CHAPTER 1
It is easier to track an animal—or a person—if it is bleeding.
Drops of crimson in the snow are easy to follow. Blood
on fallen autumn leaves or the earth tones of a harvest forest
floor is harder to spot but still easier than relying on footprints
alone. The method works for tracking people, too. An arrow
through the thigh or the flank is sure to leave a trail I can
follow.
Tracking is an art. Huntress can spot a leaf bent ever so
slightly out of place from a distance. She can tell the weight
and age of a bear, a wolf, or a wild boar by leaning close to its
tracks and measuring the impression with her fingertips. Her
tactics don’t work as well on people, which is why I am mostly
disinterested. The things I put my mind to must be in service
to my true purpose. If the lesson is not shortening the path
between myself and my enemy, what is the point? Huntress
has assured me that I will eventually learn to savor the hunt.
In my mind, the only way that happens is when I have him in
my sights.
“Eve,” says Huntress. “I need you to focus.”
Focus.
Easier said than done when I’m lying under a darkening
sky, across a scattering of jagged rocks and damp earth, trying
to press myself flat so the gathering of deer in the clearing
ahead of us can’t see me or the arrow I have trained on them.
I prefer the blade, but Huntress insists that I improve upon
my skills with the bow. A part of me believes it is because she
would prefer not to feel her blade scraping the bones beneath
the wounded flesh. She likes the distance a bow provides. I
have no such reservations.
Huntress is happy I’ve managed to track the deer to the
clearing, but I haven’t been honest with her. I’ve had help. I
can still hear him, my gentle helper, as I lie still—the sound
is less like a voice and more like a low hum that works its way
up my back and settles at the nape of my neck. Each delicate
intonation contains a meaning—fear, curiosity, happiness—I
know them all. I’ve been listening to the sounds of the forest
my entire life.
My helper is pacing on the other side of the meadow, just
beyond the tree line. He has brought me here. We have always
had an understanding, he and I.
“Draw back the bow and bag us a deer to take back to your
mother,” Huntress whispers. “I’m tired of lying in the dirt.”
I notch my arrow and feel the muscles across my back
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tense as I pull the bowstring toward my shoulder. I breathe
in, listening to the beat of my own heart. My arrow will hit its
target if I let it fly between breaths, between beats.
The deer’s slender neck is fully exposed. It has wandered
just away from the others, but that is enough.
One.
Two.
Three.
I let go and my arrow hits its mark with a soft, wet thud.
The animal stumbles and then falls on its side. I stand, shaking
off the dirt and damp, and walk into the clearing. The other
deer scatter, leaving their fallen friend behind. I kneel at the
animal’s side and put her out of her misery with my freshly
sharpened dagger.
“Good,” says Huntress. “We cannot allow them to suffer,
and we do not take more than we can use.”
“There are some who should suffer,” I say.
Huntress pushes a few errant strands of her graying hair
away from her face. “That thinking will do you no good.” She
strides up to me and puts her finger in my shoulder. “Your
head should be clear. Revenge, bitterness—arrogance. They’ll
rot you from the inside.”
I sheath my knife and sling my bow across my back.
“You think I’m arrogant?” I ask.
She huffs and slaps me hard on the shoulder. “I know you
are.”
Huntress pulls a length of twine from her bag and ties the
deer’s legs together so we can transport it back to Castle Veil.
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As she busies herself, I spot my helpful friend as he emerges
from the underbrush.
His fur is shining and black as the evening sky, as are his
wide curious eyes. His tail and each of his four paws are tipped
with red. The hum in my head grows louder as he approaches.
He is curious. I breathe deep, steadying the beat of my heart.
I mean you no harm.
The fox’s ears lay flat as he angles his head down in a sort
of bow. I tap the ground with the sole of my boot, and he
scurries off.
Huntress watches him leave and then glances at me with a
look of utter disappointment in her eyes.
“Please tell me you didn’t,” she sighs, rubbing her temple.
“You used the fox to lead us here? Were you even trying to
track the deer at all?”
“I tried,” I say. “It’s harder than it looks.”
Huntress straightens up and faces me, her expression
pinched. “You have to learn to do it on your own. You must
be the one to do the work. You can’t cheat every time, Eve.”
I don’t see why not. I can hear the unique signature of any
animal. The hum from the fox is like a twinge behind my neck.
Birds are like melodic whistling. Horses are low and resonant.
