“Lies,” he tutted, but released her hand. “You are using the muscles in your hand for all your strength, instead of your arm muscles. Do not do this.”
“Don’t stand this way. Don’t shoot the ground,” she said, voice teasing.
“You are very good at hitting the ground.”
They retrieved the spent arrows and cleared the evidence of their practice. The upper fields were host to the flock of sheep, leaving the lower field empty and far enough away from the house that no one, namely Godwin, could spot them. Of course, that would require Godwin leaving his bedchamber, a feat he had not done since his injury.
Solenne didn’t like the way her father sulked. A fever had kept him in bed, but the illness had passed. It had been weeks since the accident. He should be up and about, especially with the next full moon only days away.
“It will grow easier,” Luis said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Will it?”
“Repetition. Build your strength. Get calluses on those soft, ladylike hands.”
She huffed with amusement and held up her hands. The pads were red, and she knew she needed to ice her wrist. While her hands weren’t as rough as they had been before Godwin ended her training, they were far from soft and ladylike. She worked. It showed.
Luis set the equipment in a disused cottage near the edge of the forest. Once, the estate manager had lived there, back when the house had a larger staff and people were not too frightened of living near the forest. Empty except for dusty furniture, it provided a dry spot to wait out a rainstorm or hide away from her responsibilities for an afternoon. Solenne had not enjoyed that luxury in some time, but she remembered sneaking books away from the library and reading in the old chair by the window.
As they approached the house, she carried her basket as if she had been gathering herbs in the forest. No one questioned her.
Travers cornered her as she left her workroom, a jar of liniment in her pocket. “The master asks to speak with you, Miss Solenne,” he said.
The scent of sickness hung in the room. Godwin sat in a chair by the bedside, brooding in the dark. A quarterstaff rested against his legs, as if he had used the weapon as a walking stick. He probably did, rather than ask for help.
Solenne set down a pitcher of fresh water on the bureau. She then drew back the curtains and opened the window to air out the room.
“Can’t you let a dying man sleep?” Godwin grumbled.
“You’re not dying, and you stink.”
He gave a tired chuckle. “Ah, the sweetness of your gentle ministrations.”
She regarded the pale figure of her father. He seemed thin, swallowed up by days spent in bed. A brief fever had burned through him. The doctor confirmed that infection had not set in, but Godwin would never regain his sight.
“You’re hiding,” she said.
Godwin made disgruntled noises, none of which expressed denial.
“But it is good to see you out of bed. I can send up hot water.” The house had a heated bathing chamber on the ground level. However, traversing the several stairs that lay between Godwin and a hot bath would be difficult.
“I’ll go downstairs. I know you’re itching to clean in here,” he said.
“True.” The bed desperately needed fresh sheets after fever sweats and fitful sleeping.
“I received a letter,” he said.
“Oh.” Anticipation zipped through her. Solenne focused on keeping her voice light and unworried as she poured water into a clean glass. Her smile was pure artifice as she handed it to her father, along with a pill left by the doctor.
“It seems Aleksandar will return to us in our hour of need.”
Solenne turned her head to hide her genuine smile. Aleksandar’s return meant nothing. She meant nothing to him. He had said as much. It was unwarranted, unreasonable, and unforgivable how excited she felt thinking about his return.
Ten years had passed. She was not that girl. He was not that man.
She knew that.
She knew, yet her heart clung onto the delusion to the point of pain. Aleksandar would be married by now, possibly with a child—children—and she was practically an old maid with few prospects. Well, Colonel Chambers seemed interested, but the notion of an alliance with the retired military man left her cold, like a staring down a plate of sprouts that had to be eaten. Ultimately good for her, but dreaded.
Godwin thumped the quarterstaff against the floor, snagging her attention. “It seems I wrote to him,” he grumbled.
“Drink,” Solenne prompted, pushing the glass into his hands.
He held her gaze for a long moment, the glare louder than any accusation. Finally, he took a mouthful and swallowed the pill.
“Funny how I don’t remember writing.”
“You had a fever. I’m sure there’s plenty you don’t recall,” she said, voice placid. She stripped the bed, tossing the soiled linens to the floor.
“I would never ask that coward for help.”
“We don’t have a choice, do we? Sending Luis to hunt alone would be suicidal,” she retorted, heat seeping into her voice. She refused to let anything of the sort happen to her brother because of Godwin’s pride.
Silence stretched between them as she remade the bed. Finally, with fresh sheets and a well-worn but clean quilt in place, she turned her attention to Godwin’s clothes. He had worn the same sweat-stained shirt for days, and it stank. She tossed a clean set of clothes onto the bed.
“You must think me worthless to ask him to come here, after what he did,” Godwin said, breaking the silence.
Solenne had heard this tirade before. Godwin blamed Aleksandar for the death of their mother was the long and the short of it, despite knowing that Amalie took unnecessary risks. Amalie always had. Alek had been in Amalie’s workshop the day of the explosion, but he had not been responsible. Anyone could see that.
Well, anyone sensible.
Frankly, Solenne was sick of Godwin’s self-indulgent pity, his anger at losing Amalie, and his suffocating need to control his children.
