Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1)

by Jaycee Jarvis

  “Going hunting?” A frown wrinkled Isabel’s forehead. “Whatever for?”

  “A little extra meat is always welcome at Aerynet.”

  “You’d be better off wearing a sari and hunting for a husband. Let him worry about that temple of yours.”

  “I can’t trust Aerynet to someone who marries me for my limited earthly charms.” Her heart ached. Lord Evan had no interest in her beyond her pretty face. How could she expect him to respect her opinions about her temple when he failed to ask her opinion on their marriage? There had to be another answer. She couldn’t think with the walls of the house closing around her.

  Isabel tapped her foot. “You’re prettier than you give yourself credit for.”

  Em suppressed a sigh and reached for her atlatl.

  “You are. You could shine like a jewel at the feast if only you attended to your appearance.”

  Em eyed the space in the doorway and considered squeezing past Isabel. “I’m sure my new sari will be very beautiful.”

  “Don’t pretend you care.” Isabel braced an arm across the doorway. “It will be the most beautiful sari you have ever owned, and you haven’t tried it on.”

  “Why would I try it on? Does it need to be folded differently?” Fermena protect her from Isabel’s latest fashions.

  “No, no.” Isabel waved a hand impatiently. “Have you no curiosity about how it will look? You have no desire to be beautiful? Fine. Then I will make you beautiful for your father, for your brother my husband, so they will be proud at the festival, and people will not whisper at you behind their hands as if you are a poor relation. Will you at least try to help me in this? Can you try not to embarrass us all?”

  Em’s face felt hot. “I always do my best to make my family proud.”

  Isabel raised one imperious eyebrow.

  She gritted her teeth. “I will be the very model of a Lady at the festival, I promise.”

  “Well, you needn’t be quite so demure.” Isabel’s eyes sparkled. “It is an Allgoday celebration after all. A little license is allowed, and you need to practice the fine art of flirtation.”

  “Jonathan’s friends don’t need any encouragement from me.” The only man she wanted would not be invited.

  “I think some of Jonathan’s friends are quite charming. And if they are not to your taste, we have guests coming from all over Destin. If you try, you are sure to find someone fun to flirt with.” Isabel leaned forward with a wicked smile. “An Allgoday festival is a fine time to test out a suitor, as it were, to make sure you are compatible in all aspects of married life.”

  “What if I’m not interested in marriage? I wouldn’t want to raise expectations.”

  “It’s all in good fun on Allgoday. You aren’t going to break any hearts, I assure you.”

  Em tucked a quiver of arrows under her arm. “Scampering off into the bushes after sunset doesn’t seem like the best way to find a nice man who respects me.”

  Isabel laughed. “Who wants a nice man? Especially on Allgoday! You need a man who fills you with fire.”

  “Nice men can be full of fire, too.” The memory of Quintin’s touch sent heat spiraling through her belly.

  Smirking, Isabel wagged a finger at Em. “If you find such a paragon—a man who both respects you and fills you with fire—I suggest you hold on to him with both hands.”

  Em’s stomach turned to stone. Isabel was right. Men such as Quintin were a rare treasure, but he had wisely resisted her seduction and would never come courting. He was a Hand, a man whose honor was above reproach, while she was a thief whose honor was for sale. The world would think she had set her sights too low if she accepted a mere auditor. She knew better and so did he.

  Suddenly she felt sick.

  “The best we can hope for is a man or two for you to have some fun with at the festival,” Isabel teased.

  Em’s fingers tightened on her atlatl. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go now if I’m to return in a timely fashion.”

  “You persist in hunting? My parents are due to arrive today.”

  Biting her lip, Em swallowed a rude response. She needed the solitude more than ever if she was going to face their guests with any kind of decorum. “I’ll be back in time to welcome your parents with the respect they deserve.”

  Isabel tapped her fingers on the door frame. “Promise me you won’t let any of our guests see you.”

