“Archery sounds good,” I say, “but the master is busy. Would you give me a lesson?”
His eyes narrow. “You aren’t Jannah, are you?”
My stomach chills. “I—”
“I’m teasing. I’m just surprised you’re actually admitting I’m the better archer. It’s about time. Now, where’s your bow?”
“I…forgot it?”
He sighs. “As usual. Grab one inside, and we’ll begin.”
I get two steps toward the cabin before someone shouts, “Hey!”
I turn to see the boy from earlier running toward me. My hand drops to my sword, and I back up toward Wilmot to protect the injured man.
“What are you doing here?” the boy demands as he slows.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I live here.”
I glance back at Wilmot. His brows knit in confusion. He’s been injured, and this boy is taking advantage of that. Pretending to know him—
“Dain,” Wilmot says. “Where have you been?”
“Tracking that—” He shakes his head. “Never mind.” He turns to me. “I don’t know who you are but—”
“This is Jannah,” Wilmot says.
Dain’s face screws up.
“Jannah of Clan Dacre,” Wilmot says. “The girl I told you about. The one who’ll hold the ebony sword someday.”
“Yes, you’ve told me lots about Jannah,” Dain says, his voice tight. “This isn’t her, Wilmot. You—”
A low growl sounds behind Dain. He turns to see Malric, and his hand moves to his dagger.
Before I can leap forward to protect the warg, Wilmot says, “Malric?”
He turns to me. “It is Malric, isn’t it? I recognize the blaze on his head, but he’s grown so much. The last time I saw him he was a pup.”
Bushes crackle as the jackalope comes running. Jacko leaps, and I catch him, and Wilmot laughs.
“Taming jackalopes now, Jani?” he says. “When did this happen?”
Before I can answer, he looks at Malric and shakes his head and then touches the bandage by his eye. “I’m confused again, aren’t I? Never mind. Dain, take Jannah—”
“This isn’t Jannah, Wilmot.”
“Did she tell you she’s Mariela?” Wilmot sighs. “She does that sometimes. Anyone who knows them can tell the difference. If you can’t, just look for the dirt. Jannah is always out scrapping or riding or tearing off on a grand adventure. If she drags her poor sister along, at least Mariela cleans up afterward.” He nods at me. “This is not Mariela.”
“I’d like to speak to her,” Dain says.
Wilmot nods and heads for the house. “Do that. I’ll get the bows. You could use some practice, too.”
Once Wilmot goes inside, Dain grabs for my arm. Malric snarls, and Jacko gnashes his teeth.
Dain lowers his hand and motions for me to follow him. I do. He waits until we’re away from the cottage. Then he spins on me.
“He is injured,” he says. “Can you not tell that? Coming here and telling him you’re Jannah—”
“I told him I wasn’t. I’m—”
“Princess Rowan.” He waves at my sword. “That gives it away, which is why you hid it earlier.”
“I didn’t hide anything. I don’t bathe with my sword.”
“In these woods, you should do nothing without that sword. And you shouldn’t misrepresent yourself, princess.”
“How did I misrepresent myself? I knew how to handle a war akin. I have a warg and a jackalope. Clearly I’m Clan Dacre. You saw all that and decided I’m a witch. The ridiculous answer instead of the obvious one.”
“I didn’t expect to find a princess wandering the forest alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have my warg and jackalope. And guards wait for me at the forest edge.”
“Where’s your brother? Your aunt?”
When I struggle to answer that, Dain’s eyes narrow. “You haven’t run away, have you? Please don’t tell me you came here to reunite your aunt and Wilmot. A silly girl with silly, romantic—”
“Jannah is dead.”
That stops him. He studies my expression as if I might be making a horrible joke. When he sees I’m not, he gives a gruff, “My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
He shifts his weight and looks over his shoulder. “If you came to tell him, it’ll have to wait. He wouldn’t understand.”
“What happened? Is it the blow to the head?”
