The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  Nyx swatted him around the back of his head, causing Pyre’s fox ears to twitch in response. “Our guest is not going to fall for your tricks, you devil.”

  Guest? “Am I free to go?”

  “When you’re healed,” Nyx replied, redressing the bandages on Tempest’s leg before helping herself to a bowl of soup. She leaned against the kitchen table, sighing contentedly as she breathed in the steam coming off the bowl. “We merely want to get to know you while you’re still too incapacitated to go anywhere.”

  Pyre snorted at the comment.

  Tempest scowled. “A prisoner by another name, then,” she muttered, taking a reluctant sip of soup when her stomach began to growl. It was delicious and warmed her right down to the tips of her toes. She wondered if Pyre had made it just like he’d made the stew the night before.

  “So, June,” Pyre said after a few minutes of contented, soup-eating silence. “Can I call you June?”

  “No—”

  “June it is,” he cut in, deliberately ignoring her. “Since you won’t tell me your real name, why don’t you tell us what you were doing in this specific part of the forest? I somehow doubt you were visiting your grandmother.”

  Tempest stared at her now-empty bowl. “Where is this particular part of the forest?”

  Briggs laughed, the sound booming. “I like you, Juniper.”

  She lifted the bowl up and gave the big man a genuine smile. “Thank you for the soup. It was delicious.” She turned her attention back to the kitsune. Time to give him a bone to gnaw on. “As I’ve said before, I was on my way to my grandmother’s. She’s very ill. In Dotae, we’d heard whispers of a deadly plague wiping out villages. But—” Tempest lowered her voice. “There have been rumors that it doesn’t act like a plague. I thought to gather as much information as I could before I reached my kin. There’s power in knowledge.”

  “True,” Nyx agreed.

  “Why not just ask me outright for the information?” Pyre prodded.

  Tempest shifted like she was nervous, putting on a show. “It’s not safe to ask questions. Questions have a way of haunting a person. Death sometimes follows closely behind.”

  “Ain’t that the damn truth,” Briggs muttered from his place at the table.

  “And your reaction when you saw my ears?”

  She’d been prepared for this. “I haven’t spent much time outside the city, but there are stories of your kind. My life has not been easy, and it’s everyone for themselves. Talagans are naturally stronger than those born in Heimserya, and I’m a woman. It was natural that I strike first, lest you take me unaware.” Tempest shrugged. “And desperate people do desperate things.”

  “You’re just full of wisdom, aren’t you, luv?” Pyre drawled.

  “Get smart or die.”

  “Incredible,” Nyx breathed. She laughed, the sound lovely. Bell-like.

  Tempest found herself smiling in amusement. Nyx just had that effect. If they weren’t enemies, she was the kind of person Tempest could easily be friends with, had they met in Dotae.

  But we didn’t. This is different. This is practically war.

  “You sure do have a way with words.” Nyx smiled. “Pyre told me he liked you as soon as he met you. I think you’ll change everything.”

  Tempest frowned. What the blazes did Nyx mean by that? She didn’t know. But what Tempest did know was she needed her things back and Pyre had promised to return her bow. If she could get to her bag, unseen, she could apply some of her hidden Mimkia paste to her back and arm. Her forced stay among the shifters would be on her terms then.

  Tempest hid her grin as both Pyre and Nyx questioned her. The duo was something else. Pyre was as blunt as a cudgel and Nyx as sweet as honey. They made the perfect combination for an interrogation. Too bad she knew what they were up to. She loved needling them with short, clipped responses that gave very little away or responding by asking more and more questions of her own, despite the fact neither of her captors gave her any leads whatsoever.

  It was a battle of wills, and Tempest loved it.

  After an hour, Pyre looked so bored that he might fall asleep in his chair. In contrast, Nyx bustled around the room, cleaning and helping Briggs with other small tasks. No one could accuse the woman of being lazy or idle.

  Another reason to like her. It was easier to deal with hot-tempered men than with calm and calculating women.

