The Great Pursuit

by Wendy Higgins

  At that very moment a giggle sounded down the hall and Wyneth could be heard saying, “Slow down, Furball!”

  Now was their chance to show these men just what a threat the creature was. Aerity called out for her cousin to come into the office. She hadn’t seen Furball since the day before. When Wyneth came through the door holding the end of a rope, and the beast bounded in beside her, Aerity sucked in a breath.

  Deep seas! How was it growing so quickly? It walked on four legs, but if it lifted onto its hind legs it had to be as tall as Wyn. Harrison and the other men gawked.

  “What are you feeding it?” Harrison asked.

  Wyneth laughed. “He’s not picky, I’ll give you that! Any type of meat or fish, vegetables, grains. Whew!” She stared around at the faces and her smile faded.

  “My lady,” Lief said carefully, “where did it stay during the night? It’s hardly detainable.” He eyed Furball’s claws as the cub swatted at tassels hanging from chair cushions. He swatted again and the tassel was swiped clean off.

  Wyneth stood straighter and jutted out her chin. “Furball is a he, not an it. He’s quite smart. I’ve house-trained him. And he sleeps in my chambers.”

  Mouths fell open. More silent glances of horror were shared.

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” said a guard.

  “It’s not.” Lief’s face had gone fierce.

  “To be honest,” said Wyneth, “I feel more protected with him by my side than any human guard. No offense.” The guard who had spoken looked at the playful cub and shook his head.

  “Watch this,” Wyneth said to him. “Grab my arm.”

  “Wyn . . .” Harrison’s voice held warning.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. Then she looked to the guard again. “Grab my arm.”

  He hesitated before he reached out and grasped her. Wyneth let out a dramatic “Ow!” and the little beast suddenly changed. His ears perked. A ridge of fur pricked up along his neck and back, and he stood on his back legs, letting out a growl and baring sharp fangs. The guard released Wyneth and jumped back with a yell.

  Lief moved forward in warrior stance, the muscles in his arms bulging.

  Wyn made a double clicking sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth and said firmly, “Down.” Furball immediately went to a sitting position, never taking his eyes from the guard who’d grabbed her. Wyneth put a hand on the guard’s shoulder and said soothingly to Furball, “Friend.” Then she clicked her tongue again and snapped her fingers, pointing to her side. “Come.”

  Furball walked forward, swaying his wide bottom, and sat at Wyneth’s feet. He licked his jowls.

  Aerity gave a nervous laugh of shock. Wyneth grinned at her.

  “You’ve certainly been busy,” Harrison remarked. Lief crossed his arms and scowled.

  “Aye.” Wyneth eyed the guards and soldiers. “Please let your men know that Furball is a danger only to anyone who tries to hurt me. He will stay at my side, and this castle is his home.”

  The guards and officers nodded, albeit with seeming reluctance as they stared at the strange creature.

  “Furball, my lady?” said an officer, trying to hold back a grin.

  “Aye, sir. Apparently you can blame Lieutenant Gillfin for that mighty name.” Wyneth gave a gorgeous full smile at Harrison, and Aerity could have sworn his cheeks became pinker as he stared at Wyn and let out a dry laugh of his own. Lief gave a grunt and stalked from the office.

  Wyneth was on her way to the gardens, where Furball could run through the maze of bushes. She had been training him nonstop, marveling at his ability to obey, but she wanted to see if she could call him to her when he was a distance away. The gardens seemed safe enough, since only royals could use them, and the royals, well . . . they weren’t there, were they?

  Another bout of sadness descended on her as she walked Furball down the stairs, accompanied by a guard. He peered around at the empty garden with its high wall of shrubbery and gave a nod that it was safe.

  Wyneth stood there a few minutes, staring into the manicured space as her warm breath made clouds in the air. Everything was still. The sky was gray. Wyneth had never liked winter. She found it depressing, except for the first snow, which was pure beauty. But the lack of warmth and the abundance of darkness had always felt soul sucking to her. It was so much worse now without the joyful sounds of her siblings and cousins running about. So much worse without the comfort of her parents and presence of their seasoned ruler.

