by Lucy Tempest
“Yes, we will!” Castor growled.
“It’s not a moose or a bear, Woodbine.” Will dropped the tray on the table before us, rattling the cups and spilling tea from the pot’s spout. “This is the King of the Beasts we’re talking about, something we’ve never seen the likes of. And then, it dodged every attempt you made to capture it. It even once led you into your own trap. You remember how that ended.”
Vicious determination shone in Castor’s eyes. “It only means I have to try harder, with better weapons.”
“No, it means it can outwit you,” Will scoffed. “Which isn’t saying much.”
Castor ignored him, continued, “The army now has handheld firearms that some nobles use to hunt. If I could get one—“
The hooded man stomped into the room, eyes still obscured and fists clenched as he yelled, “You’re not hunting the Beast, and that’s final!”
Castor got to his feet, confronting him. “Just because you’re all cowards doesn’t mean I have to cower with you. If you’re content to live under its threat, fine. But I’m not going to continue offering it sacrifices and praying it won’t slaughter me like it did everyone in that castle. Maybe you choose to forget, but among those it devoured was Dale and Glenn’s sister, who was to be my wife!”
Dale came between them, glaring up at Castor. “Stop bringing her up!”
Castor only persisted. “I will not stop!”
Dale unsheathed his sword, holding it up like he was about to smack him with it. “Don’t make me use this.”
“How dare I want to avenge your sister, right?” Castor drawled bitterly. “Someone has to, seeing as you both refuse to.”
Dale’s eyes hardened to the frozen-blue of icicles. “It’s not your place to avenge her.”
“It is! She was mine as well as yours!” His anger melted into hurt, as if the thought of the knight’s sister reopened a wound.
I was debating my urge to reach out and comfort him when Dale stormed out of the room and up the stairs. I turned to my father in time to notice Will pouring something into the teapot.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Will poured two cups, dark fringe shadowing his eyes. “Tree sap. We’re out of sugar, so this will have to do as our sweetener for now.” He offered me a cup with a crooked smile. “Drink up, it will make you feel better.”
Suddenly realizing how parched I was, I eagerly accepted it. We might have been in some kind of magical coma for two weeks, and that was why we’d survived without food or drink, but my body was now waking up and screaming for sustenance. My father must be feeling the same way, as he, too, reached for his cup and drank thirstily.
I’d downed the first cup and poured another when Glenn burst back into the lodge. I choked on my tea at the sight of his face, so pale it appeared almost grey in the amber firelight.
“The Beast was seen out of the castle!” he stuttered. “They’re saying it’s on the prowl!”
Castor rose to his feet. “But both we and the Bentleys left it a whole elk each.”
My eyes went to the largest set of antlers on the wall as Glenn shook his head. “It must have rejected them. We have to try something else before it starts picking off our people!”
Will cut off Castor’s demand to attack short. “Not a suicide mission, you meathead.”
“No.” Glenn agreed. “No one will consider an attack, so give it a rest, Castor.”
Will’s eyes turned to me before flitting away. “We might soon be down to doing what our ancestors did in times like this—sacrificing prisoners of war to their gods and demons.”
Glenn’s lips thinned into a line. “But we no longer sacrifice those. And the war itself might soon be over.” He jerked his head towards the hooded man. “It’s why Rob and Dale were sent home, with King Florent said to be negotiating a treaty with the regent of Avongart.”
“King Florent is only rotating the forces on the frontline so far,” huffed Rob. “But I hope he can end the war, if only so we can be done with Prince Jonquil’s idiocy.”
“You mean Prince Jon’s regency,” Castor corrected.
Rob made a rude noise. “You heard me right.” He nudged my father’s arm. “Drink up before the steam’s all gone.”
My father obliged him, gulping the tea down, then setting the cup upon its saucer with a soft chink. “Very sweet—interesting flavor. What sort of tea did you say this was?”
Before Rob could respond, my father slumped forwards, head hitting his knees.
