by K.N. Lee
Isabelle glared at him. “No thanks to you, you bully. I can’t believe you hit me!”
Braeden curled his lip. “You’re lucky you had that fool mongrel with you. No matter. You’ll lose today.”
“The only one of us who’ll lose is you, Goldilocks.”
There wasn’t any more time to talk. A Hunter waved at them, and the two competitors walked over to stand at opposite ends on the large field. Isabelle smirked. This would be too easy. She’d pick him off like a fat quail.
“Let the game begin in three…” Isabelle tightened her grip on the handle of her bow, readying her stance.
“Two…” She took a breath, grounding herself. Braeden stood in a ready stance, like he was going to bolt toward her. He’d have to, and faster than she could draw and shoot.
“One! Start!”
The ground exploded in a shower of dirt and grass, long twisted roots climbing toward the sky. Isabelle gaped in amazement. She could barely see the sky, let alone Braeden. Glancing behind her, she saw a few Hunters mount gryphons and leaped into the sky. The Hunters held large mirrors so the king could watch the proceedings, even with the enchanted landscape.
Isabelle grit her teeth, and ran into the strange forest of dark roots. She had to win.
31
Heart pounding more with nerves than exertion, Isabelle wove her way through the dark undergrowth. She felt like an insect, scrabbling under giant leaves and roots, not unlike the giant’s world. She kept an arrow nocked to her bow. It was hard to navigate this strange forest. Everything was crowded together. Getting a clear shot at Braeden was out of the question.
Isabelle’s jaw clenched. She wasn’t going to lose. Not after coming this far. She knew regardless of the outcome, she was going to be a popular topic of discussion, and she didn’t think she could bear the shame if her parents heard of how far she’d come, only to lose.
The snap of a twig alerted Isabelle of Braeden’s presence. She froze, eyes scanning the foliage before her. There. He was creeping along, not yet aware of her hiding place.
Isabelle smiled. She lifted her bow in one swift motion and shot. The arrow smacked him right in the chest, Braeden shouting in surprise as blue dye exploded all over his tunic.
“Isabelle wins!” someone shouted, and Isabelle looked up toward the voice. A Hunter on his gryphon hovered in the air, watching her.
With a hiss, the forest dissipated, leaving Isabelle and Braeden standing on the field alone once again.
The crowd roared its approval, a few whistles and catcalls sounding in Isabelle’s direction.
Braeden’s face was a mixture of disgust and disappointment. He refused to look at Isabelle as he stalked off the field.
As Isabelle walked to the sideline, the fussy herald called out two other competitors. Isabelle didn’t even listen. Her body buzzed with exhilaration. She’d won her first competition. It’d been so easy, too!
She went to go get some water; the same dwarf was still there. He beamed at her. “Good job, lassie. I saw the whole thing. That do be man’s downfall with smaller opponents. They think they’re better than us, and get cocky.” He roared with laughter as he handed her a mug. “I doubt your next opponent will make the same mistake, so be on yer guard.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Isabelle sipped the water, considering his words. He was right. But, she mused, I soundly kicked Braeden’s rear end. I defeated one competitor, and I’ll do it again.
“When will I fight again?” she asked the dwarf, and he shrugged.
“Probably tomorrow. They rarely have competitors fight twice in a day, unless you reach the finals. It wouldn’t be fair, otherwise.”
A Hunter walked up to her. “Isabelle Aryn. As the winner of your round, I’m going to request you to return to your bedchamber until tomorrow morning when you will duel again.”
“What? Why?” Isabelle’s stomach clenched. “Did I do something wrong?”
The Hunter’s battle scarred expression softened, but only just. “It’s to make sure someone doesn’t decide to slip a dagger between your ribs, thus effectively reducing the serious competition.”
“Ah.” She hadn’t considered that. “Thank you, I think I’ll take your advice on that.”
“You’d be a fool not to.” The Hunter turned and left, pushing his way through the milling crowd.