  “I won’t embarrass you, or my father. I promise.”

  “Very well.” Isabel stepped aside to let Em pass.

  As Em entered the stable, she waved away the groom who jumped up to attend her. She picked up a light riding saddle, slipping the atlatl and arrows into the saddle bag.

  Her okapi peered at her from over the door to his stall. Built for looks and speed, he was a beautiful animal, with a long graceful neck and intelligent eyes. He snuffled at her as she approached, his purple tongue flicking out to snatch a leaf off her shoulder.

  She smiled and scratched the sensitive skin between the short horns on his wide forehead. Shifting her grip on the saddle, she opened the half door to his stall. She smoothed the blanket covering him from sloping shoulders to swishing tail before swinging the saddle onto his broad back. With one hand gripping his halter, she opened the door to lead him outside to the mounting block.

  As she settled into the saddle and headed into the jungle, her spinning thoughts slowed. While Quintin’s kindness and kisses were too sweet to forget, she needed to move past them. More important to her immediate happiness was finding a way to support Aerynet so she could refuse Lord Evan with a clear conscience.

  It would break her heart to marry a man who neither respected her nor filled her with fire.

  Chapter 23

  Shadows carpeted the jungle floor even as the sun rose to its highest point. The air was heavy and still, filled with the whistles and twitters of birds flying through the tree tops, unperturbed by the intruders below.

  Quintin shivered, feeling insignificant in the vast, trackless jungle. Struggling to keep Elkart’s russet brown tail in sight, he pushed aside a sapling with his staff. We’re lost, aren’t we?

  Not lost. The waccat’s tail twitched. Maven and Terin this way.

  Quintin ducked under a low branch. And once we find Maven, will we be able to find our way home again?

  When we find Maven, we kill bogbear, not go home. Elkart’s ear swiveled around as a twig snapped under Quintin’s foot. Unless bogbear hear you first.

  The large cat slipped between a pair of bushes with a soft rustle of leaves.

  Scowling, Quintin followed. Branches snagged his clothes in three places at once. He flailed around with his staff in an ineffectual attempt to free himself, before crashing after his waccat in a shower of leaves.

  Elkart waited on a narrow track, every line of his body radiating displeasure.

  I’m taller than you. Quintin brushed a twig off his shoulder and frowned at a tear in his kaftan. I can’t move as quietly.

  The tip of the waccat’s tail flicked against the ground. Bogbear big. Not noisy like you.

  If we follow the path, I can be quieter.

  Maven not on path.

  Then what do you want to do? Quintin knocked his staff against the undergrowth, breaking more twigs. They had been tramping around for hours with no sign of Maven or the bogbear. He was hot, tired and irritable. Hauling watermelons for his mother would have been more satisfying. I can’t bushwhack through the jungle in silence.

  You go home. I hunt. Elkart jumped into the bushes and disappeared.

  Be careful, Quintin mentally called after him. He received a wordless reassurance in reply.

  The track cut through the forest in both directions with nothing to distinguish one way from the other. He shrugged and started wal
king. The path was sure to lead back to the trade road eventually, or to someone who could point him in the right direction. His footsteps squelched on fallen leaves, the sound small and lonely in the jungle. Bird song and the distant howl of a monkey grew louder and more ominous in his solitude.

  He hadn’t gone far when the tromp and rustle of something heavy caught his attention. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. Was the bogbear behind him?

  He shifted to a two-handed grip on his staff.

  An okapi and rider appeared around a bend in the track. “Quintin? What are you doing here?”

  “Lady Emmanuella.” Her name was little more than a sigh. His tense body relaxed, while his traitorous heart sang. “By Fermice’s breath, am I glad to see you. I’m lost.”

  “Lost? Why are you on Merdale lands?”

  “My waccat led me on a crazy hunt and then abandoned me, dratted cat.” He peered past her. “What are you doing all alone, Lady Em? And in such casual garb.”