  “You’re something else.” Pyre sighed, running a hand through his wine-red hair to push it out of his face. Tempest wondered if his exasperation was all an act to make her feel more in control—like she was winning. It was entirely possible that he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security, hoping she’d slip up and tell them something.

  Such games wouldn’t work. She’d been trained by the Madrids. “Thank you, but I’m sure you have it all wrong.” Men loved modesty.

  The kitsune considered her with a gaze that was far too knowing. It was like he could see right through her mask to the truth inside her mind. “I’m sure I do not. False modesty doesn’t suit you. Take the compliment.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “Nyx, I believe our guest needs a bath.”

  Tempest blinked slowly at the subject change but didn’t argue. She could even smell herself.

  “Briggs, come along old friend. The lady is in need of water.”

  The healer jumped to his feet and followed Pyre out the cottage door. Tempest studied the door like it would reveal the secrets of the kitsune.

  “Is he always like that?” Tempest asked Nyx, digging for more information.

  “He’s a man of mystery. Even I can’t gage his moods.”

  Mystery meant liar—a trickster, a deceiver. Those closest to him couldn’t figure him out.

  Just what are you hiding, Pyre?

  Tempest

  Tempest sighed as she slipped into the bathtub, the hot water stinging and yet soothing her body’s aches. “Merde, that feels good,” she groaned.

  Nyx chuckled and bustled around the metal trough to stoke the fire, her skirts rustling in the silence. “A bath is good for the soul.”

  The Hounds didn’t always believe so. Even though Tempest made it a practice to stay clean, not all the men she lived with saw the appeal, but that was her gain. It meant she always got the first bath when the water was cleanest and warmest. No one ever had to drag her to bathe or dunk her. She smiled softly at the memory and tipped her head back, her hair falling over the rim of the tub as she sank deeper into the water, her eyelids half closed.

  The shifter woman moved to the table and retrieved a bar of soap and a bottle of golden oil. She held them out to Tempest. “I can help you, if you’d like?”

  Tempest shook her head. While she wasn’t ashamed of her body or too worried about modesty, she still liked to care for herself. Helping another person wash was a personal experience, something shared among friends, and Tempest would not give into the temptation of making a friend out of Nyx. There was too much at stake.

  “No, thank you,” she murmured, taking the soap and oil from the woman’s long, graceful fingers. She took a cautionary sniff of the soap and unstopped the bottle—cloves and something a little softer like cardamom, nothing that dangerous there.

  With a flick of her wrist, she poured a few drops of the aromatic oil into the water and set the bottle beside the tub on the scuffed wooden floor. She lathered soap between her palms and absentmindedly gazed at the fire as she began to rid her body of the filth from the last few days.

  She had another thing to add to her list of suspicious observations: the soap.

  Most people only owned lye soap. Scented soap was altogether too expensive, but to be infused with cardamom… it was almost worth as much as Mimkia. Cardamom only grew in the Hinterlands—a southern enemy kingdom of Heimserya—the only way to acquire cardamom was through piracy or the black market.

  Tempest lowered her lashes and spied on Nyx as she hummed a litt
le tune by the table. Her captors weren’t what they seemed. Either they truly did think she was a peasant girl, so she’d not know the scent, or they were testing her. If it hadn’t been for Aleks’s infirmary tinctures, she’d never have been able to place the scent.

  “The soap smells divine,” she said while scrubbing her legs, careful to avoid the healing wounds. “I don’t ever recall washing in such luxury. Where did you find such a treasure?”

  Nyx plopped down in a chair, her hands busy stripping thyme sprigs and tossing them into a shallow wooden bowl. “A friend of mine made it.”

  “I would love to have such friends,” Tempest joked. “Did they also distil the oil? I swear I’ve never smelled something so heavenly.”

  “It works out well. I distil the scents, and she creates the soaps, oils, and perfumes,” Nyx commented.

  Interesting.

  Tempest looked at the woman in a new light. If she had the training and distilling capabilities, surely she could have created a poison to wipe out entire villages. A coincidence? Most likely not.

  “That must be lucrative,” she commented, setting the wet soap on the floor next to the oil.

  “It has its uses.”

