Carefully, she peered around the corner and into the room which was filled with lights the same hue as a new dawn. The door was open, letting real dawn-light sweep inside along with a cold wind.
Fingall huddled on the floor, surrounded by several furry friends, and a large doe lay in his lap. The deer was panting, eyes closed, and as Keeva stepped nearer she saw the reason why. Its side was ripped open, bones and insides exposed, as if by enormous claws. Fingall cradled the doe in his arms, head bent down against hers. Perhaps it was because the deer had already lost so much blood or perhaps it was because she knew who held her, but Keeva thought that the animal seemed incredibly peaceful in the face of death.
The soft wet noise came from Fingall in strange hiccupping breaths. It had been such a long time since she’d heard herself cry, she hadn’t at first recognized it when coming from someone else.
“Dohmnal,” he said, without lifting his head. “Dohmnal attacked a herd. She escaped and came here.”
Keeva’s eyes followed the trail of blood from the deer, across the floor, and out the door where the red ribbon stood stark against the snow. Something cold knotted in her chest. Turning on her heel, she stormed back to her room and threw open her pack. Within minutes, she’d secured her boots, her gloves, her belts strung with knifes and poisons, and lastly of all, her quiver and bow over her back.
When she’d told him she’d come to hunt Dohmnal, it had not been a lie. In the occasional trips she’d taken to the mortal villages to sell her furs, she’d heard of the great white bear and dreamed of taking such a trophy. But now it was so much more than a trophy. She would kill him or die. And if she died, then it would be a worthy death.
If she died, she would hunt no more.
If she died, Fingall would live.
She stormed past where he sat, surrounded by the animals, ignoring his cry in her head, and plunged out into the winter world. The air felt sharp with ice, but the heat in her blood was far too strong for her to notice. Snow was not falling and the sky was already well past dawn, so there was no danger of losing the blood trail. She followed it up the steep slopes, losing it only at rocky cliffs, only to find it again at the top. The animal had truly been terrified to take such a hazardous route and determined to make it so far. Others had not been so lucky. She came across a few more deer corpses, likewise mauled and already dead, and she wondered that the beast had been able to catch so many.
Finally, high up on a meadow, she found the scene of the attack. The meadow was more of a bowl in the mountain, surrounded on all sides by rock wall with only a few treacherous paths leading in and out. A few straggling trees and remnants of grass rose up from the snow-slicked ground. And everywhere, absolutely everywhere, lay dead dear. Bucks, does, yearlings. It wasn’t merely a hunt. It was a massacre.
She perched on the outcropping cliff, gripping tight onto the stone as her vision spun. What kind of animal did this? It was not natural behavior. It was the act of ancient evil, grown fat on the blood of innocents. The white bear was no different than Adoh. If she could not kill her master, then she would at least see this creature harmed no more.
Gritting her teeth, she crept along the edge above the meadow, looking for any trail of where Dohmnal might have gone. There, a smashed and red path across the snow led higher up the mountain. The wicked old beast had taken a prize after all. Her bow was in her hand by now, and she took great care to keep her fur-padded steps soft on the stone and snow.
The mountain this far up was truly dangerous, the snow obscuring the jagged rocks, and the exposed rocks all covered in ice. She only hoped that the swift wind would keep her scent away from the bear and not sweep it straight to his nose. The keen of the wind’s cry disabled her sense of hearing any sign of the monster.
And then suddenly, she was staring at his cave. The opening was so far back under an icicle-strung ledge that the dark mouth was nearly lost in shadow. But the bones and scarlet stains declared it the lair without a doubt.
She climbed up a little higher on the rocks opposite the cave and considered. She did not think he would able to claw up to where she crouched, but if he did she had a quick path up to the top and level ground. Now there was simply the matter of waiting. Except, waiting could prove useless. He’d eaten his fill and could very likely not come back out for days. Yet only the very foolish would consider confronting a bear in its den.
