The Hunt Read online

  Perhaps, if she passed her Trial, he would make it four times.

  “Just play up to the crowd for one day. Do what they want, when tomorrow comes you can do whatever you damn well please.”

  Tempest said nothing. She knew Dima was right, of course, but having anyone tell her how to act or look grated on her nerves to no end. “I don’t care that I’m the first woman vying for a position in the Hounds. It’s all a means to an end. All I care about is—”

  “Avenging your mother,” Dima cut in, not unkindly. “I know, Tempest, I know. But you’re an adult now, and, with that, comes responsibilities—such as doing what the king wants you to do.”

  “He doesn’t even want me to be a Hound.” Tempest knew she was right; the monarch had made no attempt to hide his dislike of her. Her outfit solidified her suspicions.

  “Then prove him wrong—show him that women belong in our ranks. Actions speak louder than words, as well as you know.”

  Tempest’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles. She turned her head to face Dima. “Is that why I still have a bruise on the back of my leg?”

  “You didn’t heed my advice to guard your back so, yes, I’d say that’s why.”

  “I don’t have any openings now, I’m sure of it.”

  Dima rolled his eyes and swung off the fence. “There’s more to life than fighting, you know. You say you’re here to avenge your mother. What will you do once you achieve that?”

  Tempest didn’t reply, and Dima merely sighed.

  “You will make a fine Hound—we all know that. Just consider whether it’s actually what you want to do with your life.”

  Tempest mulled over his words long after he was gone. In truth, she had no idea what she wanted to do outside of this one, all-consuming goal. She’d never thought she needed another one. I guess Dima is right, she finally concluded. At some point I may want more than revenge. But, for now, it’s more than enough.

  “Well somebody looks awfully angry,” came an airy, sing-song voice—the kind of voice that belonged to somebody who’d already been up for hours and was wide awake.

  Tempest grinned. “Morning, Juniper. Your shift must be over soon—the sun is in the sky!”

  “It’s over now,” her best friend replied, snowy-white hair puffing out around her shoulders as she collapsed against the fence, uncaring of getting dust and dirt upon her dress. Juniper looked at Tempest perched above her, before pulling out a cloth-wrapped package and proffering it to her. “Here. Breakfast. I imagined you wouldn’t be able to stomach typical barracks food today so I pilfered you some goods from the palace.”

  “Dotae be good, I love you,” Tempest cried in delight, opening the package to reveal freshly baked, flaky pastries, still warm to the touch. Two of them were savory, two of them sweet; Tempest tore into one filled with cinnamon and vanilla first, her nausea instantly forgotten in the wake of her favorite food being hand-delivered to her.

  Juniper giggled at her friend’s shameless display of happiness. “Feeling better now? You looked about ready to murder someone, and your Trial doesn’t even start for another three hours!”

  “Much better, thanks.” Tempest’s words were muffled and warped around mouthfuls of pastry, but she didn’t care. With a supreme effort, she swallowed down the overly large bite she had taken. “I was just thinking about my mum’s death.”

  “Hence the expression. Did you have that dream again?” Her friend gazed at her with concern.

  She nodded.

  Juniper knew everything Tempest could remember of her past; she was one of her very few female friends. Though the girl was a shifter—which initially set Tempest’s teeth on edge as a child—Juniper was gentle and soft-spoken and never judged Tempest for her crass, uncultured way of living, unlike how the ladies of the court often did. Her shifted form was an owl, hence her working at nights in the palace. The two often spent twilight and sunrise together—the beginning of one of their days, and the end of the other’s.

  Juniper pointed at a pair of men jumping over the fence opposite them to enter the training yard, preparing to spar. Tempest fought back a grimace as she realized one of them was Levka, but her mood improved when she saw the other man was his father, Maxim. The monster of a man grinned at her and waved a comb in the air.