“Marechals hunt monsters. We all know that,” she said.
“And now I can’t. You’re replacing me.”
“For the love of—” She rubbed the back of her neck, aware that most of her hair had escaped from her bun. “I don’t think you’re useless, Papa.”
“I am blind.”
“In one eye. One!” She grabbed the quarterstaff from him and swung with no real force. He blocked the staff easily, then wrenched it away. It smacked into furniture. “Not so blind after all.”
“Do not taunt me, girl. I am useless out there.” He waved a hand toward the window.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that your decades of experience and knowledge were contained in that eye. I’m so sorry for your loss, but how extraordinary! We should write to the academy in Founding. Top minds will want to examine you—”
“Enough of your sarcasm, girl,” he snapped. With a weary sigh, he rubbed the mostly white stubble on his chin. When had his iron gray turned white?
“There is a wolf out there with the taste for blood,” she said. Hopefully, her words would remind him that the situation was bigger than his pride and his injured eye.
“Am I such a failure?” he asked.
“No, Papa.” She abandoned her tidying and knelt at his feet, her hands on his knees. “You want to keep us safe, to keep everyone safe.”
“It is our duty to guard the nexus point,” he intoned, practically chanting the often-repeated phrase.
“Luis cannot do this on his own.”
“He’s not much of a fighter,” Godwin said.
Solenne fought back the urge to argue. Luis was an excellent fighter, but there was more to him than the love of the hunt.
He patted her head, just as he did when she was a child. His rough hands knocked free the last of her hair from the bun, but her appearance was the farthest thing from her mind. In the silence, he was just a man, worried about his
family and his declining health. She recalled all the wonderful memories, the laughter and joy that sparked in Godwin with ease before sorrow and grief took that away.
“Do not think I haven’t seen you practicing archery,” he said, breaking the silence.
He had seen that? They had chosen a field so far away and been so careful. A servant must have reported their activity, probably Travers. He had an uncanny ability for knowing when she was up to mischief. Or Godwin had spied Luis carrying the equipment.
No, she decided. Her father didn’t know, not for certain, and waited for Solenne to deny it.
As angry and frustrated as her father made her, Solenne couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. “You’ll have to leave this room if you plan to make me stop,” she said. Not that she would.
“No. Practice in the courtyard. I want to see,” he said hurriedly, almost as if he were ashamed. Then, he added, “I was wrong to end your training. But your arm—”
“Is fine, and the other is perfectly functional. I’m not swinging a broadsword, but I don’t think I’d be able to do that anyway.”
Another pat, then he motioned for her to back away. Leaning heavily on the quarterstaff, he heaved himself to his feet.
“There’s no shame in seeking help. We’re strong together. Don’t you always tell us that? Strength in numbers,” she said, gentleness returning to her voice.
Six days until the full moon. She hoped Aleksandar arrived in time.
Chapter 5
Solenne
Boxon Hill
The Woods
* * *
Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.
Four days until the full moon.
Solenne drew the bow and waited. A twig cracked. She spun and released. The arrow planted itself into the tree, and the rabbit hopped away.
She had not made superhuman strides in the last few days, but forcing her body to remember what it once knew through stubborn determination helped. Muscle memory unlocked. Skulking through the forest, forced to act fast, also helped. If she thought too much, she favored her wrist and her stance went wrong and she used the wrong set of muscles entirely. Hunting rabbits forced her to move on instinct before she got too in her head. Her aim had improved, even if she still hadn’t hit a rabbit.
Sunlight filtered through the forest’s canopy, creating pools of shadows. She waited. Listened to the sound of birdsong. The wind made a lovely spring melody with insects buzzing.
This was a waste of time. She could not hunt alongside Luis in four days, and she’d never hit the cursed wolf unless she walked up to it and stabbed it with a silver-tipped arrow. As it stood, she was a liability. Her time would have been better spent preparing tonics and salves, boiling bandages so they were fresh and sterile. How much string did she have for stitching? She loathed dragging needle and thread through flesh, but if Luis needed it, she’d do it. Willow bark for pain and to reduce a fever? She could always use more.
If Luis failed to trap the wolf, if he suffered a severe injury, Godwin would have no choice but to contact the provincial government for support. Familial pride would smart. They would lose the contract to protect the village and they might even lose their home, but too many lives were in danger. The people of Boxon and the valley deserved to live without fear of the monsters that prowled the dark.
Alek said he would come.
Four days until the full moon.
A twig snapped. Solenne finally noticed the stillness in the air. Birdsong had vanished. Even the insects retreated.
Solenne notched an arrow and held the bow at ready. It was not uncommon for a cursed creature to feel the pull of the nexus as the moon approached its zenith. They were known to give in early to the shift and prowl the territory outside their den, which is why she was by herself and not with her brother. Luis searched for signs of the wolf and its den.
The back of her neck crawled with the sensation of being watched. She shouldn’t have gone into the forest alone. She should have stuck with hay bales for target practice.
