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[Rough Draft] Chapter 31: Footprints of Deception
Carina stared vacantly at the crimson blood that dripped from the dead buck’s mouth as two of her Bastiallano knights hefted the bound, dead creature off the forest ground on a pole between them. Another eight deer had already been sent back, along with an additional five boars, six rabbits, and three quail that had been added to their tally since lunch. The smaller contributions belonged to the efforts of the Duchess’s Hunting Party, who seemed a little unsatisfied at the success of their white-furred counterparts.
“At this rate, there won’t be any deer left to shoot,” Bromwell grumbled as he jumped down to pick up another hare Viscount Gladstone had pinned down effortlessly as it broke from the underbrush practically beneath their feet.
“That was a good shot,” Attwood complimented as Gladstone chuckled and shrugged.
“My family were bowmen before they became nobles. You could say archery runs in my blood, though it would be more accurate to say my Father was rather stringent in teaching me to shoot ever since I was eight years old.”
“Hmm, Beaumont was about six when he started learning the sword,” Attwood said with a nod to the knight captain, who rode silently behind the crown prince. “He took to it like a fish to water.” The Prime Minister smiled ruefully and shook his head. “But children don’t always take after their parents.”
“Your son certainly seems to give you a handful,” Gladstone commented with a sympathetic smile.
“Let’s hope marriage helps to curb his recklessness,” Attwood replied as they picked up their pace.
Carina tuned out the rest of their conversation as she gazed about, unable to shake the fog of fatigue that had descended up her since meeting Veles, the God of Air, earlier. Her neck crawled with the sensation of being observed, yet no matter where she turned, only an empty forest and her surrounding twenty knights were visible.
‘I’ve seen a bit of what witches can do—how the hell do I fight against a god, let alone multiple gods, who all seem to want me to hand over my heart to Viktor?’
Carina tightened her grip on the reins and chewed her lip.
“You are worried about something?” Hana asked softly as she leaned and tilted her head to catch Carina’s gaze. “You’ve been out of it ever since you got back from your shooting practice. Did something happen?”
“Perhaps,” Carina cleared her throat as she glanced around. Ivy appeared to be dozing off in her saddle. The tired maid’s head bobbed gradually towards her chest with each pace of her mount. When the mare hit a bump or shook his head, Ivy’s eyes would flare open wide as she snapped upright in her seat, only to repeat the same agonizing process a few moments later.
‘Poor thing. She must be exhausted.’ Carina shook her head sympathetically before her attention returned to the Viscountess beside her. “Hana, you—called me Kirsi—even before I became a Duchess.”
“Yes,” Hana replied, though her smile faltered slightly.
“Then—do you know—”
“Your true identity?”
Carina felt her heart jump painfully inside her chest as the sunlight illuminated Hana’s turquoise-blue eyes with a shine of gold.
“Yes, I know Kirsi,” Hana said softly as she focused on the road ahead.
“Then you know—I’m not—”
“You are—however fragmented—your soul is one and the same,” Hana answered confidently, though her tone was tinged with sorrow.
‘Who was Krisi to you—and why do you always look so sad when we speak about her?’ Carina drew in a breath and focused on the trail. She had enough to worry about, and now was not the time to go digging into the Scarlet Witch’s past.
***
“Alright, that makes eleven,” Bromwell said as they stumbled on another two-dear laid out neatly upon the path, their throats ripped gruesomely, but their coat otherwise unharmed.
“Surely we more than satisfied today’s quota?” Gladstone added with an almost nervous look in Carina’s direction. “Perhaps we could save some for tomorrow—and actually shoot them?”
“Not to worry, my Lord,” Jesper called out as he pulled a worn scroll from his pouch to mark down the added numbers. “The Royal Forest contains just shy of two hundred deer. Each Royal Hunt sees about thirty to sixty deer tagged and killed, depending on the number of competitors, which leaves more than enough to repopulate the forest. If anything, an increased number of deer removed from the population will give the forest vegetation time to thrive and re-expand to feed the remaining deer.”
“True. And it’s not like they’ll go to waste,” Bromwell added as he lifted the buck’s head by its horns to count. “The army will be happy to have added dried meat and warm fur garments added just in time for winter.”