She dug into the packs at her side until she found a long strip of green bark and a ribbon of cloth, which she began wrapping tightly around an arrowhead. If she could fire a smoking arrow into the cave, it might be enough to flush the bear out. And while he was disoriented, she could take the shot. It took her several minutes to make sure the binding was secure before she reached for the tinderbox.
A deep growl shook the ground beneath her.
She froze, stomach tying in a knot. No. No, he could not have come out of the cave without her noticing. Unless, perhaps, he had never been in there.
Slowly, her gaze flicked down to stare at the great white bear below.
Dohmnal was giant. Far larger than she’d guessed, he was thick with muscle and matted fur. The stubs of arrows rose from his haunches, and scars left patches of his skin bare. His muzzle was nocked with deep rivulets, curling back the skin even further than an ordinary snarl to show the terrible teeth barred her way. A deep wet huff shuddered through his body, and a red glint shone in his dark eyes.
She wasn’t high enough. She leapt even as his muscles gathered, and her hands caught the next ledge, swinging her just out of reach of his rearing swipe. His snarl shook every bone in her body and she collapsed upon the top of the cliff. He reared up again, clawing at the rock-face and sending gravel scattering.
Move, run, flee. Terror was pleading for her to escape, but she had not come this far to run away. Rolling onto her knees, she snatched an arrow from her quiver and shot it straight down at the furious beast. But the shot was wild and the bear more so, and it only glanced off its neck.
Before she could aim a second time, Dohmnal leapt and came so near the top that she flung herself backwards. No, this was too close. Her element of surprise was lost; it was she who was taken unawares and she was not prepared to take on a monster of this size in close combat.
Turning, she raced across the jagged ledges, hoping to lose him in the maze of rocky peaks. Her boots were made for the sharp edges and slick surfaces so even at that frantic pace she found each step secure. Running was a part of hunting, and she was adept at crossing the roughest terrains.
The rocky palisades descended back into snowy slopes, and she hit the iced shell with a crunch. Once she was sure she’d lost the bear’s trail, she could circle back and try—
Dohmnal’s roar thundered, and she spun to see him charging around a corner of the mountain towards her. But—the wind was not blowing the way of her scent—she’d surely gone out of sight—
This was his mountain. He was the king of the snowy peaks, a cruel cunning king. No one came up this far without his knowledge and no one ever left.
There was nothing before her but a steep snow slope, and for a moment she considered charging or sliding down it for bears could not move as fast downhill, but she wasn’t at all sure she wouldn’t end up somersaulting out of control and finish with a broken neck. So she turned and raced back to the palisades. There were chasms in them, wide enough that she could fit in, narrow enough that he could not follow.
She squeezed in, almost ripping her quiver from her back. Once far enough inside, she found room to wrench around and face the opening. The bear was tearing at the rock with his teeth and claws, making so much rubble fall away that she did not feel altogether safe. With some strain, she managed to pull off her bow and string an arrow to the notch. This time, she would be steady. This time she would breathe and let her heartbeat slow and her eyes focus. This time, she would not miss.
The bear shoved his face into the chasm again, mouth wide and slavering, and she shot.
; The arrow plunged into its neck just as it snapped its mouth shut. It reeled back, clawed hard at the arrow and broke it, then leapt to the top of the rocks with a heave. She ducked just in time to miss being swiped with its paw as it reached down from up above.
She’d hunted bears before. This one was nothing like those other bears.
“HUNTRESS!”
She screamed as Fingall’s voice shouted in her head.
“What, what, where are you?” she gasped, forgetting that as well as she could hear him, he wouldn’t hear her.
But Dohmnal gave a confused growl from up above and she looked back to see him swiping at his head and ears. With a huff and then a roar, he left her chasm, and the sound of him faded into the distance.
A silhouette suddenly filled up the light of the chasm entrance, and she almost screamed again before recognizing Fingall.