His face gathers in a scowl. “A blasted pegasus. There’s a meadow to the north of here. I don’t know if the beast is orphaned or lost, but there’s a young pegasus filly there. Wilmot tried to capture her. To help her. And she kicked him for his trouble. She could have killed him. Instead, the blow addled his mind.” He straightens. “But it’s temporary. It happened only last month, and at first, he didn’t even know who I was. So he’s been getting better. It’s just all…”
“Muddled,” I say. “The past and the present.”
He nods. Then he says, “What happened to your aunt?”
“A gryphon.”
“Gryphon? Isn’t that what killed…?”
“My father, yes. A gryphon killed my dad, and then Jannah killed it. Now one has killed her…and I must kill it.”
He stares at me. Then he says, “I hope that’s a joke. Tell me you did not run away from the castle to get Wilmot’s help on this fool’s quest.”
“No, my mother sent me here—”
“To get Wilmot’s help killing a gryphon? Are you nuts? Are you all nuts? Your father died fighting a gryphon. Now your aunt has. Wilmot says they were both incredible hunters. And now you’re going to fight one?”
I could say that I might not have to—that the gryphon might not return or Mom might find another solution—but that won’t convince him I need training. So I say, “I don’t have a choice.”
He looks off to the side for a moment. When he answers, his voice is softer, gentle even. “If your mother sent you on this mission, then you need to speak to the council. In her grief, her mind’s as muddled as Wilmot’s. You aren’t even the hunter-elect. That’s your brother. You’re meant to be queen.”
“Not anymore. My brother was injured. He’ll be king. I’ll wield the ebony sword. But only if I kill the gryphon when it returns. Otherwise, Heward will give his children the throne and the sword, and rule through them. He’d be a tyrant. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“Then your mother needs to find another way to keep her throne. You can’t kill a gryphon. I’ve been training under Wilmot for five years now. While I may not have Clan Dacre blood, Wilmot says I’m a natural hunter.”
“Okay, so—”
“That isn’t bragging, princess. I’m making a point. Six months ago, a young gryphon was sighted just off the mountain. I wanted to go after it, and Wilmot locked me in the cabin until the beast was long gone. If he wouldn’t let me face a young gryphon, there’s no way you can fight a full-grown one.”
Time to change my tactics and admit the truth. “My mother hopes I won’t need to. She’s working on that. In the meantime, though, I must train. That’s why she sent me here. To train with Wilmot. You could help. You say his mind is improving. Help me train with him while we convince him I’m not Jannah.” I meet his gaze. “Your kingdom needs you.”
I expect that last part to sway him. When I say the words, though, his face darkens.
“You want me to help my kingdom?” he says. “Of course. Because it has helped me so much. My parents lost their farm when they couldn’t pay their taxes, princess.”
“What? No. We don’t—”
“The Crown took our farm, and I was sold into servitude. I’d barely begun school, and instead I was sent off to work as a rat catcher. If it wasn’t for Wilmot, I’d still be chasing rodents and hoping to buy my freedom before I died of disease.”
“That’s—that’s not right. We don’t take homes for taxes, and we don’t allow indentured servitude.
”
“Are you calling my parents liars?”
I almost say yes. Luckily, I stop myself. I don’t know what happened here, but I can’t accuse his family of lying.
He leans toward me. “Go away, little princess. Solve this problem yourself. Wilmot doesn’t need your kind of trouble…and neither do I.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
t’s midday, and I’m sitting on the forest floor, leaning against a tree. Jacko is stretched over my lap. Malric lies with his rear end toward me. Turning his back on me, disgusted by my failure.
I want my brother. I miss my mother, too, and Berinon, and I don’t even dare think of how much I miss Jannah and Dad, or I’ll collapse into a puddle of blubbering tears. Right now, though, it’s Rhydd I miss the most. We’ve been together since before we were born, and we’ve never been separated for more than a night. In the last four days, I’ve wanted him by my side, but I haven’t needed him there. I need him now.