“Well,” Carina commented as she glanced between them with a sly smile. “After listening to you all, I feel as if I can safely stop holding them back.”
“Ahh, pardon your Grace,” Jesper said hastily as he turned in the saddle towards her. “But perhaps we shouldn’t go all out on our first day? We’ve yet to see what the other hunting parties have managed to bag.”
“I think the Duchess has the right idea,” Nicholas replied swiftly with a confident grin. “Let’s use these remaining daylight hours to increase our lead. Let all those snub-nosed nobles weep and fret over how they will catch up during the two remaining days of the hunt.”
Carina matched his grin with one of her own. ‘You like read my mind.’
“Only two more days?” Marco murmured curiously. “Doesn’t the hunt last for five days?”
“Three days for hunting, Lord Marco,” Gladstone said as he held up three fingers. “The fourth day is to measure the kills to see who landed the biggest buck, then we have preparations for the ball, which will last late into the evening, and the fifth day we break camp and head back with his Majesty.”
“Oh, of course,” Marco sniffed with an expression that seemed to say he already knew all this. “And this ball, that would be the Royal Masquerade Ball where the men dress up like stags and the women huntresses?”
“The one and the same!” Bromwell replied with an eager grin. “Though, in the Duchess’s case—it might be more fitting if you dressed as a wolf, cousin!”
Carina ignored Bromwell’s booming laughter as the Prime Minister, and Gladstone shook their head. “Viscount Gilwren would surely take offense,” Attwood admonished somberly.
“Ah—true,” Bromwell had the sense to at least look ashamed as he cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight to send the nobles running?”
Carina turned in surprise towards the Huntsman who had muttered those words. Jesper met her gaze neutrally as he rolled up his scroll. “Well, what shall it be, your Grace?”
The Duchess frowned but shook the whispered comment from her mind as she turned back to the crown prince. Nicholas smiled and seemed to nod his permission. “I think I shall take his Majesty’s advise and send my wolves out to grab us a few more deer,” Carina answered.
“The poor deer then,” Hana murmured with a wry smile as Carina turned her white horse and rode off the path to put some distance between herself and the rest of the hunting party.
Isaac and two other Bastiallano knights followed her but kept their distance. When Carina raised her hand, only Isaac followed as she rode behind a great towering oak.
“I’m going to check in on the others,” Carina said offhandedly as she wrapped both hands around the pommel of the saddle.
“I’ll keep you safe, your Grace.”
Carina nodded and closed her eyes as she reached out through the vast darkness for Lumi’s bright magic. When her eyes opened again, they were as transparent as diamonds. Her vision split then focused as Carina directed Lumi to show her each angle of the forest. The rushing blur of bright green trees, brown forest floor, and rippling flashes of light settled onto a scene filled with nobles as an angry voice rumbled into focus.
“How—explain it to me, you brat. How is it we haven’t spotted so much as a single deer?” Marquess Borghese roared at the young huntsman he held by the neck.
“Please—my Lord,” the huntsman protested feebly. “You saw the tracks for yourselves. It would make sense if the deer moved on—to avoid the pack of wolves—that came through here last night.”
“Enough of your pathetic excuses!” Marquess shoved the kneeling huntsman onto his back. “If wolves are getting in the way, then find the filthy mongrels and kill them! I have wasted nearly an entire day, and all I have to show for it are three damn chickens!” He gestured towards the three quail tied to another lord’s mount. “So remove the problem, or I’ll string you to a poll and tag you as my first kill!”
“Easy, my lord,” Earl Coldwell interjected as he placed a hand on Borghese’s arm. “We still have two more days. The wolves will have moved on by then surely.”
“Our man at the camp already reported his Majesty took down a Stag King this morning. And Earl Hawthorne sent back cartloads of deer, boars, and other kills!” Borghese glared at the three dead birds and shoved Coldwell aside as he addressed the disgruntled and stiff group of nobles around him. “And the rest of you! Layabouts who have yet to fire a single arrow—go back and find those damn wolf tracks again. Hunt down the pack and kill them, or you can all eat shit for dinner!”
Lord Asher and the young noble, with ocean-blue eyes quite similar to Asher’s, glanced at each other as the hunting part split apart and headed off into different directions.
