though it’s been warm, there’s still a chill in the air,” she rambled on, “so bring along an extra layer for nighttime.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“And—”
“Kiara,” I cut her off, taking her hand for good measure, “we’ll be fine.”
She smiled sheepishly, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. She visibly collected herself and slowly reclaimed her hand. “I never thought I’d say this about a Huntsman, but I am sorry to see him go.”
I grinned at that. “I know what you mean.”
Because in the end, despite what he had been trained to become, Daimyon could only hide so much of who he really was. Even with his deadly capabilities, he was considerate, a good man who paid attention to details and acted accordingly. Somehow, through everything, he’d never totally abandoned himself. It may have been the sentimentality of the moment, but I was sure that somewhere deep inside he was among the few Huntsmen who’d managed to retain full possession of his heart and soul.
Compared to a man like him, I was unworthy and disgraceful, certainly less human than he. I was sure mothers never had to soothe their children from nightmares of him.
I was closing in on two years of the faery’s curse and everything going on then seemed but a detour on the way to my end. I trusted Yarrow’s potion to get me through the party, but I didn’t allow myself to think past that night because I was afraid of never being able to regain control.
I had mainly told Daimyon the truth in my reasoning to hunt a stag, but there were other considerations as well. He had been correct that first day to pinpoint me as a man trying to hold onto mere reflection. I really wasn’t ready to return to the palace. Everything I had, all the happiness and light I had scrounged together over the last few months, all came from Kiara. I was nothing without her.
So in many ways, the stag would mark the culmination of my life as a man. A man who once held great dreams and potential. That was why I gave in to Kiara’s desire to celebrate, because deep down I feared this may be my last party. I didn’t think I’d die once the beast took over, but I knew that whatever I did in that form wouldn’t count as living.
I believed in Kiara, believed she was my hope and chance at breaking the curse, but at the same time envisioning the end made it seem too tall a burden to place on the shoulders of someone so small and good.
And yet, when Ms. Po
tsdam had spoken to her frightened boy, it had sounded like more than a mere reassurance to rock her son back to sleep. It sounded like she was giving voice to something she said to herself over and over, a conviction, a prayer, to get her through each day. Ms. Potsdam was anything but a frail woman, she was keen and tough and intelligent in her own way, yet even she needed to hold onto those words. To believe this wouldn’t be the entirety of my life. It couldn’t be.
I shook my head to myself. Human again?
Improbable at best.
A few mornings later, I slipped away from the castle with Daimyon.
The night before, he’d thanked Kiara for her hospitality and wished her well. In response, she told him he was always welcome under her roof, and meant it. For my part, I’d grown used to having him around, liking even more that I could trust him to pull me back if ever I stepped too close to the void.
Before setting off, Daimyon inspected my weapons and repacked my satchel, leaving behind much of the food Ms. Potsdam had prepared.
“It’s only two days,” he muttered in response to my unasked question.
It would be much longer for him, but I didn’t bother pointing that out. The Huntsman could take care of himself.
Bram glided overhead as we set off toward the forest. As the day warmed and the sun rose higher, he swooped down to grab with his feet a thin metal bar stretching across Daimyon’s shoulders. He folded his wings and settled against Daimyon’s back, eyeing me upside down from his perch as if he knew everything about me, as if the soul-sucking monster within me called to the bloodsucking animal before me. It was wholly unnerving. He finally closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
I exhaled, relieved.
Although I could track an animal well enough—thanks to my upbringing, the Academy, and especially the cursed beast—I stayed behind Daimyon. I could hunt any stag, but I needed his help to find something big enough to send the kind of message I was aiming for. As we went deeper and deeper into the forest, we passed various signs, little nicks in the trees, indentations in the dirt that told us deer had been through these parts. Daimyon ignored all of them. By midafternoon of the first day, he seemed to latch onto something and pushed forward determinedly, chasing something only he sensed.
Once or twice he quickened his pace, setting off in a direction only to veer off sharply at the last minute or slow down and circle back around. I followed obediently, matching my pace to his, trusting his lead.
The blue sky forcing its way between the clouds, the bold green of an awakening spring, the sharp scent of freshness pervading the air, all lulled me as we trekked through the forest. We didn’t speak much, and for the most part our way was tranquil, with only the chirruping of birds and the occasional hiss or growl warning us to watch our step. It was the first time in a long time that I went so deep into the woods because I was chasing rather than fleeing something. It felt good to be the hunter and not the hunted, even if the beast dogged me every step of the way.
We made camp for the night in a small clearing against a rocky outcropping that Daimyon inspected rather thoroughly before deciding it was to his satisfaction. After he speared a snake and chased away a porcupine, we made a small fire and settled in, Daimyon leaning against the rocks as if he was sitting on the realm’s most enviable chair. I didn’t doubt his comfort, as the way he moved through the forest showed just how very at home he was in it. He respected the life of every tree, plant, and animal in a way that gave the impression he’d been raised here.
No sooner had we lowered ourselves to the ground then Daimyon sent his bat into the sky above the treetops. Daimyon stoked the fire and waited, the answer for what coming in the return of his bat with a fat hare between its sharp teeth. The bat offered the bloodless hare to his master, which made skinning and roasting much cleaner, and ensured that other predators wouldn’t scent the blood. Which also helped keep the beast at bay.
