The Hunt

by Frost Kay

“It is good to see you, Tempest,” he murmured into her hair. His voice was low and serious, and it sent a chill running down her spine that she hated.

  How did he know about the king? Suspicion wormed its way through her. Did he suspect that she knew about the true origin of the sickness decimating the mountain villages? She squeezed her uncle a little too tightly as if the action would somehow make everything she now suspected of the man to be completely untrue. But Tempest could not shake her fear away. If Aleks was involved with all the deaths in Heimserya—and was pinning it all on the shifters—then she wouldn’t know what to do.

  No, that was wrong. Tempest knew what she had to do. She simply didn’t want to face off against the man she oftentimes still believed to be her father. How did the world get so messed up?

  She glanced up at Aleks as they broke away, searching for some kind of answer in his eyes. But his expression was carefully composed; Tempest would find no answers there. So, instead, she asked, “Where is Madrid?”

  It was Dima who replied. “He is at the palace with the king, I believe. Do you need to speak to him urgently?”

  Maybe he could help her, or he could be part of it… “If that’s at all possible. I—”

  “Lady Tempest?”

  Tempest and her uncles turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. She frowned when she spotted the source. It belonged to the servant girl who had shown her to King Destin’s chambers. It was a feat to hide her disdain, not for the girl, but the uncaring way the king sent his female servant out into the night into a barracks full of randy warriors.

  She fought the violent urge of desire to strangle the king. Tempest nodded gently as worry and rage waged war in her chest.

  “Your Grace requests your presence at the palace immediately,” the servant said, in a tone that told Tempest there was no way she could find a way to delay the meeting.

  She glanced at her uncles. “I must go.”

  “Did you not wish to speak to Madrid first?” Maxim asked, concerned. Clearly, Tempest’s face betrayed more of her unease than she was capable of hiding.

  “I can speak to him later,” she said, knowing that she probably wouldn’t. What was she supposed to ask Madrid, anyway? If the Hounds were completely corrupt? If Madrid had a hand in it all? If King Destin was an evil, manipulative man? If she asked any of those questions, and the answer was yes, she’d be dead before morning.

  Tempest followed the servant out of the courtyard without another word. Levka swaggered around the side of the barracks opposite of the fire and paused, eyes wide with surprise. But before she could utter a greeting, he averted his gaze and rushed off toward the Hounds.

  She frowned. He usually had no problem showing his distaste of her. Tempest peeked over her shoulder at his quickly disappearing figure. He was acting odd. What was wrong with him?

  There wasn’t any more time to mull over it. She needed to get her thoughts straight. Before Tempest knew it, she found herself in front of the heavy, mahogany doors to King Destin’s chambers. An eerie sense of déjà-vu crept up Tempest’s spine when the servant lightly squeezed her hand. She blinked at the servant and realized she didn’t know the girl’s name who offered her comfort in exchange for nothing. When the gut-wrenching meeting was done, she’d make sure to find out what her name was. The young woman was a good person.

  “Lady Tempest is here to see you, Your Grace,” the servant said, opening the one of the double doors in the process.

  The dreaded voice of King Destin answered, deceptively soft, “Let her in.”

  Tempest closed her eyes and took a deep breath before entering the king’s chambers, preparing herself for the worst. Several potential but terrible outcomes came to mind. She could be outed as a traitor and killed, or she could betray the Jester and his people and doom them to die instead. Or Tempest might successfully lie, and then…

  She’d be subject to the attentions of the king.

  To her relief, King Destin was fully clothed when she laid eyes on him, though he was lounging in his throne-like chair just as lazily as he had done the last time they’d spoken.

  He grinned. “My Lady Hound. How I have missed you. You have good news, I hope?” he crooned.

  Everything she’d rehearsed in her mind to say disappeared like smoke. For half a second, her mouth bobbed, and then she decided to jump straight into the deep end. If she were to die tonight, might as well not stand around waiting for it.