  Tempest winced, knowing he had plans for her unruly hair and snarfed down the last of the pastries. Her boisterous, bawdy uncle had always been the one to braid her hair as a child. One day she’d asked him how he knew so much about women’s hair. Her nose wrinkled as she recalled the discussion that had ensued afterward. Maxim had been delighted in giving Tempest an especially colorful explanation of how men and women created children.

  If only I could scrub that from my brain.

  Her attention moved to his spawn. Too bad his son hated her.

  She’d grown up with Levka and was only a handful of months older than him. It didn’t improve things between them that her Trial was before his. He viewed it as a huge insult to his person, least of all because he did not believe women should be Hounds in the first place. Despite the fact that Tempest had spent three or four nights a week eating dinner with Maxim’s family and that Maxim himself doted on Tempest, Levka had always refused to warm to her.

  And she hated it. Things could have been so different between them if he’d only accepted her. She’d always wanted a sibling.

  “You’re watching Levka as if you’d like to punch him in the face again, Tempest,” Juniper said, as if she were discussing the weather instead of impending violence.

  Tempest could only laugh. “More like that’s what he thinks of me, though by his logic I’m simply too frail to take a punch to the face. I can’t wait to pass my Trial and show him I can do this just as well as he can. Better, even.”

  “Oh, come now, you can’t be that blind.”

  She glanced at her friend. “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind that Levka definitely knows you’re better than him and it drives him insane, and that he’s jealous his dad loves you so much—”

  “I’ve never done anything to keep Maxim from him. I wanted to be his friend. His anger is not my—”

  “I never said it was,” Juniper interrupted her, “and that wasn’t my point, anyway. Don’t you think that he maybe likes you? As in—”

  “Oh, please don’t finish that thought. For the love of Dotae do not finish that thought.” The boy had never looked at her with anything but contempt and disgust.

  Juniper stared at her as if she thought Tempest was over-reacting. “It wouldn’t be impossible, you know, especially when you’re dressed like this.” She waved a hand in Tempest’s general direction and smiled approvingly. “I love the new look, by the way. Very intimidating.”

  Tempest snorted. “As intimidating as a woman of the night.”

  “So dramatic.” Juniper rolled her eyes. “You’ve never had time for boys before, Tempest. You’ve been so focused on becoming a Hound. But after your Trial—what next? Are you going to continue to be aloof and alone all your life? Because I know for a fact there are more than a few pairs of eyes on you, you hopeless, beautiful fool.”

  Tempest’s cheeks flushed before she could stop herself reacting. She shook her head wildly. “I have no time for such things right now. Maybe not ever. I have more important things in my life than dealing with boys.”

  Boys lead to babes. Babes led to a life she didn’t desire.

  “Finding someone who loves and accepts you isn’t important?”

  “Well, you love me, don’t you?” Tempest gestured around the practice yard. “And my uncles love me, and I love them. I don’t need anyone else.”

  She had her family. A family that had welcomed her with open arms. Many people faced with her situation wouldn’t be able to say the same thing. In her own eyes, she was blessed beyond measure.

  “Yes, but one day—not too far in the future, I hope—I’ll be married, and I’ll have children, and then we won’t have as much ti
me for each other. And, for all we know, we may live on opposite sides of the kingdom in a few years. Having someone waiting for you at home isn’t such a bad thing, you know.” Juniper’s expression relaxed into an almost dream-like state. “And that’s not to mention the feeling you get when someone you really like kisses you—how your skin is set on fire when he holds you in his arms, and when—”

  “And that’s my cue to limber up,” Tempest cut in, embarrassed for both herself and for Juniper’s lovey-dovey ramblings. She leapt off the fence, stretching both of her arms above her head. “Will you be watching the Trial, Juniper?”

  Her friend nodded enthusiastically as she got up from the ground. “Of course! I’m missing my bed and everything for it. You better not fail.”

  “Such kind words of encouragement.”

  Juniper touched Tempest’s elbow very lightly, causing her to turn and face her. “On a more serious note, Tempest, please be careful. Be safe. Don’t do anything rash today.”

