A twig snaps nearby, and I banish my self-pity. Judging by the scent, it’s a doe about a hundred paces away. Ignoring it, I scan the dirt around the tree where I tied Myst.
Between the rotting leaf cover from last fall and new ferns sprouting underfoot, tracks would be impossible for most hunters to spot. But with my eyesight, Myst and Sabine might as well have painted red blazes on every tree they passed.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I stalk their path. Sabine’s lingering, sweet floral smell laces the air like perfume. I’m not concerned about their two hours head start. Myst is in good shape, but she can’t gallop all night. Neither can Sabine ride that hard on no sleep, without a saddle or even a skirt. Her bare thighs are going to be rubbed even rawer than they already are. Sooner or later, they’ll have to rest. It isn’t about speed, it’s about stamina.
Myst’s hoof prints lead me on a series of switchbacks to the main road, where her pace changes to a gallop. I follow for a few hundred paces, sensing from the slightly hesitant prints that this is a deception. And sure enough, the trail soon veers off the road back into the forest.
Clever devils.
They wanted me to think they hit the road and kept going to Middleford.
The creaks and scuffs of the forest snap in my ears, awakening my already-heightened sense until the influx of stimulus is almost painful. I appreciate that Sabine has some subterfuge in her. It will serve her well at Sorsha Hall, where cunning is necessary for survival.
I eventually track their path to a stream, where Myst’s hoof prints disappear. There’s no way to follow her tracks in water visually, but Sabine’s scent still hangs in the air. My boots splash over river rocks as I follow the barely-there aroma of violets.
I’m impressed Sabine knows to double back and ride in a stream. But it doesn’t matter. Her evasions would stop a hunting dog, but not me. The truth is, such tactics would be rudimentary, even laughable among hunters, and yet I’m not laughing. Sabine has never trained as a hunter. She’s spent most of her life within a single convent’s stone walls. So how the hell did she figure this out?
She’s even cleverer than I suspected, and so damn determined. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to take any pity on her when she’s mine again.
I will get her to Sorsha Hall.
Though, as I track her and Myst over the next few hours, I start to worry about what comes next once we reach Lord Rian’s home. Sorsha Hall can be a lawless place. No clear-headed individual would dare touch Lord Rian’s bride, but Valvere revelries make wise men foolish. Drunk, dazed, and stupid, some few foolhardy men might set their eyes on Sabine.
Rian will need a bodyguard for Sabine, and it’s imperative that it’s someone he trusts. He decided I was the only one loyal enough to bring her to Duren safely, so why not continue the service? He can find another lead huntsman to replace me. Hunters are as common as whores—maybe not as skilled as me, but perfectly capable of bagging dinner for the Valveres. I’ll need to take some time to investigate the border wall, but that won’t take me away from Sabine for long.
Sabine will never agree. She hates you. She’s going to hate you even more when you catch her.
This thought sobers my mood as I pick up Myst’s tracks again where she exited the stream, and follow her still-damp hoof prints east. Well, Sabine won’t have any say in the matter of her bodyguard. She might loathe me, but she’ll have to suck it up and get used to me.
Her disdainful voice rings in my ears: I’m not surprised you’ve never had a pet. Or anything else to love.
But she’s wrong. I have loved. I have cared for another creature. And it royally fucked me up.
Jocki had no affection for any of the boys he managed. He acted like a half-decent surrogate father whenever the Valveres’ agents were around, but the moment we were alone in the dilapidated old stables he’d converted into our barracks, he reveled in punishing us. Starving us, taunting us, pitting us against one another. It wasn’t in his interest for any of us boys to be friends, so he made sure we weren’t. He wanted us to loathe one another so that the aggression would spill out in the fight ring to make for more realistic entertainment. Besides, we weren’t idiots. We knew there was no point in getting to know a boy you might break, even kill, the next week.
But Jocki kept fighting dogs in the old stables, too. Most of them were vicious curs off the street, just like us. Onno was different. He was so massive in size that he didn’t need to snarl to earn the other dogs’ respect. He fought in the dog fights just as we did in ours, but as a means of survival, not pleasure.
I liked Onno, and he liked me. I’d share whatever scraps of supper I had with him, and he would curl up against his cage’s bars at night, with me on the opposite side, to keep each other warm.
I should have known that was a big fucking mistake.
Jocki thought it would make his boys weak to have a pet. So that fucked-up brain of his devised a new kind of fight. Boy against dog. Once we were forced into the ring together, Onno wouldn’t even try to fight me. He just looked at me with his big brown eyes, knowing only one of us would be allowed to make it out alive. Letting that one be me.
I snap out of the dark past as Myst’s tracks reach a fork in the road. The forest path veers left, with the main road to Middleford continuing straight ahead. Sabine is riding a few feet to the side of the road to try to hide their tracks, but it’s easy to see they went straight.
What’s in Middleford? Her lover?
On the horizon, the first haze of morning crests. Fuck. How have I not found them yet? I can’t risk anyone seeing her during the daylight hours, when word could get back to Rian that his bride is running wild through the Astagnonian countryside. Or worse, someone could find her before me and decide she’s a tempting little morsel.
Moving faster now, I give myself over to the hunt. No more messing around. She’s had her fun. A part of me has always got a charge out of the chase. When Rian agreed to make me a huntsman, I took to it like a fish in water. It’s a pleasure to unleash my heightened senses to see what exactly I’m capable of.
My pulse raps in my veins, urging me on. I’m getting close. I block out all other stimuli and hone my senses on tracking the girl and horse.
The aroma of violets swells until I’m practically choking on it. Myst’s scent is there, too: wet horsehair.
I stop and close my eyes to listen.
It takes me a while, but I hone in on an animal’s labored breath. They’ve stopped to rest, but Myst is still breathing hard from the exertion. Focusing my attention more, I eventually pick up on Sabine’s breathing, too.
Slow and steady. She’s asleep.
A hard smile curls my mouth as I silently draw my bow and move through the forest. Myst will smell me coming, but by then it will be too late. Sabine will hear her warning snicker, wake up, and find an arrow aimed at her dear mare’s chest.