  Like killing people? Funding a rebellion? Contributing to the Jester’s crimes?

  “Are you sure you don’t need help washing your hair? I know your arm is still bothering you.” Nyx smiled in sympathy. “I dislocated my shoulder when I was a young girl. My mum had to braid my hair for weeks afterward.”

  Tempest mulled it over for a moment and then nodded. She didn’t want to become friends with the woman, but it was possible she might glean something from the shifter. Tempest needed proof and soap was hardly evidence of a crime. And, on the practical side, her hair was absolutely filthy, and the dye wouldn’t fade for another week.

  The woman abandoned her herbs and dragged her stool behind Tempest. “Wet your hair please.”

  Closing her eyes, Tempest sank beneath the water and emerged, the water in the tub sloshing about. From the corner of her eyes, she observed as Nyx poured a dollop of oil into her palm and then plucked the soap from the floor. A sigh escaped her as the shifter sank her fingers into Tempest’s wet hair and began to massage her scalp.

  “How did you dislocate your shoulder?” Tempest asked, trying to keep her wits about her, even though her body wanted to dissolve into a puddle of contented goo.

  “My mum worked on a farm in Talaga and so did I as a girl. I was very sick, and the crop of peas were ready to be harvested. I remember shivering so hard I bit my lip. My mother stopped to hold me just for a moment.”

  Tempest squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what happened next. The farms in Talaga were brutal. No one deserved to be treated the way the servants and slaves were there.

  “A lord spotted my mum,” Nyx continued, her fingers still working through Tempest’s hair. “His Hound tore me from my mother’s arms before I even knew what was happening. My mum tried to hold onto me, and the vicious man yanked so hard all I remember is the blinding pain.” She inhaled deeply. “It was a miracle I woke up after the beating. But my mum wasn’t so lucky. The clan that took me in said my mother never stopped fighting and scarred the Hound with her spade before he killed her in cold blood.”

  Tempest clutched her knees which poked up from the water and bowed her head. As much as she hated the shifter who killed her mum and those who were actively trying to destroy the kingdom, she didn’t hate the Talagans as a whole.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered genuinely. “No one deserves to lose a parent so young. Do you hate the man who murdered your mum?”

  “For many years.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I know that appearances can be deceiving. Even those who have freedom might be as much of a slave as I was. The real problem is accepting it and not trying to make a change.” Nyx pulled her hands away. “Rinse please.”

  Tempest dunked her head under the water and washed the soap away. She pushed her hair from her face and wiped water from her eyes. Tempest froze as she spied the water’s color.

  Dark gray, almost black. Damn it.

  The tip of a cold dagger kissed the skin of her throat.

  “And it’s power hungry zealots like you who keep that monster in power,” Nyx whispered. “What a surprise you are, little Hound.”

  Tempest stared straight ahead and took a shallow breath. Time to go.

  She slapped soapy water over her shoulder and jerked away from the blade. Tempest launched to her feet and spun in the tub, then slammed her bare foot against the spluttering Nyx’s chest. The woman tumbled backward and rolled smoothly to her feet, wiping the water from her eyes.

  Of course, the damn woman was trained.

  Tempest jumped from the tub and lunged for the kitchen blade left on the table carelessly. Nyx swung her leg out and Tempest tripped, her feet slipping on the wet floor. She crashed belly first into the table and her hand curled around the blade just as the shifter woman grabbed her by the hair and yanked.

  A familiar calmness settled over Tempest as she spun toward Nyx, her scalp stinging. She grabbed a handful of the woman’s dress and held her in place, pressing her knife between Nyx’s breasts just as the shifter’s own blade touched the vulnerable skin beneath Temp’s chin.

  Both women stilled, and Tempest held Nyx’s once warm gaze with her cool, stormy one.

  “We’re at an impasse,” Tempest stated. “This does not need to end in bloodshed. Since you arrived, you’ve done nothing but care for me, and, for that, I am grateful. You can walk away now unscathed if you leave me in peace.”