“Dad!” I tried to get up, but I couldn’t feel my legs, and the numbness was creeping up my arms, making it impossible to push myself up.
Panic flared in my mind, but nowhere else. My heart was steady, pumping a soft, lazy beat that left me warm and sluggish. My vision was blurring at the edges as my eyelids grew heavy, then it went sideways when my head hit the armrest.
What was happening to us? Was this a side effect of what that fairy woman had done to us, or was this something else…
The tea! They’d put something in it!
Castor shook me. “What’s going on? What’s happening to them?”
Rob pushed Castor away from me, before punching him, knocking him to the floor. “We’re doing what we must to appease the Beast.”
Castor struggled up, glaring daggers at Rob. “I won’t appease it, I’ll kill it.”
“Suit yourself then.” Will kicked Castor in the head, knocking him out this time.
Rob bent to pick my father up, giving Glenn a warning look. “As we’ve already said, this Beast is intelligent, and if it doesn’t want prey, then there’s only one thing it could want. The only animal that can hunt all others: a man.”
Will came to help Rob haul my father over his shoulder. “Not just any man, but a live one it can chase itself.”
Even against the downwards spiral of numbness, my pulse spiked in horror. I wanted to jump up, to attack them, stop them—to even scream. But I was paralyzed by the unstoppable invasion of drowsiness that had begun to claim my mind.
Glenn stepped before Rob, and hope soared within me. He’d stall them, call Sir Dale and they’d stop this madness in its tracks.
But Will pushed Glenn aside, knives out, face serious with intent. “Don’t play the hero, Glenn, and don’t call out to Dale, or we’ll just knock you both out like Castor. It’s either the old man or the girl. We have no better options.”
“They’re our guests,” Glenn hissed.
Will shoved him out of the way, making him stumble aside. “They’re random strangers we found in the woods. We owe them nothing.”
“In fact, I’d say the Fates led us to them at the most opportune time,” said Rob. “Just think of the Arboreans we lost in the war, especially conscripts from Rosemead. This one foreigner will spare countless of our countrymen from the Beast’s wrath. Spare many families from losing loved ones like you did. Anyway, there’s nothing you or Dale can do to stop us, and you know it.”
My eyes were starting to droop, but I still saw conflict gripping Glenn’s face. Then with a long, weary exhalation, he stepped aside, head hanging in defeat.
NO!
I struggled for every last drop of willpower so I could beg for my father’s life. But I had none left. I screamed inwardly at my helplessness, at the horror of their intentions. Outwardly, only a strangled whimper escaped me as they exited the lodge. My father’s inert body dangling over Rob’s back was the last thing I saw before I was reclaimed by the dark depths of nothingness.
Chapter Three
Light tickled my eyelids, chasing the darkness away.
They felt fused together, almost tore apart when I cracked them open. And found a snarling wolf staring down at me.
I bolted upright with a strangled yelp. Swaying, my head swam, realizations sloshing within it like muddy water in a metal basin.
It hadn’t been a bad dream. The wolf was a mounted head and I really was in Castor’s family hunting lodge, in Rosemead. From the faint, rosy light pour
ing through the high windows between antlers, it was dawn. But there was no telling how long I’d been unconscious this time. It could have been two more weeks.
The possibility horrified me. There were no gaps in my memory that staved off the onslaught of sickening recollections. This time they hit me like a lightning bolt, instantaneous and debilitating, tearing a shriek out of me.
“Dad!”
Castor’s friends had given us some sort of sleeping-draught. They’d taken my father up to some castle, as a sacrifice—to the Beast!
I heaved up to my feet, but on my first step, my legs gave and brought me down to my knees with a crash that must have echoed throughout the lodge’s wooden floors.
I dragged myself up with a groan, pain screaming in my knees, sweat pouring down my back. My pace was sluggish, my body heavy, like my bones had been coated with lead. Whatever they’d given me, I had to shake it off. I had to get to that castle, had to…
Had to what? What would I do? What could I do?