  Aerity had done well today, but she was too young to be forced into ruling. Wyneth couldn’t help but think it was only a matter of time before things went awry. Those who had taken her aunt and uncle would surely be back. How would they protect themselves? And was her family safe on the Isle of Evie? She hoped to receive word from them on the morrow.

  Furball pressed his nose hard against Wyneth’s hip and snorted where he knew dried sardines hid within her deep skirt pockets. She clicked and pointed to the spot before her. Furball jumped to that spot and turned. She raised a hand and he went up on his hind legs. Wyneth tossed him a sardine, which he crunched happily and licked his lips.

  She then tested his skill to stay. She started small, ten feet apart, then twenty, then around a corner of bushes. Each time he seemed a little edgy as she left him, as if he wanted nothing more than to follow. But he remained where she left him, telling him to stay, until she clicked her tongue and called for him. After an hour and a half, as the skies darkened, he had managed to stay at the far corner of the maze of bushes until she called. But much to her surprise he didn’t wind through the maze to get to her.

  In his lack of patience, he made a straight line to her through the bushes.

  Wyneth stared at the trampled plants with a hand over her mouth. Oh, Queen Leighlane would be furious. She was still staring, wondering if the bushes were salvageable, when Furball gave a small growl and stared behind her toward the castle. Wyneth spun and saw Harrison sitting on the steps. The guard was gone. Harrison clapped his hands.

  “Remarkable, Wyn.”

  Her heart rose and danced as it always did when he complimented her. “Thank you.”

  “But he growled at me,” Harrison said, standing. “He’s never done that before.”

  The creature seemed unfazed now, happily tuckered out as he lay at her side. Perhaps he’d just been startled, or maybe it was the darkness. But she couldn’t have Furball growling at her friends when they came near. He needed to recognize the difference between friendly interactions and danger.

  “Come to me, Harrison,” Wyneth said.

  He looked upon her, and in that moment there was a heavy sort of strangeness between them that made her blush, as if she’d asked him to do something inappropriate.

  “To see how he’ll react,” she amended.

  “All right,” he said softly. And he did as she asked, walking forward.

  Furball watched him carefully. As Harrison got closer, the creature went from lying to sitting, definitely more attentive. When they were a few feet away, and Harrison paused, Wyneth whispered, “Closer.”

  He took a step forward, and then another, until there was only a foot between them. Wyneth peeked down at Furball, who craned his neck up at the pair but did not seem upset.

  “He seems okay with you now.” Wyneth spoke softly.

  “Aye,” Harrison whispered. “Good.” But he didn’t move.

  Wyneth swallowed. She didn’t want him to move away yet. “Perhaps you should touch me . . . just to be sure?”

  She stared into his eyes and shivered all over when she felt the warmth of his hands surrounding hers, twining their fingers together. Furball snorted. Harrison released her fingers and ran his hands up her cloaked arms to her shoulders. His eyes had her mesmerized, the way he gazed at her unflinchingly as if searching. Wyneth didn’t understand what was coming over them.

  This is Harrison, for seas’ sake. Breckon’s cousin. He was as familiar and comfortable as a hearth flame or a hot b
ath. And right now all she wanted was to be submerged in the warm feeling he gave off. Her breaths hitched as his hands moved up and pulled back her hood.

  His palms ran up her neck, the heat of his skin a stark contrast to the cold air engulfing them. When he took her cheeks she quaked at her core.

  “Harrison?” she breathed. She hadn’t meant his name to come out as a question, but her entire world was off its axis at that moment.

  “Aye, Wyn,” he whispered.

  And then his lips touched hers. They didn’t move. His breath warmed her face, and his lips began to explore hers with absolute gentleness, as if he were savoring each curve and crevice. Wyneth grasped his wrists, afraid her legs would stop working the way her mind had. She clung to him.

  He pulled back and pressed his cheek to hers, his warm breath at her ear. “Forgive me, but I’ve wanted to do that for far longer than is proper.”

  “I . . . what?” Her mind broke.

