When our subjects have monster troubles, they send word to the castle. If they live close enough, they might even come themselves. For two hours each day, Mom meets with subjects in the throne room.
If Mom knows there’s a monster on the agenda, she calls me in. Officially, resolving those problems is my job, but Mom isn’t going to interrupt my lessons to send me halfway across the kingdom to deal with a single warakin. Since Jannah’s death, her troop has handled almost all complaints.
Today, though, a farmer brings an easy one. A khrysomallos has infiltrated his flock of sheep. That sounds dire…if you don’t know that a khrysomallos is simply a winged golden ram, and no more dangerous than your average sheep. This one has a wounded wing, so it’s stuck with the farmer’s sheep. I’m sure it would be tempting for the farmer to keep it, but he understands that it’s a wild beast and belongs with its own kind.
The mission, then, is to capture the khrysomallos and return it to the castle, where Alianor can fix its wing. The farm is only an hour’s ride away. A simple and safe job, and when I glance Mom’s way, she nods, giving me permission to handle this myself.
After the audience, I ask to take Dain along. I also ask permission to handle this alone—just Dain and myself, with a guard to watch over us. Mom hesitates, but even she can’t see any danger with a khrysomallos, so she agrees.
With that, I have exactly what I want. A queen-sanctioned, totally safe monster-hunting adventure with Dain.
CHAPTER NINE
“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Dain mutters as we ride toward our adventure.
“The khrysomallos is wounded and—”
“No, this.” He waves a hand around us. “I feel like I’m leading a parade.”
I glance at the village children running after our horses. When one reaches to touch Malric, her mother snatches her back. I stop and lower Jacko instead, allowing the girl to pat him while explaining what he is. I also explain that it is never a good idea to pat any animal or monster without getting permission first.
“Malric is a warg,” I say. “He doesn’t even let me pet him.” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s really cranky.”
As the girl giggles, Kaylein—our guard for the day—rides closer and says, “Malric’s job is guarding the princess. He takes it very seriously, and if you tried to pet him, he might mistake that for an attack.”
The little girl nods solemnly, her curls bouncing. I’m turning to let other children pat Jacko when the girl sees my sword and gasps.
“Can I touch that?” she asks.
I chuckle. “You may, and thank you for asking first. It’s very sharp. Here, let me take it out for you.”
I hand Jacko to an older boy and ask him to hold the jackalope low so others can pet him. Then I climb from my mare and take out the ebony sword. I explain what it represents and what it’s made of, and they have tons of questions, which Dain interrupts with, “Do you plan to get to this farm by nightfall, princess?”
“Is that your page boy?” an older girl asks, squinting up at Dain.
Dain mutters something I don’t catch.
“Dain is a monster hunter,” I say. “He’s in training with me.” I resist the urge to make a joke about him being as cranky as Malric, but a boy our age says, “If I were riding with a princess, I’d be a lot happier about it.”
Dain fixes the boy with a dead-eyed stare. “I would be, too…if we were actually riding and not entertaining children.”
The boy straightens. “Who are you calling a child?”
A man’s hand lands on the boy’s shoulder. “Easy now. They’ve someplace to be, and while the princess is being very kind, they do need to be on their way.”
That gives me an excuse to sheathe my sword and lift Jacko back onto the saddle. I say a few final words. Then I reach into my pocket, where I carry several wyvern teeth. Wilmot returned to the dead wyvern to fetch them for me, and I brought them along for this.
I hand one to the little girl who’d tried to touch Malric. When I explain what it is, her eyes grow round.
“Did you kill it?” she whispers.
“We had to, unfortunately. We prefer to drive monsters away. When we do need to kill one, we take something to remember them by.” I touch the pocket on my tunic, where I’ve replaced one button with a tooth. “It’s a way to honor their death.”
She nods solemnly, her fist wrapped tightly around the tooth. The other kids ask to see it, but she shakes her head. As I smile, Dain grumbles. I ignore him. Part of giving her the tooth is kindness—it’s a treasure she will remember. Part of it is letting people know that I helped kill a wyvern. That might seem like bragging, but Jannah taught us that a monster hunter should not hide her feats. It proves we deserve our title. Wilmot says that’s especially important for me, being so young.
It’s Kaylein’s job to herd us along, making it seem as if I’d love to linger, but my mean bodyguard won’t let me. Kaylein is great at that, even if mean isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe her. I’d personally requested her. She’s the newest guard and the youngest, at eighteen, but she’s already capable enough that Berinon agreed.
When some of the children try to stall us further, she shoos them off, her dark face as impassive as a statue, the wind rippling her short curls. Once Dain and I are far enough, she follows.
“Next time, princess, can we take the back roads and avoid the parade?” Dain says as we head out. “I know you like the attention but…”
“Actually, I do not like the attention. I accept it as part of my position. I took these roads because, whenever possible, I must ride through town so my subjects see me working on their behalf.”
He mutters, and my shoulders tighten, a familiar ache starting between them.
“Next time, if you wish to take the back roads, you may do so,” I say evenly.
“May I, princess?”