With her adrenaline wearing off, Isabelle was beginning to feel tired. She moved with the ebb and flow of people, keeping her head down. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself after the Fabled Hunter’s warning.
Unfortunately, it seemed impossible now. Words of encouragement followed her as well as jeers and taunts. An older woman yelled at her to go home and find a husband, while a young boy yelled that he hoped to be as good at archery as her one day.
Isabelle felt her face redden at all the attention. She quickened her step, breaking free of the crowd. She practically fled to her room.
Her serving girl, Cerah, came shortly after with a light lunch, and drew her a bath.
Isabelle scrubbed away the dirt and sweat, thinking about what the next few days would bring. She smiled grimly. Whatever it was, she would be ready for it.
32
It’d been over a week since the tournament had begun. Isabelle won against every opponent she’d gone up against, using quick thinking, speed, and her archery to scrape by. Some were easy. One competition had been a game of swiftness, her opponent being a man so large she thought he might have ogre blood in him.
Other matches had been more difficult. She’d almost lost against a particularly vicious man who charged at her with maniacal swiftness, using his brute strength to weigh her down, but Isabelle had used her second weapon of choice; a hidden dagger kept in her boot, to stab him when he’d lifted his sword for a “kill” stroke.
Isabelle now stood in the center of the field, thirty feet or so away from the warrior woman who’d taunted her the day the tourney started. Her name was Bronwin, and she was watching Isabelle like she was looking forward to breaking every bone in her body.
Isabelle kept her face impassive. She didn’t know how the field would change, but she knew by now that it was unlikely to stay a plain field.
“Start!” the fussy servant hollered, and the field’s grass melted away to be replaced by sand. Large, stone blocks rose up, varying in height. Isabelle stumbled, trying to keep her feet as the ground shivered and bucked. She momentarily lost sight of Bronwin.
Isabelle slung her bow over her back, and yanked a couple of daggers out of their sheaths. She began to cautiously edge around the corner of the stone block closest to her—and almost got an axe to the face as Bronwin came hurtling around the edge, her square face contorted in a silent snarl.
Isabelle leaped back with a startled yell. Her instincts kicked in and she turned tail and ran.
The crowd erupted in laughter, clearly amused by the turn of events. Isabelle’s ears burned in shame as she scrambled over rough stone slabs and blocks. She was beginning to tire and she could hear the heavy footfalls of Bronwin in close pursuit.
Isabelle turned down another path created by the large sandstone blocks, and a particularly large one loomed before her. An idea came to her mind, and she reacted instantly. With a final burst of speed, she threw herself toward it, clambering to the top. Heaving to her feet, she feinted with a dagger in her left hand, throwing it at Bronwin.
The larger woman skidded to a stop, throwing herself out of the dagger’s path. Exactly what Isabelle wanted. She threw her other dagger, the knife flying true. Bronwin tried to deflect it, but was too slow. It grazed her throat, leaving a smear of blue dye.
“Isabelle Aryn is the victor!” a Fabled Hunter yelled, and the crowd cheered and yelled their support.
Isabelle’s legs shook as she took deep, grateful gulps of air. That was too close.
Bronwin shot her a look of pure hatred before stalking off the field. Isabelle fell to her knees as the ground shifted. The boulder s
he was standing on lowered to meld into the ground, grass reappearing.
“Isabelle Aryn, you have reached the final,” the herald called out, and the crowd hushed expectantly. “You and one other competitor have been undefeated. If you defeat him, you will be the next Fabled Hunter. If not, he will.”
Isabelle nodded, watching him. Who was the other champion?
Her question was quickly answered. Isabelle turned to look as a young man stepped through the crowd, walking with catlike grace. Tall and slender, he pinned her with a brilliant green eyed gaze, his red hair disheveled.
Jack.
33
“What are you doing here?” Isabelle hissed at Jack. They both stood in the center of the field facing each other. She was a tumble of emotions; happy, sad, hurt, and relief. She didn’t know what to feel.
Jack stared at her with startling intensity, his eyes shining with emotion. “Thank the heavens. You’re alive.” He took another step forward, smiling hesitantly. “I didn’t know you’d escaped from the witch.”