“Fool girl!” he cried. “You actually have attacked Dohmnal!”
“What else did you think I was doing?” she snapped, half in anger, half in fear.
“Come on!” he said, reaching out a hand. “I spoke to him and so he knows someone else is on the mountain, but he hasn’t found me yet. Let’s get out of here.”
“I shot him,” she whispered, scrambling forward. “It should have been a fatal hit.”
“His skin is tough as iron with as long as he’s lived,” he said, helping her out. “Not even faerie-made weapons have pierced his hide.”
“I’ll go for the eye then,” she said.
Before he could answer, they heard Dohmnal’s growling roar, coming near again. Fingall gripped her hands for a few seconds and then quietly said, “I will give you the opening you need.”
A startled protest began to flutter from her lips, but he was already gone, moving much faster across the snow than she’d ever been able. The white on white was almost flawlessly matched and he appeared little more than a ghost.
But Dohmnal saw him nevertheless and came charging out of the rocks in pursuit. Keeva followed in his wake, heading for the high ground where she could get the best angle. She had to be fast; faerie or not, there was no telling how long Fingall could keep away from the bear.
“Stay there, I’ll bring him back around.” His voice was firm in her mind, not carrying any of the breath he must have been panting.
She skidded to the end of a ledge and crouched, balancing the bow on her knee until she was ready to lift, pull, and fire with the max of her strength. Ice on the wind nipped at her cheeks and she squinted in the brightness of the snow. But her mind was calm now, honed and ready for the kill.
Fingall came fleeting back, the bear hot on his trail, and then just as they came in perfect range for her, he ground to a stop and threw himself around to face the beast. Dohmnal lurched to a stop in surprise and rose up on his haunches, releasing a hot breath into the frozen air.
And for just a moment, Keeva hesitated as she drew the bow taunt. She wondered if the bear would show reverence and mercy to him as all the other animals did. She wondered if its heart was truly hard as stone. She wondered if perhaps there was a little love left in it.
“Huntress…?” Fingall’s voice held fear.
Dohmnal lurched back onto all fours and struck him with a giant paw.
The faerie flew backwards, crunching through the ice layer. The bear lunged towards him, teeth bared and eyes filled with wicked light—
And Keeva let the arrow fly.
The light in the wicked eyes winked out, stifled by the shaft embedded up to the feathered end. The great white bear stumbled, then heaved to the side, and collapsed.
Leaping from the ledge, she sank into the snow and hurried over to Fingall, who was just starting to sit up with a bit of a struggle. He held a hand to his ribs and his wrappings were a bit lopsided, though still covering.
“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “I—I thought for a moment he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Well.” He gingerly prodded his side and flinched. “I’ve learned not to expect mercy from evil old beasts. But—” his tone lifted in wonder. “You shot him. He’s actually dead. Well done, Huntress! Your aim is true.”
“I should have never hesitated,” she ground out. “You were beyond reckless to stand there like that and chance me missing.”
“It’s not like I was afraid of dying,” he said, the smirk clear in his words.
Ha, how did he know he hadn’t run out of his luck yet! Wait. Did he know his keys? Was it something he was told beforehand or something he felt? Maybe he just assumed he was safe.
Before she could think it all through, a loud racket of snarls and cries and clashing metal came raging up the hill towards them, the sound only a little ahead of its source—seven angry goblins, waving their weapons like fiends.
“How’d they—?” she began.
“I called them as soon as I took off after you. Took them long enough to get out of their caves.”
The goblins reached them, bristling for battle, but they found the threat quite taken care of. So they stood and stared gaping at the dead body of Dohmnal, and then they gaped at Keeva and Fingall. And then they began talking all at once, so that any word was impossible to understand. But the tone was clear, and Keeva began to smile as they hefted the bear between their stony arms and cheered loud and lustily.