I’ve messed this all up, and I don’t know how to fix it. Wilmot’s injured, and there’s this boy who hates me, and I don’t know what to do next. I want to talk to Rhydd. I want his advice, but I also want him, because I’m scared and I’m trying not to freak out.
Jannah told me to get Wilmot’s help. Those were her dying words. Get his help, and tell him she’s sorry. I couldn’t do either. I failed my aunt, and I failed Mom, too. If I couldn’t even manage this first task, how am I ever going to become the royal monster hunter?
I huddle beside that tree, face buried against my knees, head whirling with panic…and that is not going to help at all. None of it helps. I can’t wish my brother into appearing and telling me it’ll be okay. I need to do that myself. I need to make it okay. Stop panicking and think.
So this boy, Dain, hates me. For good reason, given what he believes my mother did. I know she didn’t—I was training to be queen, so I understand our laws and how we govern.
I’m sure his family did lose their farm and obviously he did become an indentured servant. But my mother doesn’t take homes and farms for unpaid taxes, and indentured servitude is illegal. The only explanation is that his family were tenants of Heward—or some other corrupt lord. I can’t tell Dain that—he’d say I was naive, blaming others to prove my mother innocent.
I can’t even imagine what that life must have been like for him. At the age of five, he’d been living with strangers, forced to catch rats for a living. When I turned five, I got my first pony and my first sword, and then I got mad because I wasn’t allowed to go on a proper monster hunt, so Dad released two colocolo in the barn. That was my “rat catching,” a game set up by a doting father, with a barn full of family and staff to cheer me on, and a plate of honey cakes and jam for when I captured the rat-headed lizards. I’m sure Dain didn’t get honey cakes and jam at the end of his day.
Dain might hate me, but I don’t hate him. I think about his life, and I wish I could get to know him better. That isn’t happening, though, and the important issue is that Dain is stopping me from training under Wilmot. I understand he doesn’t want me taking advantage of a sick man, but I need that training and Wilmot needs to get to the castle, where our doctors can help him.
Maybe that’s the answer. Dain obviously cares for Wilmot. I have to convince him that this is best for Wilmot.
I leap to my feet, startling Jacko. I heft him into my arms and hurry back toward the cabin, leaving Malric lumbering after us.
* * *
I find Dain out behind the cabin, practicing archery. Earlier, I insulted his skill because he’d hit me with one of his arrows. As I see him work, I realize my mistake. If he hit my sleeve, then he intended to—probably to warn me he was there. I watch Dain fire arrow after arrow at targets, knocking them over as easily as if he’d run down and shoved them off their perches.
“You’re good,” I say.
He wheels, bow rising. I lift my hands and walk toward him.
“I’m sorry I mocked you earlier,” I say. “You’re really good. I’ve never quite gotten the hang of archery, but I’ve never had a teacher who emphasized it, either. Our hunters are swordsmen first.”
He says nothing, just lowers the bow as I walk over, still talking.
“I would love to learn better marksmanship, and you are exactly the sort of teacher I need. The troop doesn’t have a single hunter who can shoot like you. I would be honored—”
“Stop.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Stop. Please. It’s a good thing you are no longer destined for the throne. Flattery is not your strong suit.”
“It’s not flattery.” I pause. “Okay, it’s not just flattery.”
He makes a noise, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s a laugh. A genuine one. “Your honesty is admirable, princess. Another reason why you shouldn’t sit on the throne.” He walks to the targets and plucks out his arrows. “You need my support in this harebrained scheme with Wilmot, so you’re complimenting my skill in hopes it’ll woo me to your side.”
“Yes, but I’d also like to learn better marksmanship.”
He eyes me over his shoulder.
“I mean that,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to be the royal monster hunter, and everyone says I’ll make a good one.”
“You’re a princess. They flatter you.”
I bristle. “I tamed a jackalope without even trying. Believe me, no one wants a jackalope companion.”
Jacko squeaks and chatters up at me.
I set him on the ground and wave at Malric. “Yes, Jannah gave me her warg, but he chooses to stay. He tolerates my companionship.”