  “Being a Hound doesn’t exactly lend itself to those things.”

  “Tempest—”

  “All right, all right,” Tempest replied, holding up her hands in resignation. “I won’t be stupid. Happy?”

  “Reasonably so.”

  “Go get some rest before the Trial, then. I wouldn’t want you falling asleep during it!”

  Juniper grinned. “Of course not. See you later, Tempest.”

  “You, too.”

  Tempest stretched and performed her morning weapon’s drill in relative silence after that, though she knew almost every pair of eyes was on her over the next two hours. But aside from Levka and a couple of his trainee friends, all other members of the barracks were incredibly supportive of Tempest. They wanted her to succeed. It did not matter to most of them that she was a woman, and to those that opposed her on such grounds… well, they could not fault her skill, no matter how hard they tried.

  Eventually it was Maxim who put a hand on Tempest’s shoulder to stop her practicing. The man looked down at her with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “It’s time, Tempest.” He scrutinized her hair. “Let’s do something about this mane before you head off to the arena to get yourself prepared.”

  Tempest found that she could no longer form words. Her throat had closed up entirely, like a bee had flown inside her mouth and stung her. So she nodded, avoiding the vicious smile plastered across Levka’s face, who was standing slightly behind his father.

  Maxim frowned and gently pulled her to the fence. He drew the comb from his pocket and began to work through her twisted hair. “Do you want me to walk over there with you?” he asked softly. “I can if you like. I think Dima and Aleks are already there, otherwise I’d ask them to take you—”

  “No, it’s fine,” Tempest finally managed to utter as she ran her hand along the cape she’d left hanging from the fence. “I can make my way there on my own. I wouldn’t be much of a Hound if I couldn’t, right?”

  “You’re more than just a Hound,” her uncle said, his deep voice smooth, as his fingers finished a braid on her right side and began working on the left.

  “I have to keep my hair down,” she whispered.

  “Right, it has to be down, but it was never specified how it was to be done.”

  Her lips curled up into a smile. “I love you, Maxim.” If there was anyone she could count to be on her side, it was him.

  All too soon, he finished her hair and spun her to face him. Her uncle reached over her shoulder and pulled the fine cloak from the fence. He helped her clasp it around her neck and then placed his hands on her shoulders, his hazel eyes serious.

  “Take care in the Trial, girlie,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “I will.”

  Maxim yanked her into a bear hug, and she inhaled his smoky scent.

  “Show those bastards what you’re made of.” He pulled back and cupped her pale cheeks. “Show them what the House of Madrid stands for.”

  She grinned and Maxim mirrored the smile she gave him.

  With a salute to the rest of the Hounds currently training in the yard, Tempest turned on the spot—flashy half-cape billowing out behind her as she did so—and headed for the arena, and her impending Trial.

  It’s now or never, Mum. Now or never.

  Tempest

  The roar of the crowd assaulted Tempest’s ears as she neared the entrance to the arena. Personally, she didn’t see why the Trial had to be public, since it was technically an exam to get a job. But the people of Heimserya flocked to Dotae to watch new Trials, and Tempest’s was no exception. Her gaze dropped to her outrageous outfit, and she fingered a silky raven feather. Today, they’d get a show.

  Tempest’s stomach clenched as she eyed what was perhaps the largest crowd she had ever witnessed for such an event. Nausea rolled through her, making Tempest regret wolfing down the pastries Juniper had brought her.

  She stared blankly from her niche, hidden from the swarm of nobility buzzing with excitement and taut with the anticipation of blood. Her lip curled. Violence was a necessity of life, but Tempest didn’t take joy in it. The revelers were already well on their way to finishing entire wineskins, and it wasn’t even noon yet. They were drunk on spirits and the promise of blood.

  Revolting.

  A deep gong rung, signaling the Trial was to begin soon.