  She laughed. “Why am I ever out on my own and dressed below my station? I’m providing for my temple.”

  “Your temple?”

  “I’m hunting.” She patted the feathers of a curassow carcass tied to her saddle. “The fishmonger is vexed with us, so there will be no meat on the table this week unless I provide it.”

  “Your temple offended a fishmonger? Doesn’t he want Fermena’s blessing?”

  “Maral is the patron of fishermen, and those who want an air blessing usually prefer Ferel to Fermena these days, more’s the pity.” She dismounted and gestured down the path. “Merdale is back there, if that is an acceptable way to get unlost.”

  He grimaced. “I’d rather not parade my foolish self in front of the manor house if it can be avoided. Do you know a more direct route to the trade road?”

  “I think the trail along the ridge on this side of the garden is passable.” She looped the okapi’s reigns around her hand and murmured to turn him around.

  The narrow path made it impossible to walk abreast. Quintin fell in behind them, his view dominated by the okapi’s brown and white striped hindquarters. The plodding animal occasionally stretched out its long neck and nibbled the overhanging vegetation. The distant sounds of the jungle closed in around them, but this time the bird song felt more cheerful.

  Em turned the okapi off the path onto an overgrown trail. The land sloped up before leveling off. Soon they were skirting the edge of a hill, with tantalizing glimpses of the manor house visible through the trees.

  They paused where a fallen tree blocked the trail. Its massive trunk crushed the underbrush along its length, leaving a clear view of the Merdale gardens.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” She made a sweeping gesture at the majestic garden beds, laid out like a tapestry below.

  “It’s lovely,” he agreed, though his eyes were on the woman beside him. While he longed to express his admiration for her, his swollen tongue would never find the right words.

  “It will look magical on Allgoday, with torches everywhere and the big bonfire in the middle.”

  “Looking forward to throwing your flowers on the fire?”

  “I certainly don’t begrudge the gods my thanks. Fire is a blessing to us all.” She sighed deeply. “This past season has been challenging, especially of late. Yet the gods have not forsaken me or Aerynet. I must have faith Fermena will continue to take care of us. After all, she delivered you to be my salvation.”

  “I’m not sure if I’ve been a blessing or a curse,” he muttered, thinking of Fredrick and his threats.

  “You have been a blessing.” She touched his arm. “Never doubt it. We’d have no provisions at all if it weren’t for your beans.”

  Her hand warmed his skin, sparking memories of her touch on other parts of his body. He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus past his distracting response. Her words didn’t make any sense. “You used my cacao to buy food?”

  “And pay off the fishmonger.” She let go of his arm to fiddle with the reins. “He was incensed about getting his payment late.”

  His bafflement grew. He’d assumed the man threatening her had something to do with her sneak work. He had a hard time imagining a food vendor terrorizing a Lady. “The man you were so afraid of was a fishmonger?”

  “I’m not afraid of him.” She bit her lip and wrapped the leather cords around her fingers. “I just don’t want him spreading tales around the marketplace. We’ve enough trouble paying for food and supplies as it is.”

  He frowned. Why was she purchasing food for Aerynet? Was there something wrong with her temple lands? How many devotees did the place support? He opened his mouth to ask and grunted instead when her okapi sidestepped into him.

  The animal snorted and tossed its head.

  Em gasped. “What’s that?”

  The nightmare visage of a bogbear emerged from the side of the path. Dagger sized fangs bracketed a muzzle wide enough to crush a watermelon. Branches snapped as powerful shoulders pushed through the underbrush.

  The okapi bleated.

  “Get out of here,” Quintin told Em.

  The shaggy brown body squeezed between the trees and turned to face them. On all fours, it was as tall as a man.

  Quintin braced himself with his staff at the ready. Elkart! he called mentally. Bogbear here.

  His waccat’s reply was a distant echo of acknowledgment, too far away to help.