  She removed the metal box from her belt, closed the distance between herself and King Destin, her muddy boots sinking into the soft rug. With care, Tempest held out the box, opened the lid, and bowed.

  “The heart of the shifter responsible for the sickness around the mountains,” she announced, bowing even more deeply.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she focused on her boots, hyperaware of the king. Destin said nothing, though he took the box from Tempest’s outstretched hands almost immediately. She tried hard not to shift on the spot as the silence between them grew longer and longer. Sweat dampened her temples and the nape of her neck. Eventually, after several very long, painful minutes, the king set down the box on the table to the side of his throne.

  “Rise,” he commanded. “How did you come to take him down?”

  Tempest straightened her back to look the man in the eye. Here goes nothing. “I fell into a pit his shifter group had dug in the forest. Foolish, I know, but when they discovered that they’d accidentally entrapped an innocent girl they allowed me to stay with them while I recovered from my injuries. Throughout my time with them I learned about where they planned to attack next and visited one such village which they had ravaged. Considering everything I saw and heard, I decided it was too dangerous to leave the current shifter in command—he was too proficient in his planning and attacks to keep alive—so I took him down.”

  King Destin considered everything Tempest said with a somewhat surprised look on his face. Do not insist that what you say is true. He will know you are lying if you do so. She had to bite back the urge to speak.

  The king stood up to face her, a smile playing on his lips and a predatory glint in his amber eyes. “You have done well, my Lady Hound,” he said. “And you did the right thing in taking the fox leader out. You can debrief the war council on everything you saw and heard at their next meeting when you take your seat with them.”

  It was Tempest’s turn to feel surprised. In truth, she had not expected King Destin to honor his promise to her. Her eyes darted to the floor and then back to the king’s eyes. “That is… thank you, Your Grace.” That was too easy, wasn’t it?

  “Well,” he replied, moving closer to Tempest in the process. Much too close. “We did have a deal, after all. And if I’m upholding my end…”

  Destin wrapped an arm around Tempest’s waist, pulled her face to his, and brushed his lips against her cheek. She inhaled sharply, heart throbbing and head spinning at the uncomfortable proximity of the man. He moved way too quickly. She may be a Hound, but he was a lion.

  You bested a lion once before.

  “Forgive me,” she bit out, “but I have traveled far today in order to give you this information as soon as possible. I am weary and would like Aleks to check on the wounds I sustained from my fall in the pit. Could we… continue this another time when I have had a few days to recover?”

  King Destin paused, lips horrifyingly close to Tempest’s, before sighing good-naturedly and pulling away. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I refused you? Be off with you, Tempest, and sleep well. You will have a busy day tomorrow—we must have a celebration in your honor!”

  She smiled for the man, hoping it looked genuine. “You flatter me, my lord.”

  “It is not flattery if you have earned it. Sleep well.”

  Tempest did not need to hear more than that to be off, making sure not to run away as she had done the last time. She took slow, purposeful strides out of the king’s chambers, and did not once look back until she was well out of the palac
e.

  She couldn’t push him off like that again. She needed a plan. A proper plan. What she really needed was the truth. Toeing the line between her king and the Jester would not be easy. The sooner she uncovered evidence either way, the better.

  How in the hell was she supposed to find out what was going on? Tempest readjusted her bag and moved purposefully through the darkness in the direction of the barracks. As it was, her body ached and her mind was foggy. Any planning would have to wait until dawn.

  All she wanted to do was fall into unconscious oblivion and dream of nothing at all. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning. She huffed at her own whimsy, her breath turning to a puff of white fog.

  She’d always been a realist. Without a doubt, tomorrow would be worse than today.

  Tempest

  Once more, Tempest found herself at a celebration held in her honor, and, once more, she found herself feeling decidedly out of place.

  At least she didn’t have to wear an obscene dress this time.