“Go on! Shew!” Borghese waved his hands at the pair disparagingly. “No need to show your faces in front of me unless you can kill something worth presenting at tonight’s feast.”
Coldwell sighed, remounted his horse, and motioned to the young nobles. “Come with me then, you two. You as well, Huntsman. We’ll have a better chance of tracking those wolves with your help.”
The young Huntsman nodded and brushed himself off hastily before he hopped back onto his sturdy brown horse and turned east. “This way then, my Lord.”
“Bah!” Borghese shouted after them angrily, then scowled at the few personal servants who remained at his side. “Stay here. I need a moment to relieve myself,” he barked before suddenly trudging north, leaving his servant and horse behind.
The scriva wolf crept silently through the forest underbrush behind the Marquess, who muttered angrily to himself as he drifted further off the deer trail.
“Damn useless—can’t make her queen if—all because of that cunning bitch who—all comes back to the throne,” Borghese mumbled, his words broken up by the crashing sound of his feet through the brush. He finally stopped, glanced about warily, then untied his trousers and—true to his word—relieved himself by a tree.
‘I could kill him now,’ Carina thought with surprising calm as the wolf crouched low, its muscles tensing in anticipation. ‘I could make his body disappear, and no one would—’
The man appeared so suddenly from between two trees, no more than two yards from the hiding scriva, that Carina and the wolf nearly jumped in surprise. He was dressed in black garments and wore a simple but sturdy black leather mask that covered the upper portion of his face.
‘He looks exactly like that group of men my scouts stumbled upon this morning.’
“Marquess,” the man greeted simply as he bowed at the waist.
Borghese glanced over his shoulder and let out a sigh of resignation. “Your timing is a bit inconvenient, Olund.”
“Forgive me, but you’ve been surrounded by ignorant nobles all morning.”
“Yes—yes!” Borghese shook himself then pulled up his trousers. “Have our men made it inside the forest?”
“They have, Marquess. They will remain near the border until giving the signal—his Majesty is with the Duchess in the North-East quadrant?”
“Yes,” Borghese answered as he turned around.
“And your orders?”
Borghese narrowed his gaze and closed his eyes with an impatient sigh. “We still have two days—but unless I have a sudden unexpected stroke of luck—my chances of winning Priscilla an opportunity to become Queen—” The Marquess dragged a hand down his throat and refocused on the masked man. “Tell Howard to keep the men ready. I will make the decision tomorrow, but if nothing changes, we proceed as planned.”
“Yes, Marquess,” Olund replied somberly and bowed once more at the waist.
“And you should return,” Borghese said with a dismissive wave. “It wouldn’t do for a royal knight to be stray far from the prince he’s meant to be protecting.”
The royal knight stepped back and then blended once more into the forest as if he had been nothing more than a shadow. Borghese trudged in the direction of his waiting servants. The Marquess’s dark mood much improved, judging from the whistle that trailed after him.
Lumi’s vision shifted at Carina’s directive to where the group of masked intruders now waited, crammed inside a narrow hillside cave. Another wolf tracked her scouts not far from them. The Bastalliano knights were already moving swiftly through the forest towards Gilwren, having determined the location of the assassin. The endless wall of threes blurred past once more until Lumi settled on the eastern section of the forest where five men, dressed in a similar fashion as the rest of the assassins, slid beneath the ghostly birch tree branches to enter Gilwren territory.
Isaac’s hand steadied Carina as she slumped forwards against the saddle and blinked groggily. “All is well, your Grace?” The Captain of Bastiallano’s forces asked worriedly.
“Our scouts will be sending back an urgent report before the day is over. See to it that they keep their discovery a secret,” Carina instructed and then took in a breath as she messaged the headache Lumi’s split visions gave her. “But yes, everything is going as planned—for now.”
“I’ll send back a knight to ensure they remain alert and discreet,” Isaac replied promptly and withdrew his hand. “We should get back to the hunting party, your Grace.” He glanced towards the woods around them, and although he said nothing, Carina felt a tinge of unease crawl down her spine.
The memory of the Darklings came fresh to her memory. Carina nodded and turned her horse around quickly. She waited long enough for the knight captain to remount his stallion, then urged her white horse into a fast trot as the forest creaked and groaned ominously behind them.