  Eyes rolling, the bogbear snuffled in their direction.

  “Go away,” Quintin shouted, shoving the words into the beast’s brain, though the mind command had little chance of working against a wild animal at this distance.

  The bogbear snarled, exposing a row of sharp teeth. It lowered its head and charged, shaking the ground with bounding strides.

  Quintin’s heart pounded. He held his stance until the beast was an arm’s length away. Ducking to the side, he swung his staff. It thunked against the animal’s skull.

  The bogbear yowled. Curved claws swiped at Quintin.

  He dodged the massive paw. Swung again with his staff. Missed!

  The beast retaliated. Sharp claws slashed deep into his forearm.

  He gulped, instinctively using his water gift to keep his blood in his body. The other end of his staff thwacked the animal’s snout.

  The bogbear snorted and shook his head.

  Desperate for room to maneuver, Quintin stumbled back. He tripped and fell. Agony shot through his arm. He dropped his staff.

  The bogbear roared.

  Quintin saw his own death in the beast’s eyes.

  I love you, Elkart. he mentally shouted, praying his waccat was near enough to understand his final thoughts. He wished he could do the same for his mother. Wished he’d had the courage to tell Em how he felt. Regret burned a hole in his heart. He would die a virgin, too shy and scared to have taken a chance on love. What a waste.

  The beast charged.

  Without much hope, he yanked at the air in the bogbear’s lungs. Though wind ruffled its fur, the beast didn’t cough. A feeling of doom gripped Quintin.

  He was about to try again when a stick sprouted from the creature’s thick neck.

  Yowling, the bogbear reared onto its hind legs.

  Another stick sprouted from its belly.

  The beast bellowed in rage.

  Kicking up leaves, Quintin scooted away.

  A third arrow appeared in the animal’s side.

  Quintin staggered to his feet, cradling his wounded arm against his chest.

  With a final howl, the bogbear turned and crashed through the undergrowth.

  This time he saw the dart before it struck the fleeing animal. Following the path of the arrow, he spun back to the clearing by the fallen tree.

  His breath caught.

&nb
sp; Em stood in the stirrups on her okapi, the length of her atlatl extended from her last throw. She looked like an avatar of Tarina, more mythical beast than mere rider, the coat of her okapi shining like her sunlit hair.

  Quintin had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his life. “Magnificent,” he breathed.

  Her face split with a fierce grin.

  Despite the pain in his arm, he grinned back, dizzy with sheer joy from being alive. Or perhaps blood loss. He gritted his teeth and yanked his blood back into his body where it belonged.

  “That was magnificent, wasn’t it?” She plopped back down in the saddle and nudged her okapi with her heels. The animal snorted and pranced but moved closer to Quintin. The sounds of the bogbear’s retreat faded as she slid from the okapi’s back.

  “You are magnificent.” He smiled shyly. “Nice shooting, too.”

  “You were the magnificent one, facing the monster on foot.” She threw her arms around him and gave him a smacking kiss.

  He flinched slightly at her enthusiasm. Her grip loosened. Quintin slipped his uninjured arm around her waist to stop her from stepping away, pulling her close enough to see the brown rings in her dark eyes. A gentle breeze stirred the soft hairs framing her face.

  Her breath caught. Something warm and welcoming flickered across her face.

  He tilted his head. On the verge of kissing her, he whispered, “I love you.”

  “What?” She jerked her head back. Her chin knocked into his nose.

  He let go of her to rub his nose. “I love you,” he said again, his voice nasal and distorted.

  “You’re only saying that because I saved your life.”

  “It’s true I couldn’t say it if I were dead.” His heart pounded, straining his underused water gift. “When I was lying there and the bogbear came at me . . .” He struggled to contain his emotions, the wounds in his arm threatening to gush and bleed. “I was sure I was dead, and all I could think about was how I’d never told you how I feel. I love you, Lady Emmanuella a’Fermena.”