Mrs. Rathbrook stood tall and faced the woman again. Her words had cut deep. She often thought about her own comfort compared to the despair of other Lashed, but she felt powerless to do anything about it.
“What would you have me do, Miss?” Then she remembered that Rocato, the root of prejudice against Lashed, had been from Kalor. “Perhaps if the Lashed in your land had not pursued their greed and hatred, these issues would not be upon us.”
The woman’s eyes hardened with anger.
Officer Vest stepped forward. “I’m going to have to ask you to move along, Miss.”
The woman, Rozaria, ignored him. “You know nothing,” she hissed at Mrs. Rathbrook. “But you will soon learn.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
The woman’s sneer transformed her beautiful face into something frightening. Then she briskly turned and walked from the stand, keeping her hands deep in her cloak pockets, disappearing into the multitude of bodies. Mrs. Rathbrook noticed people quickly turning their heads away when they saw her looking.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Rathbrook?” Officer Vest asked. The crinkles around his eyes were further deepened with worry. “Did she threaten you?”
Mrs. Rathbrook shook her head. She wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but it had left her weary. “I think I’ve got all I need for now.” She kept her head down as Officer Vest walked her back to the castle, her heart burdened with the woman’s words.
Chapter
10
Paxton could immediately tell the true hunters from the ones motivated only by the king’s promised reward. He couldn’t help glaring at the gentlemen with their pretty bows and pristine arrows as they took their time aiming at the wooden targets. No doubt they’d never had to raise a bow for protection or a meal. He’d be happy when the hunt began and the impostors cleared out, wetting their fancy trousers in fright.
Aye, being on royal lands put him in a fine mood.
The west commons area was surrounded by a stone wall, a miniature version of the wall protecting the royal lands. The area’s single entry had two iron gates that swung inward, covered in vines. At the far side were long tables for eating. Against the wall by the tables were sets of stone and wood steps, likely used for spectator seating at events. The middle area of the commons consisted of fine grass where the men gathered for target practice and exercise. Tents had been erected at the southern end.
Next to Paxton, Tiern shifted from foot to foot, unable to stay still. “When do you think these idiots will finish? They’ve been at the targets forever.”
Paxton peered at the current archer and grimaced as his arrow missed the target completely, wobbling to the side and clanking into the wall. The archer frowned at his bow and grumbled, as if the bow were the problem. The man next to him commented about the gust of wind that likely took the arrow off course.
Paxton could take it no longer. He ran a hand through his unruly waves to get the locks out of his eyes as he walked over to the shooters.
“Oy, there. Time to rotate.” He didn’t bother with niceties. Paxton wasn’t there to make friends, but he nearly smiled in amusement at their startled expressions.
“We’re allowed five shots each,” one of them protested.
“Then get a move on. There’s a bloody line forming.”
The polished young men looked like they wanted to argue, likely unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a way, especially by a townsperson. Paxton stepped back and crossed his arms. He saw Tiern press his lips together to keep back a grin. The men, appearing rattled, turned back toward the targets and fired off their last shots.
Soon after, Tiern was up.
“Don’t show off,” Paxton warned Tiern, who sighed with disappointment.
The brothers made quick work of their time at the target, angling their bodies from different positions for each shot, and hitting within the middle circle each time. Paxton heard whispers from the handful of wealthy men surrounding them, but didn’t care to gauge their reactions.
After they’d retrieved their arrows, Paxton sat with Tiern on the stone seats by the wall, eyeing the crowd of hunters. Tiern rambled on about each of them, telling Paxton snippets of things he’d overheard, mostly braggarts boasting of their kills.
“That one there hunts lions down in the Kalor hotlands,” Tiern whispered excitedly, pointing to a man with what appeared to be lion hair around the sleeves of his shirt. “He had to wrestle one and kill it with his bare hands!”
Paxton almost laughed. “Don’t believe everything you hear from these hotheads. They’ll try to intimidate.”
“That’s a good idea. . . .” Tiern thought. “I could start a rumor about how we had to take down a twelve-point buck on a rampage with only our daggers.”
Paxton chuckled. “How about we ignore the ridiculous politics of the hunt and just kill the grizzly boar, aye?”