The tight spot between my shoulders twitches. “My name is Rowan. And if you didn’t want to be here, you could have refused.”
“I got the feeling that wasn’t an option.”
“It’s always an option.”
“It’s an option for you, too, princess. You didn’t need to bring me.”
“I asked to bring you.” And now I regret it.
I don’t say that part. I just look back at him, meeting his gaze and holding it, my scowl the twin of his.
He looks at me, his dark eyes piercing mine. Then he rides up beside me.
“If you keep twisting to glare at me, you’ll re-injure your shoulder, princess.”
“Give me less reason to glare at you, and I won’t re-injure my shoulder.”
He seems ready to snap back. Then he pauses and says, “Is it bothering you? I thought it had healed after the wyvern, but you make a face when you turn, as if it hurts.”
“My shoulder’s fine. Just…” I reach between my shoulder blades and rub. “It’s sore there. I don’t know why.”
“Oh, I know why, princess. You’ve been practicing too much archery. Hoping to best me. You won’t, but it’s nice that you try.”
His lips twitch into a near-smile, and I relax, feeling that tension ease.
“Give me six months,” I say, “and I’ll be as good a marksman as you.”
“Care to wager anything on that?”
I lift Jacko and hold him out.
Dain’s hint of a smile breaks through. “You keep trying to give me that oversized rodent, princess. One of these days, I’ll take him, and it’ll be jackalope stew for dinner.”
Jacko hisses.
“Keep your bunny,” Dain says. “I do have my eye on your firebird arrow, though.”
I let out an indignant yelp that makes him smile again, his eyes glittering.
“Not up for the challenge, huh? I didn’t think so. You’re full of swagge
r, princess, but when push comes to shove…”
“Fine. The firebird arrow. But you need to come up with something to wager yourself. I’m rather fond of your bow, actually.”
He lets out a yelp of his own, and we tease and bicker for the rest of the ride, and it finally starts to feel like it used to.
* * *
As we reach the farmhouse, I’m reminded of Mom’s festival day speeches. Every season, Mom holds a carnival at the castle. My favorite is the midwinter one, which starts at sundown and lasts all night. The courtyard and castle grounds are alight with bonfires, the air perfumed with burning wood and candied apples.
For the first few hours, Rhydd and I get to be regular kids, wearing our masks and buying trinkets and playing games and eating until we’re sick. Then, as for all seasonal carnivals, we must don our royal garb and join our mother on the castle balcony, where she addresses the crowd.
Mom’s speech is mostly boring political stuff, as she lists recent noteworthy events in Tamarel. Then she always tells a story that demonstrates how wonderful our subjects are and closes with something about how lucky she is to have them.
This year, I’ll give my first speech at the harvest carnival, and I’m already preparing to follow Mom’s example and use today’s adventure as my story. A wounded khrysomallos landed in this farmer’s pasture, and instead of rubbing his hands at his good fortune and secretly selling the wool, he asked us to help the poor beast. In the meantime, he’s been feeding and caring for it. The very model of how a citizen should treat monsters.
I’m preparing my story even as we arrive at the farmer’s home. I don’t expect anyone to come out to greet us but…Well, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? We’re riding up with a warg at our side and a jackalope on my saddle. You can’t miss us, as Dain has grumbled every time a farmhand or a trader has come running to watch us pass.
Yet there is no sign of anyone at the farmhouse. That’s fine—it’s a big farm, and the family must be out working in the fields. I hope they don’t want to help us capture the khrysomallos. That’s always awkward. Too many helpers can panic the beast. I’ll follow Jannah’s example and give them all tasks…ones that keep them from getting in our way.
As I rap on the front door, I’d be lying if I pretended I wasn’t trembling, just a little, with anticipation and pride. The farmer expects Mom to send one of Jannah’s troop. Instead, someone will open this door to see the princess herself, ebony sword across her back. Dain can mock, but it’s exciting seeing their faces and knowing this is a moment they’ll tell their grandchildren about.
When the door opens, I flash my friendliest smile, ready to announce myself, because it would be rude to presume everyone knows who I am.
Yet the woman stays half behind the cracked-open door. The one eye I can see narrows warily, as if I’ve come selling black-market jackalope antlers.
“Hello, I’m Rowan of Clan Dacre,” I say.
I wait to flash that smile again, as she falls back in astonishment. Instead, she just says, “Here about the khrysomallos, I take it.”
“Er, yes. I’m the royal—”
“It’s around back. With the sheep.”
She shuts the door. I stare at it as I replay my words. Should I have said Princess Rowan, to be clear?
I lift my hand to knock again. Then I feel the weight of Dain’s narrowed gaze, and my cheeks heat as I lower my hand. He’d just grumbled about me liking the attention too much. I can hardly reintroduce myself because I didn’t get the expected response.
When I turn to go, though, he lifts his hand to knock. I catch it.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“The royal monster hunter herself has come to handle her problem, and she treats you like a ratcatcher sent to clear her barn?” He pulls his hand from mine and goes to knock again. “She’s going to greet you properly, or we aren’t taking that blasted khrysomallos off her hands.”