“Tolerates?” Dain scoffs. “That’s not exactly high praise, princess.”
“No? Try getting within three paces of him. Even my brother can’t.”
“You may have a connection with beasts, but that doesn’t mean you can fight. You’re too young to face a gryphon.”
“I have faced one. I was there when my aunt fought the one that killed her. I snuck along to protect my brother. We came across a manticore, which seemed to explain the reports. Then the gryphon crashed through the barn roof and grabbed me. It carried me into the air, and I escaped, armed only with an arrow, which I plucked from my shoulder. I waited until it flew low, and then I cut its tendon so it would release me.”
As I tell the story, even I’m impressed. It will make an excellent bard song. I sound so much more heroic than I’d felt.
I expect to see respect in Dain’s eyes. Maybe even a touch of awe. When I don’t, I say, “There were witnesses. Many witnesses.”
“An arrow?” he says.
I straighten, swelling with pride. “Yes.”
“What happened to your sword?”
“I—”
“And you were caught off guard. You allowed yourself to be taken.”
“I—”
“Yes, you did well, princess. For a child.”
“Child?” I sputter. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirteen this summer.”
“And I’ll be thirteen in the fall. I’ll admit I can’t fight a gryphon alone. But for the sake of the kingdom, I must train. I must prepare. If you bring Wilmot to the castle, our skilled doctors can treat his injuries while he trains me.”
“No.” He heads for a small barn.
I jog after him. “But it’s best for Wilmot.”
“No, princess. It’s best for you. I will not entrust Wilmot’s care to the queen. He is improving daily and has no need of your physician.”
“But—”
“I said no. Now leave or you’ll see exactly how good my marksmanship is. And this time, I won’t aim for your sleeve.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
have an idea. It’s crazy, of course. All the best ideas are.
Dain calls me a child, but if I am, then so is he. I need to show him that I may be young, but I have what it takes to be a royal monster hunter. He doubts I have a way with monsters, so I’m going to prove it by capturing a beas
t. A very specific one.
First, I send Malric back to my guards with a message. Mom hoped that Wilmot would agree to train me, and that we’d return to the castle together, but she acknowledged neither of those things would be easy. She warned he might insist I stay there and train for a while, testing me, and I’d need to use that time to also persuade him to come back with me, since I couldn’t spend the entire summer at his cottage.
If I had to stay awhile, Malric was supposed to return to the guards bearing news, so they could go home while I began my mission. In my message, I don’t lie. I just…stretch the truth. I say that I’m with Wilmot and I’m fine, and they may return to the castle for a fortnight. That will keep them from coming after me while I complete the mission that will win me my training.
Next, I find a place to camp. We’re close enough to the mountains for me to locate a good cave. For safety, I will stay within sprinting distance of Wilmot’s camp until Malric returns. That night, instead of curling up with me, Jacko sits in the cave mouth, as if guarding me while Malric’s gone. I wake once, and he’s still there…fallen over and fast asleep.
I must be more exhausted than I realized, because by the time I wake again, the sun is high. As I’m washing—in a cove with no rushing water—I hear the thump of running paws. I leap up, and Malric bursts through the trees.
“You must have run all night,” I say.
He gives me a look as if to say, yes, he didn’t sleep away the night and half the day. There’s a bundle harnessed to his broad back. It’s the rest of my supplies—a little extra food but mostly clothing, packed under the presumption that Wilmot would feed me. I tuck the clothing into the cave for later and pack the food.
“We’re off, then,” I say. “Off on a grand and wondrous adventure with hardly any danger at all.”
Malric shakes his massive head and pads after me as we set out.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day climbing trees. Well, not exactly, but it feels that way. I walk with my compass in hand, and every time I find a tree towering over its sisters, I climb as high as I can. I’m scouring the forest for a large clearing. Small glades are common enough. A large clearing mid-forest, though, is rare, occurring only when something has happened there to clear it, like a past fire.
A Royal Guide to Monster Slaying Page 10