Page 12 of Burn Bright
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Why Master Bane, you look much improved since the last time we saw you." The wolvren's eyes glowed in the morning light, and his thick black hair was brushed rakishly across his temples as I stomped out into theyard.
"Shut up," I hissed, as I dragged my father's pack over my shoulders, and slipped my arms through it. Horses stamped as the prince's men moved about, securing girths and dragging stirrups down their lengths with a meaty slap. Nobody else had spotted me yet. I could hear the prince laughing at something his huntmaster was saying, which seemed oddly out of place, for I hadn't picked Hussar as the type to own a sense ofhumor.
And I'd have to be careful of him out there in thosewoods.
I didn't have a choice in going,however.
A little nightsbane in father's tea meant he'd sleep through the day, and wake to find us many hours gone. He'd be furious, but it was for thebest.
He'd understand when wereturned.
"The huntmaster won't like it," Casimir murmured. Not for him the dulcet tones of his master. Every word he spoke was halfgrowl.
Or maybe that was just my presence. He didn't seem to like me verymuch.
"He doesn't have to like it. I know the forests as well as my father does, and frankly, I'm more likely to survive it. Father took a turn for theworst."
"In anhour?"
"In anhour."
The wolvren leaned closer, his musky scent enveloping me. "That almost sounded like the truth," he whispered in my ear, "but your scent is allwrong."
I looked up, finding his face only an inch from mine. My heart skipped a beat. Why couldn't it be the prince who stirred the blood through my veins the way Casimir did? "Myscent?"
Thick lashes obscured his eyes as he glanced down over my hunting leathers. "You smell like leather, soap, nightsbane... and alie."
"What's this?" barked a loud voice, making us both springapart.
Hussar glowered at me, his morning's beard black against his jaw. Every man in the company turned tostare.
"You wanted a tracker," I said, squaring my shoulders. "And now you have one. My father hasn't the strength to make it to the Heart, and I know theway."
"I asked for a hunter," Hussar snapped, grabbing me by the upper arm. "Not a scrawny girl who'd turn up her toes at the first sign ofblood."
"I'm seventeen," I replied tartly. "And I'm notsqueamish."
As if to emphasize this fact, I strode through the group, ignoring the faint smile of Prince Evaron and heading toward the sacrifice stone. The pigeon I'd caught earlier wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. I wasn't sacrificing one of our chickens or lambs for a king's foolquest.
No matter how much gold he was payingus.
Dragging out the small broken body, I knelt beside the stone. "Vashta watch over me." Then I slit it open from breast to tail, feeling the warm blood ooze over my fingers. I painted the trident on my forehead in a symbol of the three saints of the forest; Vashta, the huntress; Ermady, the trickster; and Rior, theshadow.
"Bleeding superstitious peasants," Hussar grunted, and strode past me into theforest.
The prince cocked his head, as several of his men followed Hussar's example. "You don't follow the Way of theLight?"
"Do you think your new religion holds sway here?" Iasked.
Evaron's eyes roved over the silent trees, and the shadows their boughs cast. He sighed, and then moved forward. "Paint me with chicken blood then. We'll probably need every god we know of to help us find the firebird, and my father would be most unhappy to lose me to some old wivestale."
"It's a pigeon," I muttered, tracing hisforehead.
"I know," he said, and his eyestwinkled.
It was difficult to hate a prince who mockedhimself.