Carefully, she picked her way through the undergrowth, back to a deer trail, and toward the old cottage. She’d run for the safety of the building if need be. The door should hold. Either the wolf would grow bored when it realized she was locked up tight and leave, or someone in the house would realize she was missing. Travers, most likely. He always seemed to know where she was, especially when she was somewhere she wasn’t meant to be.
Reach the cottage. She’d be safe in the cottage.
The undergrowth thinned. Sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves. The cottage sat half in shadow, half in the sun. The light made the golden stones glow against the darkness of the surrounding forest.
She had never seen anything so inviting.
A growl came to her ears. Solenne spun, the bow drawn and ready to fire.
A man held up his hands in surrender. He stepped back, holding his hands up. “I did not intend to startle you,” he said.
“Who are you?” She kept the arrow trained on the man. Only a few feet separated them, and she felt confident that even she could hit him at this range.
Several days’ beard growth covered his face. Dust and dirt covered him too, like he had rolled in the mud. Dark circles hung under his eyes. Hair had been pulled back to keep it tidy, but it escaped in a tangled mess. He appeared thin, in need of a hearty meal and a good night’s rest. Those things were hard to get on the road, Solenne understood, especially as far out on the edge of civilization as they were.
More than the man’s desperate need for a thorough scrubbing and a haircut, menace dripped off him. He stood with a predator’s stance, despite his submissive gestures, watching his prey.
Watching her.
“A traveler,” he said. The horse munching on leaves behind him supported that. “I stopped at the well for water.”
“We’re nowhere near the main road, and no one knows about the cottage and the well.” Practically no one, and if they did, no one with sense would use it. That was why the cottage remained empty. “Try again,” she ordered.
A look of amusement flashed across his face. An unsettling grin of sharp white teeth spread across his tan, weathered skin. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I thought I might wash up. I am a slave to vanity.”
“Water your horse and fill your canteen, then be on your way.” She waved the bow toward the well but did not lower it.
“I heard the Marechals welcomed travelers at their hearth. Does that kindness not extend to the water of your wells, Miss Marechal?” His words had the ring of familiarity, yet she did not know this man.
Solenne lowered the bow. “The roads here are difficult to travel. You are welcome to stay the night in the cottage.”
“Easy? No. I can’t claim it’s been an easy journey.”
Nor an easy few years, judging by the state of him. Everything about his travel-worn appearance still held, but she noticed the lines on his brows and the exhaustion in his face. He seemed thinner, and in a way that was more than lean and suggested illness.
“You can wash up if you don’t mind cold water,” she said and headed for the cottage. Inside, she pointed to the tub and soap.
“Using this for storage? Seems a waste,” the man said. He stood uncomfortably close as he looked about the one room, making no motion to retrieve the tub.
She shivered and moved a hand to her silver blade. Menace rolled off the man. “It’s built to last, but no one is brave enough to live out here on their own.”
“I understand this region has a wolf problem.” He grinned, somehow baring more teeth than should be possible.
She tapped the flat of her blade against the cake of soap. His eyes followed the movement. “Just a small suggestion. You smell.”
“So do you, Solenne.” That grin reappeared, sharp and unsettling.
He knew her name.
Something inside her, a thread or a faint warning bell, reverberated in her chest. She needed to leave. Not flee, because runnin
g made predators chase, but leave.
Minding to walk at a casual gait, the tension in her chest eased once she reached the cottage’s gate. She felt foolish at her skittishness. The man was a traveler, drifting between the settlements on the fringe of habitable land. It was a hard sort of life and he deserved kindness, not apprehension.
“Come to the kitchen in the back of the main house if you want a meal,” she shouted.
The man had already pumped water from the well into the tub. First, he allowed his horse to drink its fill. Sunlight picked out the golden highlights in his brown hair.
Then he removed his shirt.
Lean muscles flexed in the sun. The man had a large frame, but hardship made him lean enough to count his ribs. On his chest, over his heart, was a simple tattoo in gray ink, a circle surrounded by a burst of rays.
Sunlight, her namesake. She didn’t know why her breath caught in her chest because the man was a stranger and the tattoo held no significance.
Pale scars stood out against his flesh, crisscrossing his belly and back. They whispered of a life of pain and danger. A fierce bite stood out on his shoulder, looking almost fresh and unhealed. What monsters did that to him? Despite the scars, despite the ribs standing out, he had strength yet in his body.
She pressed a hand to her chest and swore that he smirked.
He dunked his head in the tub. Head wet, water rolled down his chest, rinsing away dust and grime.
Solenne slammed the gate closed, her cheeks burning. “I trust you can find the big house,” she said, barely pausing for him to answer.
This was dangerous. She invited a dangerous stranger into her home.
Aleksandar
He watched Solenne scurry away, delighted at the obvious discomfort in her tone, and even more delighted in how her trousers clung to the curves of her ass.
He remained enough of a gentleman that he did not express his appreciation. Unfortunately, he was not enough of a gentleman to avert his eyes. He had a wicked beast inside him.
Wash complete, he returned the tub to its peg on the wall of the cottage. Other than the air of neglect, the building had not changed in the last decade. The roof was sound, and the walls were sturdy enough to keep out monsters. Or keep one contained.
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