I grab his arm again. “Maybe she didn’t understand. Even if she did…?” I force a small smile. “You were just scolding me for liking the attention. Perhaps my ego could stand to be knocked down a peg.”
“If your ego was a problem, princess, you’d be sitting on your horse while Kaylein knocked. That woman was rude, and I’m not letting her get away with—”
“It’s all right. Please. Let’s just do the job.”
His face tightens, and I hear his words again.
She treats you like a ratcatcher sent to clear her barn.
Had his master hired him out? I suspect he did, and Dain had been treated like this, if not worse. The woman’s behavior stung him, too. He’s no longer an indentured ratcatcher. He’s a monster hunter in training, apprenticed to the greatest hunter in Tamarel, and he’s standing at the side of the royal monster hunter herself.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” I say. “But she was rude to us. I was going to offer them a shearing from the khrysomallos, but now we’ll keep the wool ourselves. Save some to give to village children and use the rest to make mittens. Or maybe a scarf.” I grin at him. “You’d look very dashing in a brilliant golden scarf.”
He rolls his eyes. “You can have a scarf, princess. I’ll use my share to knit a new strap for my quiver.”
“Which will look equally dashing. Let’s hurry and do the job, before she has time to realize her mistake, and I feel obligated to give her the wool.”
CHAPTER TEN
I really do expect this to have all been a terrible misunderstanding. We’ll come around the back and find the farmer waiting, and when I mention the woman, he’ll say, “Oh, that’s my wife’s sister—she didn’t know what was going on” or some such excuse. Instead, the barns are empty except for cows and horses, which should be out at pasture this time of day.
There are also a handful of sheep, and I wonder if the farmer lured the khrysomallos in with them, which would make our job easy, if rather dull. There’s no golden-haired ram amongst the white and black animals, though. I’m peering into a dimly lit corner when we hear a strange trumpeting sound from outside and the sheep begin to bleat uneasily.
I glance at Dain, who frowns, tracking the sound. Jacko chatters. I lift the jackalope and drape him over one shoulder. Then we step out. Malric’s there, with Kaylein and the horses, so it wasn’t the warg that spooked the livestock. When I glance at the animals, they’re all gazing at the distant pasture.
“Was that the khrysomallos?” Kaylein asks.
“I…don’t know.”
“It’s not,” Dain says as he takes the bow from his shoulder. “I’ve heard them in the mountain pass, and they don’t sound like that. I think we’ve been tricked, princess.”
“Do you have any idea what it is?”
He shakes his head. I draw my sword, and we set out. We can’t see the far pasture—a hillock blocks our view. As we continue toward the fence, that sound rings out again. I glance back at the house to see the woman appear in an upper window. The farmer steps up beside her.
My jaw sets, and I consider marching back to demand answers. But we can hear the beast, so we’re forewarned, and all three of us are armed. Plus, we have Malric. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it…or get to safety and send Kaylein for backup from the castle.
We climb the fence. Malric vaults over it with a grace that belies his usual plodding. When he catches me looking, he grunts and turns away, as if caught dancing in the moonlight. I ask Jacko to stay at my side, and he does, his nose madly sniffing the air.
“Can you smell the beast, Malric?” I ask.
The warg keeps walking. That could mean he doesn’t understand my question. Or it could mean he does smell it…and he’s not concerned. I’m hoping for the latter. Really hoping.
If I return to the castle and tell my mother I tangled with another predator, she won’t let me handle so much as a hoop snake by myself for years to come.
&n
bsp; We start climbing the hill, and we’re halfway to the summit when feet thump on the other side. I wave Dain and Kaylein into retreat. We have our weapons ready. Something crests the hill. I catch a flash of sunlight glinting off bright gold, and then there it is…a khrysomallos, in all its gleaming glory.
I exhale in relief. Then the beast throws back its head, gives that thundering cry…and charges.
Kaylein and I dive out of the way. In a flash, Dain switches from his bow to his slingshot and launches a stone straight at the charging ram. The pellet pings off the beast’s magnificent curved horns. The khrysomallos doesn’t even flinch. It just trumpets again. Dain wheels…and the khrysomallos butts him in the rear, sending him flying.
“Dain!”
I scramble to help him up, but he’s already on his feet, one hand raised to ward me off. He turns to the khrysomallos, which is pawing the ground and snorting. Dain does the same. Well, not exactly, but I swear I heard him snort, and he certainly looks ready to paw the ground.
Dain faces off against the khrysomallos, fury darkening his face.
“Dain…” I say carefully.
“It’s a sheep,” he says between clenched teeth.
“No, it’s a khrysomallos. A monster.”
“Monster sheep.”
He spits the last word with contempt. The hairs on my neck rise. This is a mistake that a monster hunter cannot make. Never underestimate your opponent. Never allow emotion to cloud your judgment. Even a sheep can be a threat, if it’s big and it’s angry.
This khrysomallos is Malric’s size, and those thick curling horns suggest it’s no yearling. Scars crisscross its face. Its left ear is in tatters, an old wound long healed. The right eye is milky. This is a battle-hardened old ram. Its wing is injured, tucked awkwardly at its side, and it is angry. Very angry.
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