Isabelle felt anger well up inside of her. “You left me to die at Bethyl. If it wasn’t for Silvan, I’d be dead, or wishing I was.”
“Who’s Silvan? And what are you talking about? I looked for you,” Jack protested, his face flushing. “But I couldn’t find you.”
“Yeah right.” Isabelle folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin up. “You told me you wouldn’t come after me if I went to the witch.”
“I only said that because I couldn’t think of any other way to make you stay,” Jack said. “I tried to enter the castle, but I couldn’t get past the wards of magic she’d put up.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “You’re lying. You’d be turned to stone if you’d really gone.”
Jack shook his head, pushing hair out of his face. “I had something of value that she was willing to trade for and let me go.”
Isabelle frowned at him. “And what could you possibly have that she would possibly want?”
Jack grimaced, opening his mouth to respond when the herald called out. “If the two final competitors would step forward,” he said, obviously unaware of their discussion. “Stand before the king.”
Jack bowed politely to Isabelle, unable to mask over his hurt. “After you.”
Isabelle marched over, trying to ignore the whirlwind of emotions she felt inside. She was incredibly relieved to see Jack, but why couldn’t he have saved her? She couldn’t deny it felt good to have him standing next to her again, like a piece of her that she didn’t know was missing had been restored.
King Ruald looked at both of them with interest, his daughter looking at Jack with immense interest. Isabelle felt the stirring of jealousy and quickly stomped on it. She couldn’t care less if she should find him handsome. Right?
“So Jack defeated our esteemed Sir Reginald, and Isabelle, Bronwin. Very interesting. You’ll forgive me if I didn’t expect that outcome from either of you.” He lounged back in his makeshift throne, still watching them. “Tomorrow, you will both face off against each other, but tonight, be friends. Celebrate! It is an incredible feat that you’ve made it this far. The two of you are invited to join us at tonight’s banquet.”
Isabelle felt a wide grin bloom across her face. Dining; with a king! She wished Mother could see her now.
She glanced at Jack and they shared a hesitant smile. Regardless of the outcome, it was an immense honor.
“Return to your rooms,” King Ruald declared, “and prepare for tonight’s events. Tomorrow, we will have our new Fabled Hunter!”
The crowd erupted in cheers again. Both Isabelle and Jack were led away by servants. Isabelle cast one last look over her shoulder at the redheaded man before he was swallowed up by the press of people.
Isabelle floated in a daze as female servants bathed and dressed her in clothing fit for a lady, fussing over her hair and appearance. She thought about Jack. He wanted to win this competition more than anything.
But so do I. One of them had to lose. She sighed, frustrated with the situation. She had to win. She had to. Could she give up the chance of a lifetime? For mere friendship?
For more than friendship, a thought whispered in her mind and she shivered. The servant dressing her clicked her tongue about cool summer breezes and fetched a silk shawl that was so flimsy Isabelle laughed at it.
The remainder of the afternoon passed with agonizing slowness. Dressing with the aid of several servants took what felt like forever. It was a great relief when another servant came to fetch her for the banquet.
The dining hall was massive, chandeliers hanging down in a shower of sparkling crystal, their light bouncing off the white walls, making everything brighter. The king was already seated, as well as his daughter, Charlotte. Isabelle felt a twinge of uncertainty looking at her. Charlotte was dressed in a voluminous white dress, diamonds and pearls sewn into the fabric.
Isabelle was wearing a simple red dress that flared out at the waist, cream ruffles at the hem and edging the neckline. The servants had offered her jewelry to wear but she’d declined, hoping to avoid looking too frivolous as a potential Hunter. Now she wondered if she’d underdressed for the occasion.
Jack appeared a moment later, walking beside her as they approached the king. His hair still stuck up in the back, but he was dressed in well-fitted black trousers, brown leather boots that laced halfway up his calves, and a green loose fitting shirt that complimented his eyes. The style of his shirt reminded her of Silvan’s and she looked away.