  Tension filled the space around them as Nyx’s fingers tightened in Tempest’s hair. Cool air teased Tempest’s skin, and water dripped down her nude body and plopped onto the floor in a constant staccato as she waited for the shifter woman’s reply. She scanned Nyx’s expression for any hint of her next move. If she didn’t agree to a parley, then Tempest would have to take matters into her own hands.

  “Even if I do go along with your plan, he won’t let you go,” the shifter whispered, her brown eyes serious. “You wouldn’t make it to the river.”

  “I’m resourceful,” she argued. “Let me go. You look like you’ve been in a fight. It’ll be easy to convince the men that you were attacked.”

  Nyx pursed her lips and dropped her blade. She stepped warily away and walked to the table. The shifter woman waved a hand at the door. “Give it a go, Lady Hound.” She chuckled. “This will be the highlight of my day.”

  Tempest kept the woman in her vision as she tossed Pyre’s tunic over her head and used the bedsheet to roughly dry her wet skin. She sliced the huge blanket in half and tied it around her throat and hair in a makeshift cloak, then cut a smaller strip to create a belt and secured it over her hips. Her wet hair dripped down her back, but she didn’t bother with it. There wasn’t time.

  She backed toward the door, surveying Nyx, while Nyx stared back at her. It wasn’t any use tying up the woman because she’d just break through the bonds. Tempest’s best chance was speed.

  “You’re not what I expected,” the shifter woman murmured softly. “Best be off with you.”

  “Take care of yourself, Nyx,” Tempest said as her hand curled around the doorknob. “The company you keep is dangerous.”

  “You have no idea, little Hound.”

  With the parting remark, Tempest pushed through the door and sprinted into the woods, just far enough so she couldn’t see the cottage anymore. Tilting her head back, she located the sun’s position. To her right was west and her left east.

  Pine needles poked the soles of her feet as she searched for a good climbing tree. If she could clear the top level of the forest, she would be able to tell which way was south.

  Spying a tree, the perfect tree, she tucked up the blanket into her makeshift belt and began to climb, ignoring each ache and pain. Her arms trembled, and her stomach swooped as she neared the top, and the tree swayed in the wind. O
nly a few more paces to go.

  Tempest slung her leg over a thin branch that she hoped would hold her weight and hugged the trunk, not caring that sap now clung to her arms. If anything, it would help disguise her scent. Her breath caught and awe filled her as she stared at the immense forest and the massive mountain range that kept the monsters of the wilds from Heimserya. All but the dragons. The mountains made the perfect home for the scaly, flying lizards and were located on the farther northern tip of the kingdom.

  She turned her face to the south and lay her cheek against the rough bark. The shifters had carried her much farther into the woods than she’d anticipated. Blowing out a rough breath, Tempest went over her options.

  She couldn’t go back to the king without the Jester’s heart. Her cover was blown if the shifters that had captured her were in association with him—which she highly suspected they were. Now, her kingdom’s enemy would be expecting her.

  Tempest grunted. That would make it a lot harder to kill him. But not impossible.

  A strand of periwinkle hair blew into her face. If she cut her hair and disguised herself as a boy though… that might work. But cutting it here wouldn’t do. She mustn’t leave any evidence. She needed to go south and find a bigger town to lose herself in. Then she could regroup and attack the Jester at a different angle.

  With her chosen path in mind, Tempest climbed down as fast as she dared. She paused twenty feet from the ground and surveyed the forest around her tree. Nothing seemed amiss. Tempest waited an excruciating five minutes just to make sure a trap wasn’t lying in wait. Now was not the time to make a mistake.

  Her feet complained as she landed silently on the forest floor. She crouched before running south. The river should be close if the men had brought back water for her bath. Out of habit, she hid her smile. They tried to keep so much from her, but inadvertently they’d given her an escape route.

  Her footfalls were silent as she ghosted through the forest, keeping to the long shadows of the trees. Her skin tingled and her eyes scanned the surrounding area constantly for threats or followers. She didn’t feel like she was being hunted—yet—but that didn’t mean anything. No one was infallible. Madrid had taught her that. Arrogance killed more than any assassin ever did. She mustn’t get cocky.