Each animal has a voice that I can hear and understand, each
and every one of them. I don’t see it as cheating in the way
Huntress does. If she had this ability, I know she would use it
just as I do.
A rumble ripples through the cloud cover, and there is
a loud crack in the distance. The air around me is suddenly
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alive, and the pitter-patter of rain sounds on the leaves and
branches. Within moments, the sky opens up and we are stuck
in a torrential downpour.
“We got the deer, didn’t we?” I ask. “That’s all that matters.”
“It is not all that matters,” Huntress says, her tone clipped.
“I’m in awe of your gifts, Eve, you know that, but you can’t
just—”
A loud crack splits the overcast sky, and the forest is lit
up like midday for a brief moment as lightning arcs over the
canopy.
“Wonderful,” Huntress grumbles.
She quickly slides her walking stick through the deer’s legs
and motions for me to grab the other end so that we can hoist
it up and carry it home.
I reach for the stick when something—a distinct rumble—
reverberates in my bones. It is not the thunder or the crack of
lightning, but another animal’s call. This is only the second
time in my life I’ve heard it. A shudder of fear ripples through
me, but I deny it and tightly grasp my dagger.
“Get behind me,” I say.
“What is it?” Huntress asks, panic invading her voice. She
glances around, then moves just behind my right shoulder
without another word.
Only I can hear the animal’s voice. It sounds in my head,
getting louder as the seconds pass, and when I finally see it
through the sheeting rain, it is too late to run or hide, though
I would have done neither.
Huntress inhales sharply as the wolf steps into the clearing
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in front of us. Common wolves wander in and out of Queen’s
Bridge often enough that people know to avoid them or come
prepared with a weapon when traveling through the woods.
I know their call, but this is something different. It is not a
common wolf at all. It is a dire wolf. A giant of its kind, lethal
to nearly anyone or anything that has the unfortunate luck of
crossing its path.
Its eyes are level with mine as it moves deeper into the
clearing. If it were to stand on its hind legs it would be taller
than me by an entire length of my own body. In the rain it
is a hulking, monstrous shadow, with yellow eyes and long
glinting teeth.
We came to the forest to hunt deer and pheasant. Huntress
and I are both armed but not heavily enough to defend
ourselves against a wolf this size. Huntress takes a step back
and the animal crouches low, pinning its ears back, baring its
wicked fangs.
“Do not move,” I say in a tone so low it is barely a whisper.
The wolf growls and the sound overpowers even the rain.
The wolf sniffs at our kill, and once it has the scent of blood
in its nose it becomes protective of the carcass. Claiming it as
its own, it now turns to me and settles back on its haunches,
preparing to launch itself directly at me.
My heart beats like a bird in a cage as I let my gaze drift
to the sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I slowly
extend my arm above my head. I open my fingers as the wolf
snarls. The massive creature launches itself at me as an arc of
white-hot lightning slices through the sky and finds its way
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to my outstretched hand. There is always pain when I harness
lightning, but I’ve learned to welcome the shock of it. It
reminds me that I am alive and possessed of something more
powerful than almost anything or anyone in Queen’s Bridge.
I grip the bolt, and as it disconnects itself from the sky it
becomes a weapon made of heat and light. A nearly weightless
sword, conjured from the storm itself. It is a weapon unlike
any other in existence, and it will exist for only this moment.
A shudder runs through my body as my skin is raised to
gooseflesh.
I pull it through the air as the wolf lands just a few paces
ahead of me and digs its paws into the muddy ground, skittering
to a full stop. The hum of its unique voice falters inside my
head. We stare into each other’s eyes. It is a magnificent
creature, but I need to get home to my mother. I am all she
has left, and I will not be separated from her for any reason.
The wolf prepares to lunge again, but as its gaze drifts to
the shining blade, it reconsiders. It sniffs at the deer one more
time before skulking off into the underbrush. I don’t move
until its voice is gone from my head.
Huntress rests her hand on my shoulder, and I open my
death grip on the sword. It dissolves into the air with a wispy
puff of black smoke as the rain continues to sheet down around
us.
“I thought we were in trouble,” Huntress says.
“We were,” I say as I try to catch my breath. “I haven’t seen
a wolf that big in years and certainly not anywhere near here.”
“There has been one lurking near Rotterdam,” Huntress
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says. “I’ve heard rumors it is hunting people.”
“Gossip,” I say. “Let’s get the deer home.”
Huntress nods, and we begin the long trek through the
western forest of Queen’s Bridge toward home.
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