“You look smashing,” Jack whispered.
“Thanks,” Isabelle whispered back. So do you.
They were seated exactly opposite from each other. Jack looked uncomfortable, and whenever their eyes met he looked away.
Dinner was almost overwhelming. Meats varied from roasted duck, goose, chicken, lamb, beef, and pork, even shark. Isabelle was careful to avoid the last. Coming from Stormview, she knew how quickly it could spoil and didn’t trust its freshness based on how far they were from water.
There were scalloped potatoes, honeyed carrots, plum pudding, and buttered rolls, the last being so soft, they felt how Isabelle imagined clouds might. Wine was served, as well as a mild punch that both Jack and Isabelle chose. It wouldn’t do to get drunk before such an important day.
Charlotte kept engaging Jack in conversation. He smiled at her, making her laugh with some of his good-natured jokes, but Isabelle could tell from the set of his jaw and the way he kept shifting in his seat that he was ill at ease.
Isabelle only selected a few of the dishes and was full before even half the courses had come out. She tried not to think about what a waste it was to have so much served. She hoped the servants got access to the leftovers.
The night wore on. She had a Hunter on one hand, and a fat nobleman on the other. The noble kept shifting his seat closer to Isabelle, asking her questions about herself and her life that Isabelle didn’t feel inclined to answer. He reminded her of the butcher back home. It was becoming increasingly warm, and Isabelle felt herself becoming more exhausted. She just wanted it to be over.
Just when she felt like she was either going to scream with frustration or smack the fat noble, the banquet was over. The king and his daughter stood and moved into a side social room, as the servants began to swoop in to clean up.
Isabelle stepped close to the open window in the room, breathing in the fragrant air from the garden.
“Isabelle.” Feeling exasperated dread, Isabelle turned to see the nobleman smiling down at her. “I see you have an interest in gardens. Perhaps when this is all over you would like to visit my estate. I’d be more than happy to show you around.”
“That sounds … lovely.” Compared to getting mauled by a troll. Maybe.
“I’m afraid Isabelle will have other engagements.” Jack appeared out of the swirl of silks and perfumes to stand by Isabelle, glaring darkly at the noble. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Isabelle could have kissed him at that moment
. She accepted his proffered arm and he escorted her away from the bothersome noble.
“Thanks,” Isabelle said. “I owe you.”
“I want you to forfeit the tournament, Isabelle.” Jack’s voice was low, being careful not to let those close by overhear them. “For me.”
“What? For you? What about me?” Isabelle kept her voice low too, but it was an effort. “You know what this means to me.”
“And you know what this means to me,” he insisted. He looked down at her, his gaze locking with hers. He took a deep breath, his smile crooked. “That came out wrong. Let me try again. I’m going to compete in the tournament tomorrow, Isabelle, no matter what. I don’t want you to get hurt.” His jaw clenched, his hands tightening over hers a brief moment. “I care about you, and I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. Just … just know it’s a competition, and I intend to compete.”
Isabelle tore her hands out of his, unable to keep the hurt she felt from her face. She turned away. Things wouldn’t be the same after this. She could feel it.
“Isabelle.”
“Goodnight, Jack.” She left the room, retreating to her bedchamber. Undressing, she climbed into bed, pushing the window open a crack to let in a breeze.
She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She kept seeing Jack’s green eyes, the light smattering of freckles across his nose, his smile … No. She pushed his image away from her mind.
He knew her story. He knew how badly she wanted this. But he wants this, too. She tossed and turned, rolling over onto her side, trying to get comfortable. Yes, he wanted it, but who was he to say that his need was greater than hers? If he really cared about her, why wouldn’t he step aside?
She had to do this, or go home and admit she failed. Her pride couldn’t bear it.
Pride. No. She pushed the thought away. This was about her family, not her pride, wasn’t it?
But Jack wouldn’t let us starve. She opened her eyes, staring at the far wall of her room in the dark. He would take care of me. Of my family. I know he would. All I have to do is forfeit.