  He looked at her with something akin to sadness. “I shouldn’t be saying this.” He stopped and swallowed. “Let’s get you inside. It’s cold.”

  He dropped his hands from her face and began to turn.

  “No!” Wyneth grabbed his hand and pulled him back to face her. “What shouldn’t you be saying?” Her heart was racing. She’d never seen his eyes like this before. So solemn and intense, as if he were afraid. And the things he was saying—each word was a thrilling zap that reached to her core. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t want to lose your friendship,” he said. “It means more to me than anything. And some words, once spoken, cannot be taken back. Some words have the power to ruin friendships and . . . change things.”

  Deep seas. She could hardly find her voice. She whispered, “Tell me.”

  His face inched closer to hers, his eyes still so serious. “I’ve loved you as long as I can remember, Wyn. Since we were a lad and lass. Even when you were with Breckon, I wanted you.”

  She stared, dumbstruck. And in that moment it was as if the empty, raw places within her heart began to fill with a warm salve, and an earnest sense of home covered her. She thought of the times she’d caught him watching her throughout the years. She’d always thought he was admiring Breckon, looking up to his cousin, and that his devotion to Wyn was an extension of that. Could it truly have been her that he was admiring all along? The very idea bent and twisted Wyneth’s mind, reshaping years of their history together.

  The castle door opened, casting a dim light over the three of them.

  “Lieutenant Gillfin and Lady Wyneth, the curfew is in effect,” called the guard.

  Harrison slowly stepped back and broke the gaze between them. He waved her forward like the gentleman he was. Wyneth moved up the path and stairs with Furball at her side. She stared around at the castle walls, everything seeming new and different. And suddenly the edges of dullness shed away from winter.

  Harrison walked her to the entrance of her chambers and although her heart and soul were brimming with new awareness, all she could bring herself to murmur was “Thank you.”

  Harrison gave her a polite bow and put his palm out to Furball, who sniffed him and seemed satisfied. So Harrison set to scratching the beast on the head. Without looking away from Furball, Harrison asked, “Are you upset with me, Wyn? Shall we pretend I never behaved wrongly?”

  “Wrongly?” The word chafed her. “What part of that felt wrong to you?”

  He looked at her now, a sense of grateful disbelief in his eyes. And Wyneth was done with gentleness.

  She grabbed the sides of his uniform collar and pulled him down until their mouths crashed, and then her arms were around his neck and his hands held her waist. In a swift move, he pinned her heavily against the doorframe and kissed her with what she now knew to be years of pent-up passion, his hips pressing against hers.

  I didn’t know, she wanted to say, but they never broke away long enough to speak. She’d always wanted him to marry Aerity, but only friendship was there. Wyneth thought for years that Harrison must have fallen for a woman while he was out on duty. He’d always been so private.

  But now she knew. There’d been no mystery woman. Only her. And she knew if Breckon had lived, Harrison would have taken his love for her to the grave and never told a soul. That kind of dedication and willpower . . . her respect for him grew to new proportions. And all the feelings of friendship she’d had for him all her life, they grew and morphed into something bigger and more spectacular. And, oh, seas, his mouth was a glorious thing. Their hunger was well matched.

  A dark, unamused chuckle sounded nearby, and Harrison broke away from her, brandishing his dagger in a flash and pressing her behind him. Lord Alvi stood there, his arms crossed, a deadly look on his face that Wyneth had never seen before.

  Furball tensed and growled.

  “Down,” Wyneth warned him. She was suddenly shaking.

  “You’ve taught him to fear me?” Lord Alvi asked. His eyes bore into her, filled with pain and torment, and unfounded guilt kicked within her abdomen.

  “Of course not. He can sense your mood,” Wyneth warned. “What are you doing in this hall?”

  “I came to check on you.” His eyes flashed to Harrison and back to Wyneth.

  “Well, I don’t need you to do that. Please, just calm down and go. Now.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Alvi said. He glared at Harrison. “You’re a lucky flekk.”

  He turned and walked away. Wyneth ran a shaking hand down her face. Flekk was Ascomannian for thief. But Lief was wrong. Harrison had stolen nothing from anyone. Did the coldland lord think he could collect women like toys and keep them all for himself?