The goblins not carrying the bear scooped Keeva and Fingall onto their shoulders, and the huntress gasped in surprise, clinging to the rock head beneath her. But the perch seemed solid enough, and so she laughed along with the prince as the goblins carried them down the triumphant path home.
8
When she woke in the morning, the glowing memories of her triumph and the celebrations of the night before were suddenly stamped out by cruel and bleak reality.
Dohmnal was dead, and she no longer had an excuse to stay. The bear was not her true prey.
Groaning, she rubbed her hands down her face until the skin stretched white before color returned in a blotchy, unflattering red. She didn’t want to think about her true mission. She wanted to think of how perfect last night had felt as the goblins had skinned the bear and stretched out its fur to dry. What a trophy it was to see, filling her with conflicting pride and guilt. In a way, it was sad that such a mighty creature was felled, but at least the mountains were safer now.
Her success had won her the favor of the goblins at last, and the feast they had hosted was something she’d always remember. To Keeva’s relief, they had not eaten Dohmnal. He was too old and extent of his wickedness was considered a curse upon his flesh. The goblins themselves still ate their living jewels, but they had prepared juicy meats and roasted vegetables in such abundance that the majority of it had to be fed to the pets even after Keeva’s stomach was filled to bursting.
But the memory of the warmth and camaraderie she had felt last night was false and fleeting, and the present problem at hand reared its ugly head for attention.
Loss of breath, prick on brow, poison apple, death come now.
The first two were complete, but where on earth up here was she supposed to find an apple? Adoh had not given her any instruction on that, and the best option she could see was journeying back down to the human lands and finding one in the market.
“Huntress?”
Somehow, it never ceased to startle her when he called out to her. It wasn’t only because he had a habit of coming up on her without warning or that his mind-speak was always so close and clear. She always wondered if she’d been found out.
She jumped to her feet and faced him. He stood in the doorway and when she cleared her throat, he took a few steps in. If this was about her needing to leave now that Dohmnal was dealt with, she had no idea how to reply.
“My Lord…”
“I wish you to see me.”
Keeva froze, back stiffening. “That is not necessary, my Lord.”
“It is to me,” he said, and she could hear how husky his breath was even muffled behind the wraps. “You have been my guest, and you are now m
y friend. I trusted you, and we defeated Dohmnal together. I want you to know that you can trust me. If you need to see my face for that, then so be it.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. If her words were scarce before, they were non-existent now, and she could do nothing but watch him.
He hesitated. “There is another thing,” he said. “Fingall is not my true name.”
“I didn’t expect you to give me your real name.”
“I would like you to have it. It will help you understand. I …I am Idris. Prince of the Seelie Court.”
She wondered if she could pull off acting surprised. For the longest time, she’d feared letting her knowledge of his real name and identity slip. It would be a relief not to pretend anymore. So she answered, “I thought as much.”
“Did you?” He straightened in surprise.
“I had heard of the tragedy that befell the Seelie Prince,” she said. “During my days among the foul folk. Eventually I wondered if that was what you were hiding beneath all those wrappings.”
He nodded, shoulders slumping. “Well. Now you will be able to see for yourself.”
Slowly, he slipped each glove off his hand. The three middle fingers were no more than scarred nubs along his knuckles. Those hands trembled as they reached up to the wide scarf and began to unwind it. The lower half of his face was unveiled first. A refined jaw and chin, a perfectly formed mouth, beautiful even though twisted to the side with agitation. The wrap dropped to the ground in a puddle of white. He grasped the tight cap encasing the upper half of his face and yanked it savagely off. The sunshine hair she had touched swept free, tumbling across his shoulders. The silken shining strands were a strange frame for the ruin of his features.
And such a ruin it was. His eyes were missing, as she had known they would be. Scars ran rivulets from the empty hollows across his brow and upper cheeks. His graceful pointed ears were nicked as if by wild strokes of a knife. And somewhere behind those beautiful lips, she knew there was no tongue.
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