  She picked at one of the raven-black feathers on her bodice and shifted the half-cape onto her back. Aleks had dutifully replaced the purple fabric that the lion had torn to shreds in her Trial. A phantom pain ran up her arm at the reminder of the wounds she’d suffered. Tempest rubbed at her bicep and studied the court peacocks prancing around the room. A smirk played about her mouth. Even though she’d shown up in her overly dramatic Trial outfit, nobody had noticed or they’d been too afraid to mention the fact that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for such a celebration. No one seemed to know what to make of her as the first of her kind.

  She was a Hound first and foremost, and a woman second. Is that really true?

  At the moment, she didn’t feel much like a Hound. It was as if she was a completely different person since her Trials. Tempest took a half-hearted sip of her ale. So much had changed in such a short time.

  Her gaze flicked to the king. Tonight, he celebrated merrily, but what would he be like at the war council meeting tomorrow? The man seemed to swap personalities like a man changed hats. She scanned the group of men and women fawning over their sovereign, noting several other advisers that would be on his council. How would they take her appearance? Would she even be heard, or was her place more decorative?

  Her nose wrinkled, and she took another sip of her ale. She’d never be decorative. They’d experience how outspoken she could be on the morrow—and how well she could lie. A ripple of unease roiled in her gut. Hopefully, she was doing the right thing. If not, she’d be betraying a group of people sworn to protect the kingdom—one she had equally sworn to protect.

  Dima’s saying popped into mind, “Cautious as a serpent, innocent as a dove.” The advisers could equally be innocent or guilty. Whichever it was, she needed to be careful. If she poked the bear too much and it was an inside job, Tempest could find herself hanging from the gallows.

  She swallowed down the rest of her ale in one go. The idea that King Destin and his inner circle were inciting a war was too much for her to cope with right now. The bitter ale soured her tongue. And all the while they danced, drank, and engaged in general revelry.

  “You are alone.”

  Tempest flinched at the words. She set her cup on the table near her right hip as she gathered her thoughts. His voice was one Tempest was used to hearing waspish indifference from. She turned to face him, crossing her arms across her chest on instinct. Levka towered above her, like his father did, watching her with tan-colored eyes that, for once, were not shadowed beneath a frown. What did he want with her? When they were alone, they usually ended up fighting.

  “Indeed, I am,” she said wearily. “I don’t know what you have up your sleeve tonight, but I don’t have the time to hear you spout insults, so if you’ll excuse—”

  “I wasn’t—I wasn’t going to say that,” Levka cut in quickly. He put his hands on Tempest’s shoulders and pushed her into the shadows of a nearby corridor, taking her enough by surprise that she blindly allowed him to do so.

  Alarm pricked her. “Levka, what is it?” she demanded, keeping her voice low simply because it seemed as if the situation warranted it. He stared at her. Her throat tightened. “Is it Maxim? Is he okay? Levka—”

  “My father is okay,” he said tightly. “I do not hate you.”

  Her brows snapped together in confusion at the subject change. “That’s good to know,” she said slowly.

  His fingers tightened on Tempest’s shoulders. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and then opened them once more. “I’ve never hated you.” His words rushed out in one stream. “I always thought—I don’t know… that when I got older, things would be easier, you know.” Frustration tinged his voice. “But it has only become bloody harder. When you passed your Trial, I thought I finally had my chance to make things better between us. But then you left.”

  A thread of hope unfurled in her chest. She’d always wanted Levka to see her as an equal, to treat her like a sister.

  “You left,” he continued, “and the month you were gone felt like the longest four weeks of my life. It wasn’t the same without you in the barracks, eating with my dad and me, sparring in the morning, drinking in the evening…”

  “What are you trying to say, Levka?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he huffed, clearly a little louder than he’d intended to speak. He waited for a couple of drunk soldiers to pass their way, then said, “It must be obvious, even to you. Tempest, I… I really like you.”

  She almost laughed. Her absence had brought about something good. “I like you too.”