  Tempest stepped out from her hiding spot and moved through the well-dressed crowd, ignoring their gasps and calls, her face a mask of stone. It was only when the commoners spied Tempest in her flashy Trial garb did her apathy melt away. They gasped and cheered, waving wildly from the stands high above. A surge of pride filled Tempest as she gave them a genuine smile. She was one of them, after all. She’d come from nothing. She represented hope. Vengeance for her mother had been her driving motivation for so long, but, in that moment, Tempest enjoyed a flicker of happiness for making the decision to follow the path of a Hound, purely that she represented those who were downtrodden.

  She would pass the Trial.

  If not for her mother, then for the people who’d supported her. And to show that both commoners and women belonged in the ranks of the most elite group of fighters and spies. Everyone deserved a chance to live their dreams.

  She scanned the crowd and frowned when she spotted a little boy who looked anything but excited. He was crying in a corner, cradling a hand to his chest. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed a dark red stain on the front of his tunic. She’d bet her mother’s bow it was blood. Her scowl deepened as she examined the people around him. Nobody seemed to notice him, or, if they did, they thoroughly ignored him.

  Her attention turned back to the arena. The others hadn’t arrived for their Trials yet. If she hurried, she could help the poor little one.

  Tempest closed the distance between herself and the boy with ground-eating strides. She slowed her pace when he noticed her and cowered farther into the stone wall against his back. Holding out a hand, she smiled softly at him to let the child know she meant him no harm.

  “Hello, little one,” she said as she bent low beside him. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself? Where are your parents?”

  He peered at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. His ice-blue irises and snowy hair which were akin to Juniper’s.

  An owl shifter.

  She hid her grimace. Shifters set her teeth on edge, but she wouldn’t let that get in the way of helping the youngster. His people may have caused problems in Heimserya, but he was innocent. She would not condemn him for crimes he’d been no part of.

  Tempest pointed at his hand that held a jade dagger with an intricate handle, its blade smeared with red. He’d cut his palm open; the wound was bleeding all over the boy’s tunic. She studied his ragged clothing. A fine blade. Too fine for a commoner.

  Focus on the task at hand. You’re not here to interrogate him.

  “Do not be afraid,” Tempest soothed, stroking the boy’s hair as she did so, the downy strands tickling her palms. “What
happened to you? Do you want me to take you to the healer’s tent?” Aleks, the resident Hound healer—one of Tempest’s favorite uncles out of her multitude of them—would be working in there already, preparing for the Trial. He’d happily help the boy out, if Tempest asked him.

  The boy’s upper lip trembled. “I didn’t mean to cut myself,” he whispered, “but I didn’t know what to—what to do with it, and—”

  Tempest gently took the blade from him, wiping it on the ground to remove the blood before sheathing it beside her other dagger. She smiled. “Luckily I know exactly what to do with a dagger. Let me keep hold of it until we get you to the healer’s tent, then you can tell me all about what happened, all right? What’s your name?”

  “T-Tomas,” he said, a shy smile crawling upon his face when Tempest held out a hand to him. He took it, tiny fingers apparently even smaller within Tempest’s grasp, and waddled along beside her toward the tent. She ignored the crowd asking after her as she passed; she barely had enough time to sort Tomas out before the Trial started.

  “Aleks, I need your—” Tempest began as they pushed through the tent flap, her nose wrinkled in distaste. An odd, sickly-sweet smell filtered through the air. It was cloying in Tempest’s nostrils, unfamiliar and thick. It wasn’t outright vomit inducing, but it set her teeth on edge.

  Aleks really works with the oddest drugs.

  “Tempest, what are you doing here? You should be announcing yourself to the king!” Aleks exclaimed, looking up from the notes he was poring over in order to frown at her. But his expression relaxed when he saw Tomas. “I see you found another lost wee one.”

  Tempest drew shallow breaths through her mouth and tried to ignore the odor. Tomas coughed as she hauled him on top of a cot that was most likely prepared for her, should she injure herself today.

  “What do you mean another?”

  He chuckled. “Well, there was that little girl Sasha last week, and the twins the month before that, and—”