What if I was too late and the Beast had—had—
“Ah, you’re up.” Castor came into the sitting room, a wooden chest under one arm and a covered wicker basket hanging from the other, sweet smells wafting from it. “I was about to come wake you.”
“Where is my father?” I rasped, stumbling to grab his arm.
Eyeing my clawing hands in surprise, he offered me the chest. When I didn’t make a move to take it, he sighed. “We can discuss this over breakfast. How about you get dressed first? I had the maid change you out of your ruined clothes when we first got you, but I thought you’d appreciate some fresh clothes, so I brought you some of my mother’s.”
I stared at him, stunned by his nonchalance.
“I don’t want breakfast,” I snapped, my harsh voice alien in my ears. “I want my father.”
His smile stayed put, but his gaze flickered. “So do I.”
“What do you mean?”
He pressed the chest at me. “We’ll talk over breakfast. Now, please get dressed.”
“But—”
“Please,” he stressed, his loudness making me wince.
I reluctantly took the chest, if only for the promise of something other than the drenched in sweat nightgown to wear. Inside, I found a wrinkled, emerald green tea-gown, woolen slip and socks and a pair of black flats. Predictably, everything but the shoes appeared to be too big.
“You don’t have to worry,” Castor said as I retreated to search for a place to change. “You’re not alone now.”
I didn’t have a name for the feeling that stalled my response. It could be the warping effects of the sleeping-draught, or that I couldn’t process his meaning. All I knew was that his words had the oppressive emotions storming through me at my father’s and Ada’s absence crushing me even harder.
I found some storage room and struggled out of the billowy nightgown and into the equally roomy but dry clothes before padding back out. I found him sitting at the dining table on a chair turned sideways, sharpening a cutlass with slow, precise slides, each a painful scrape along my every nerve.
At my approach, he perked up, giving me a big, smoldering smile that melted some of my jitters away.
Kicking out the chair next to him, he patted the seat. “Sit. Eat.”
I glanced around the table. There was oatmeal, raspberries, a rusting creamer, a small jar of honey, a block of cheese, a basket of bread rolls, and a pot of tea. Almost the same as the typical home breakfasts in my land. But not what I’d been eating for the past few months. I’d been starting the day with Adelaide, mostly eating what she served at the tavern.
The thought of her, on top of my dread for my father, had bile creeping up my throat, sparking a wave of overwhelming nausea I’d never suffered before. “I’m not really hungry.”
Though his smile stayed put, his eyes hardened as he repeated, “Eat.”
“But—”
“Not going to listen to you unless you talk with your mouth full.”
Finding no energy to resist, I settled beside him and poured cream and honey in my oatmeal. He watched me as I stuffed the first lukewarm spoonful into my mouth then relaxed.
“That dress looks lovely on you,” he began. “There’s a lot more upstairs, all yours, along with shoes, coats, hats and riding boots, too.”
The uncertain reaction was back. I couldn’t peg what I was feeling, towards anything he said, and now about this offer. “Thank you?”
Beaming, he gestured for me to continue eating. When I began to shake my head, he dumped a handful of berries in, nudged the bowl closer. I knew he was right. I had to eat, to keep my strength for whatever came next. So I struggled to tamp down the nausea, picked the bowl up. It was only when I began shoveling more in that he sat back with a satisfied smile.
When I set the bowl down empty, feeling like food was up to my neck, and nausea up to my eyes, he nodded approvingly. “Now, what did you want to talk about?”
I goggled at him. “You know what. My father being kidnapped by your friends.”
He shook his head. “They’re not my friends. Hunting partners, yes, and we occasionally patrol the borders of the city together for any kind of fairy activity. Other than that, I tolerate their cowardice and ineptitude because they’re still the best I could find to partner with and, well, I am a generous person. I was even going to do Dale the honor of marrying his sister, giving her everything her family couldn’t. He certainly couldn’t achieve much with his simple knighthood. But that future got destroyed when she was lost.”
