“How goes the hunt?” one woman called, a hand on her hip.
Harrison shook his head. “No sign of it last night. We’ll get it, though, miss. Soon.”
The woman, probably his mother’s age, stepped into the street and kissed Harrison’s cheek. She beamed grateful smiles at the other Lochlan men, and then stared openly at the huntresses.
“These are the Zandalee,” Tiern explained. “They’ve joined the hunt.”
The Lochlan woman’s mouth dropped open. A crowd began to form around them.
“You mean . . . ? The real Zandalee?”
Tiern nodded. Whispers about the foreign huntresses spread all around them, faces lighting up with excitement, people shuffling and standing on their tiptoes to see. The Zandalee took it all in stride, looking around at the pale faces, but not smiling. One brave Lochlan woman stepped forward and took the hand of Zandora, who stood in front. She patted her hand, beaming.
“Thank you!”
Zandora stared down at her, and Tiern laughed nervously, stepping up. “They only speak Zorfinan.
A toddler scrambled down from his mother’s arms and went to Zandora’s legs, touching the strange material.
“Grayson, no!” The mother rushed forward, stopping when she saw Zandora give the child a smile, her earlier irritation seeming to vanish. His mother relaxed, but remained close.
When Zandora patted his head, the town’s few children rushed at the Zandalee, wanting to touch their clothes. The presence of the children seemed to cheer the huntresses, who were glad to squat down and let the little ones touch them. After a few minutes Harrison called out to the people.
“Thank you for your kindness, but we must be getting back.”
The Zandalee were in far better moods after that. They all were, until they reached the commons. A set of military men was leaving, their faces grim. The Ascomannians and Zorfinans stood in separate groups, talking, but they came together when they saw the Lochlans and Zandalee approach.
Lief spoke. “The beast attacked the Kalorians. They were all found dead.”
“Curses.” Samuel rubbed his face.
Paxton’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth in anger. Having fought the beast alongside those men, it made him furious to know they hadn’t had backup. He wanted to keep his composure, but his jaw was so tense he could only speak through gritted teeth. “This was avoidable. We should have hunted closer together.”
Volgan’s lip rose in a sneer. Paxton turned on his heels for the tents, afraid of what he’d do and say if he remained a moment longer.
He collapsed onto his cot in the small tent, pressing his fingers to his temples. Tiern came in behind him, but knew not to bother him when he got like this.
After a few minutes, Tiern mumbled, “Bloody seas,” and fell asleep.
A steady rain began. As the day went on, the rain progressed into a thundering storm, which settled into more rain. The land turned to mud. Accounts of flooding waterways came to them from castle messengers in high boots. Even the path outside the commons area had been covered over by a stream of mud. With regret, they decided to call off the hunt for that night.
Since water had seeped under the tents, the High Hall of the castle was turned into the hunters’ quarters. The men sat around, playing cards and drinking tankards of ale. The Zandalee had been allowed guest quarters of their own. They had looked exhausted when Paxton saw them trudge away.
Paxton knew he should take the opportunity to relax, but he was too frustrated about the prior night’s losses and tonight’s hunt being called off for weather. He turned his back to the others and lay on his cot in silence, wondering how close Aerity’s chambers were to the hall. Wondering what she was thinking and doing within those same walls that very moment.
Chapter
22
Lady Wyneth was so lost in her drawing that she didn’t register people in the library until they stood before her. She looked up into the grinning face of Lord Lief Alvi, and quickly closed her sketchbook. He was with two guards and two other Ascomannian men, who brought with them scents of damp fur.
“Hello, my lady,” Lord Alvi said.
“Er, hello.” Wyneth’s head was murky with creativity, lines still moving about in her mind, begging to be drawn. She pulled her feet out from under herself, smoothing down her gray skirts. Sounds came back to her now, muffled rain against the tall windows.
“We’re giving a tour of the castle, Lady Wyneth,” a guard said. “Sorry to disturb you.”
She shook her head and forced a polite smile, feeling Lord Alvi’s warm gaze on her all the while. “No problem at all.”
“So, this is the royal library.” The guard motioned his hand around at shelves stretching to the high ceilings, and cozy nooks with leather chairs and woven rugs. The other Ascomannians grunted, making a quick scan, looking bored.
“Where is the indoor archery range?” the hairiest man asked.
“Down the stairs, right this way.” The men set to leave, looking back at Lord Alvi.