Daimyon threw the hare’s intestines to Bram and divided the rest between us once it finished cooking. We ate it with bread Ms. Potsdam had packed, and I wasn’t surprised when I took a bite and discovered just how rare Daimyon liked his meat. Then, as now, the thing that fascinated me most about the man was just how much he was able to be a predator without also becoming the prey. He was, then and ever, the only man I have ever met to be so sure of his moral compass despite what his lifestyle asked of him.
“Bram always takes the night shift, Your Highness,” Daimyon told me, indicating I should grab some sleep while I could.
After hiking through the forest from before sunrise until after sunset, my body should have been exhausted, but it was tense and wound up in expectation. True, the day had been peaceful enough, but with night, the lull faded and my thoughts kicked up again in a blinding sandstorm of disjointed parts. Thoughts of Kiara, my parents, Adlard, my sisters, the palace, the faery, and the curse swirled around each other and drove sleep away. Worst of all, the beast that had been sedated all day by our relentless forward movement was growing restless, suddenly alert at this pause in our hunt.
“No last story to share?” I half-teased. “A parting word before we go our separate ways?”
The flickering firelight danced across Daimyon’s amused grin. The partial illumination softened his edges so much, he looked almost normal.
“Perhaps one more,” he conceded.
I wormed around, trying to get comfortable. I hadn’t spent the night outdoors in the two years since I’d left the Academy. I was still royalty, after all. The only exceptions were those nights the beast was in total control, and I remembered very little if any of those. I doubt I slept much those nights, anyway. The beast gained strength from the ice of fury and fear; it didn’t need rest to rejuvenate. Even when it was quiet, it was always watching me, toying with me in the knowledge of the power it held over me, waiting, just waiting, for the most inopportune moment to take over.
“Let’s hear it then,” I encouraged.
“Well,” Daimyon began, and I gratefully surrendered myself to the calm control of his voice, “it was a fine spring day when the sun and the wind began to argue about just who was the stronger of the two.”
“‘With my strength, I can raise mighty gales at sea, toss a ship, or fill sails to travel with speed,’ the wind boasted. ‘I scatter seeds to plant along the earth and when I whistle through the treetops, every leaf dances in glee.’
“‘Those feats are admirable,’ the sun conceded, ‘but you forget that it is my rays that make the seeds grow, coaxing them from the earth so they ripen and feed all those on land. With my strength, I melt ice so that animals can drink and bathe.’
“‘Your talents are heartwarming at best,’ sneered the wind, ‘but can you fell a tree with a mighty blow? Can you rattle the earth when you pass astride in full force?’
“‘Strength and might are not always one and the same,’ countered the sun.
“Before any more could be said, the sun looked down and noticed a traveler on the road below. ‘See him there?’ the sun asked, ‘Let us test our strengths against the man who walks beneath us. Whoever can make him remove his cloak is the stronger of the two.’
“The wind glanced down and noticed the traveler was a rather unremarkable man. He seemed not to possess any superior strengths nor did any magic glow about him. He was the right kind of person for such a test, so it agreed to the sun’s offer.
“The wind took its turn first with a gentle whistle. The man looked up and about as if to catch sight of the wind itself. The wind swished past him again and he buttoned his cloak against the cold.
“Seeing as a gentle hand hadn’t worked, the wind tried again harder, sweeping past the man with greater strength. The man only tugged his layers closer, shielding himself against the growing force. Again and again the wind rushed past him and each time the man only folded further into himself, pulling his cloak tighter and tighter around him.
“In sheer frustration and with one final effort, the wind howled against the man,
pushing him back along the path so he had to bend forward to keep from losing ground. He tucked his arms around himself to preserve the little warmth he had left, but nothing the wind did could persuade the traveler to remove his cloak.
“‘Your turn,’ the breathless wind told the sun, watching curiously for how it thought to succeed where its might had so obviously failed.
“Without the wind to interfere, the sun began to shine down warmly on the traveler. At first the man looked up gratefully, glad that the cold wind had fled, happy to be warm once more.
“The sun shone down even stronger, and the man loosened his arms from around himself, no longer seeking warmth from his own body as it flooded through him from every ray of sun. The sun strengthened its beams until finally the traveler undid the clasp of his cloak and let it hang free about him.
“With one final burst, the sun strengthened its rays even more, until the air rippled with its heat. The traveler removed his cloak altogether then sought the covering shade of a tall tree to escape the searing sun.
“The wind had to admit in admiration that the sun was the stronger of the two,” Daimyon concluded.
As if to accentuate Daimyon’s point, the fire popped gently between us as a fat stick fell into its center. I rolled his story in my mind a moment before speaking up.
“And why did you share this story with me?” I inquired, knowing by now there was a specific message within it for me.
Daimyon grinned again, and it was only then that I realized just how enigmatic the expression was on him. Even a grin, a softening of the features, couldn’t hide the steeliness of his eyes. The combination of those dissonant parts created an odd sort of magnetism that was, just as he was, both positive and negative, reassuring and vulturine, unremarkable and powerful, the gray of a sky that could herald a storm or part for the sun. It compelled individuals toward him even as the very nature of who he was acted as warning to stay away.
“I’m sure His Highness understands the general message of how warmth, gentleness, and kindness prevail over force and bluster,” he said.
“Of course,” I replied. “And this would seem to be your way of suggesting that I allow Kiara to help me, because her approach will succeed where mine has failed.”
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