He poured me some tea, and I found myself more interested in the bubbles that roamed its surface than in what he was saying. I’d heard that some witches read one’s future in tealeaves. In one of the books I'd read about the lost lands, what I now knew to be the east of the Folkshore, they read coffee grounds. But this brew was a clear light yellow rather than red, with no tea residue, and smelled strongly of mint. Even if I knew how, I couldn’t look in it for answers about my fate, or those of my loved ones.
He ordered me to drink, and I only said, “You said Glenn and Dale’s sister was killed by the Beast?”
Anger seemed to brim within him, twitching various muscles around his perfect face. “She would still be here if she’d listened to me. So would my father.”
His father. So that was what he’d meant earlier, when I’d said I wanted my father. He’d lost his, too. “What happened to him?”
Castor’s mouth twisted as he answered my earlier question. “She was going to marry me and I would have elevated her family’s station by making her the lady of my house. My family has properties that bring in a great sum yearly. But she insisted on taking a job up in the castle. Why would a woman want to be someone else’s servant rather than have her own?”
“Maybe she wanted to have her own money?”
“For what reason? I would have given her an allowance.” He nudged my arm. “Drink your tea.”
I glared at him. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“The last time I drank tea, I lost my father,” I ground out.
“I am deeply sorry about that. I, too, lost my father to the Beast.” His eyes darkened with a heartache that quieted my annoyance, and made me want to reach out, share mine. “We were attempting to hunt it a few months ago, and against my demands, my father broke off from the group to chase it deeper into the woods where we’d set traps. By the time we found him, my father was caught in one of them, mauled to death.”
The thought of my father suffering the same fate finally solidified what was happening in my mind.
I was lost in a new land, with my best friend taken by fairies and my father sacrificed to a monster. And it was all my fault.
None of this would have happened if I hadn’t clung to that map, hadn’t hounded Ada about going to the Hornswoods where those eyes had seen us, what must have been the fairy’s. I’d wanted to leave home, leave my father alone, all to see either Faerie or Arboria. Now I’d lost
them both in those places.
Something horrible welled in my chest, spread up to scream in my head, burn behind my eyes. I gasped with its agony, cried out as it scorched my blurring vision and ran down my sizzling cheeks. I’d always read about people crying with desperation or desolation, had seen some doing so, but had understood it only on a mental level. I hadn’t had anything to cry about, not since my mother died when I wasn’t yet six.
And because I’d never appreciated that, I now had everything to weep for.
Castor set his hand on mine, shocking me out of my surrender to guilt and misery. I lurched, rearing my chair on its back legs before it slammed back down, jostling a tearing hiccup from my throat.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, gripping my hand.
“No—it’s not,” I wailed, tears running thicker, sobs hacking in my chest harder. “My family are gone. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I know how you feel, so believe me when I say I can help you through this.” Before I could respond, he rose, bent to pick me out of my chair as if I was a child. Stunned, I went limp against him, the last rise of tears squeezing from my swollen eyes as he took me back to the sitting room. “Stay with me and we’ll move to my family’s estate where you will have everything you could want—clothes, flowers, sweets and servants to tend to your every need. You’ll never need to leave the manor.”
I stiffened against him then struggled, to piece together everything he’d said so far, and so he would let me back on my feet. “What do you mean, stay with you?”
“I’ll take care of you, and we can rebuild the family we lost.” He set me down, pulled back to eye me appreciatively. “With your beauty and delicate poise and my, well, everything, we could have the perfect family and household.”
I gaped at him until the chokehold of shock allowed me a breath. Then everything crashed in place as I squeaked, “You want me to marry you?”
He nodded, hands keeping my unsteady form in place, earnest eyes roaming me, searching for things he seemingly approved of. “Small as you may be, you look quite healthy. Together, we will have children so beautiful the fairy queens will scratch their eyes out in envy.”