  “Don’t worry about him,” Harrison said softly. “He’ll cool his head tonight and soon move along. But you need to tell me if he becomes a problem.”

  Wyneth nodded. She still felt rather ill. Harrison didn’t attempt to touch her again. He could read her so well.

  “Get some rest, Wyn.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. She went into her chambers with Furball, and Harrison gave her one last look before closing the door and leaving her with her thoughts.

  Chapter

  31

  As they marched through the Kalorian jungles at sunrise, thousands in their party, one thing became clear to Paxton: the Kalorian majority was afraid of them. Villagers ran for cover when they saw them coming. Doors were shut tight and windows shuttered. The villages appeared empty. These were not people who wanted to cheer for their ruler as he came through. They wanted to hide from him.

  It felt extremely strange to Paxton, and even stranger that the army seemed to be okay with it, as if the people’s fear was a sign of respect and proof of the army and prince’s power. And then Paxton began to see just why people were hiding. Throughout towns, bodies were strung from trees, left in shackles to rot, beheaded at stumps, or simply lined along the ground in neat rows, without an injury in sight. Those had obviously been victims of Lashed hands. And all the dead were left out as morbid reminders to the living.

  Paxton fought the urge to cover his mouth and nose as they passed places with the dead on display. The smells were as sickening as Rozaria’s beastly experimentation rooms. He tried not to look at the despicable exhibits. He faced forward and kept his expression blank.

  He racked his brain as they rode, trying to figure out a way he could warn the people of Lochlanach that they were coming. Along with their ground forces of military ranging in the thousands, there were at least a hundred Lashed who’d been amassed by Rozaria through her camps, three detestable monsters, and a fleet of naval vessels set to attack. Half the army remained to protect Kalor in case fighting filtered back over, and to keep their own lands protected while the prince was away.

  “Hunter.”

  Paxton turned his head toward the sound of Rozaria’s voice coming from the prince’s coach. She was leaning out of the open doorway as it moved. It was a gaudy thing, draped in bright silks and trimmed with gold. Paxton lifted his chin in r
esponse. She waved him back. He turned his horse and rode next to her.

  “The prince wishes to speak with you,” she said. In her eyes was something like pride, but Paxton felt only apprehension. He dropped from his horse and passed the reins to a nearby soldier, then grasped the gold handles of the carriage and pulled himself into the dim interior. He was immediately hit by the strongest burst of magical aura he’d ever felt. His skin tingled as if he stood too close to a fire. It smelled strongly of burned incense, powdery and flowery. Paxton took a seat on a cushion and pushed his unruly hair behind his ears before looking up at the smooth face of Prince Vito.

  He hadn’t been allowed this close to the man before now. He couldn’t be much older than Paxton. He was of slight build, but heavy robes with padding made him appear larger. His hair was perfectly straight as if it’d just been brushed, and his entire face appeared sharp with the way his brows, nose, cheekbones, and chin jutted out. The prince stared unsmiling and Paxton dropped his eyes, waiting silently.

  And then he saw the prince’s hands. By the depths . . . his nails are entirely purpled. Not a slice of white could be seen. Perhaps it should not have surprised Paxton that the prince was Lashed, and yet it did. A Lashed monarch was unheard of. This was a well-kept secret that would not go over well with the rest of Eurona.

  “Prince Vito,” Rozaria said huskily, “I give you the hunter Paxton Seabolt.”

  All was silent. Paxton could feel himself being studied and wondered if he should say something, but he decided against it.

  When Prince Vito finally spoke, his Euronan was heavily accented. “You may look upon me.” Paxton raised his eyes. “Roza tells me you have met Princess Aerity Lochson.”

  Trepidation ripped jaggedly through Paxton like a vile, burning poison, and he was glad to be sitting. He hoped his panic didn’t show on his face or in his voice.

  “Aye. Yes, Your Majesty. I have met her.”

  “Tell me about her. I only knew her as a child. Roza says she is beautiful.”