  He cocked his head and scanned her face. “I don’t think you understand.” Levka brushed his thumb up the column of her neck. “I like you.”

  Her attention narrowed to the familiar, intimate way he touched her. She gurgled and caught the incredulous laughter from breaking free. Levka liked her? Tempest studied his expression and glanced around his shoulder. Not one of his friends were lurking nearby. He didn’t lose some sort of bet, did he? But then she thought back to something Juniper had said the morning of her Trial. She had hinted that he liked her and she’d totally disregarded it.

  Levka looked wildly uncomfortable. His gaze shifted to the wall behind Tempest’s head then back to her eyes. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “I never… I honestly thought you hated me.”

  He laughed softly. “Trust me, I don’t. Though I wanted to, all the time. But how could I hate you, Tempest, when you’re practically part of my family? When I’ve known you most of my life?”

  “Well you certainly did a good job of pretending you did…” Tempest muttered, though not unkindly. It was bizarre and oddly nice to be talking to Levka without them at each other’s throats—or speaking about something that wasn’t do-or-die, bloody, traitorous, or revolting. It was reassuring to know that her world hadn’t entirely collapsed over the past month.

  His lips quirked into the slightest of smiles and his thumb moved a little higher to the skin just behind her ear. “You haven’t rejected me.”

  “That’s because I have no idea what to think,” Tempest replied, blunt as ever. What was she supposed to think? She’d always thought of him as a brother.

  She had a moment’s warning that Levka was about to kiss her—the hint of him gulping back his nerves and tilting his head—and then his lips were on hers. It was distinctly different from when King Destin kissed her cheek. It was… comfortable. She knew Levka—he was the cranky, sullen boy she’d lived with her entire life.

  Tempest parted her lips before she had the time to really think it through, leaning back against the wall behind her when Levka pushed her against it. He ran a hand through her hair, deepening the kiss with an intensity Tempest had only ever seen from him in sparring practice. His tongue ran along her teeth, and she clenched her fingers into the front of his finely-woven shirt in response, determined to pull back, when he let out a growl of longing that
vibrated against her chest.

  Another face and embrace imposed itself over Levka—that of Pyre.

  She gasped when Levka pulled away with a dazed and happy expression on his face. Shame flamed her cheeks red. Had she really just thought about the Jester? There was something seriously wrong with her because there was a handsome warrior that liked her who was wholly acceptable, and yet, she felt nothing. The kiss had been good—great, even—and it hadn’t been unwelcome. But that was all it had been. No sparks. No excitement. No longing for more. It hadn’t been the way Juniper had once explained kisses should be at all.

  “I—I should go,” she told Levka, face flushing as she slid away from his grasp. She eyed the corridor for prying eyes. If this little escapade got back to the king, it wouldn’t mean good things for Levka.

  He walked a step or two after her. “Tempest…?”

  “I’m really tired,” she called back, giving him an apologetic wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow in the ring.”

  Tempest slipped unnoticed from the party and crawled into her bunk in the empty barracks. She mulled over Levka’s confession for a long time in bed, wondering how she would let him down. He was practically family, and she didn’t want to make it hard for either of them.

  Just before unconsciousness took over, a disturbing thought flitted through her mind, clearly indicating that Tempest did not entirely believe Levka’s excuses for not being kinder to her over the past few years.

  Why had he waited until she was a Hound, and on the king’s war council, to confess his feelings?

  “…Tempest? Tempest?”

  Tempest blinked. Sitting at her first war council wasn’t what she expected it to be. Exhaustion had plagued her for the past two days—it most certainly had to do with her fitful attempts to sleep and the nightmares that had chased her as soon as unconsciousness claimed her. You only had two nightmares while you were gone. The unwelcomed thought caused her to stiffen even as she nodded at Madrid.

  “Yes, it was the southern village on the edge of the mountains that had been destroyed. I saw it with my own eyes. Everyone was dead,” she said woodenly.