A gift for the new year!

Please enjoy Chapter 1 of Wake of the Huntress :)

Chapter 1

“Do not let any kind of beauty deceive you. There’s no telling what might be hiding beneath the surface.”

-Havani proverb

Lady Marania stared up at the imposing towers of Castle Felhold, its torches casting dancing shadows down the outer walls. She smiled to herself, her lips turning up into a satisfied sneer. This cold autumn night was to be the beginning of the end. Soon, they would all be gone, tragically taken from this world too early. Grief-stricken, she would reluctantly take up the mantle left behind by her family and restore the House of Donavar. Enderhail would have its first sovereign queen. A ruler it deserved. She’d spent her whole life formulating her plans to strengthen the crown and better the kingdom. Her first official act would be to return her home to its rightful name, Castle Donavar. Then she would–

She turned sharply at the sound of a twig cracking behind her. As she peered into the gloom, a shadow emerged from the trees. The cloaked Havani woman hobbled toward the duchess, leaning heavily on her walking stick. Marania removed her hood as the old woman came up beside her. “Zepatra.” She gave her companion a respectful nod. 

Zepatra pulled down her own hood and kept her gaze on the castle on the hill above them. “Looks can be deceiving, can’t they, Lady Marania? The castle is so regal and beautiful on the outside, yet we all know something ugly and wicked is happening within its walls.” Her voice rasped as she spoke and turned to face the younger woman. 

Marania didn’t like the way Zepatra was looking at her. “What do you mean?” she asked nervously. Was this village fortune teller really one of the fabled Seers of the nomadic Havani people? Did she know what she had done?

“Your sister, the queen, was killed only a year ago. Let’s not pretend the poor serving boy they arrested is really guilty. He wouldn’t even have had access to the queen’s chambers.”

Marania tensed, reaching for the small blade concealed under her cloak. She knew it was a mistake to bring in an outsider! She should have just put on a disguise and done this part herself. They would have to push the plan back a few days so she could prepare. It would be inconvenient...but one more body wouldn’t hurt…

Zepatra had turned her eyes back to the castle. “Mark my words, there’s something sinister going on behind those walls. One day, they won’t be able to contain it anymore. Then we’ll all be in trouble.”

Marania felt her stomach turn over, but she relaxed slightly as Zepatra addressed her again. 

“Do you have what we agreed upon, my dear?” The Havani woman was stoic as she asked the question.

Marania slowly reached for a pouch at her waist. “500 gold pieces,” she confirmed as she tossed it to the old woman. 

Zepatra caught it with surprising agility and weighed it in her gnarled hand. “Everything appears to be in order.” She nodded with satisfaction as she drew the pouch into the folds of her cloak. “The king will no longer be able to ignore his hatred of us.” A gravelly chuckle escaped from her throat. “I’ll make sure of that.”

The duchess still couldn’t believe how easy it had been to convince the old bat to do what she asked: come to the castle and tell the king of a false vision to exploit his mistrust of the Havani people and their powers, to make him finally turn on them for good. When she sought Zepatra out a few days before, she half expected to be turned out of her shop with a furious outburst of the native Havani language, perhaps even threatened to be blackmailed with the information she divulged. Instead, the fortune teller listened thoughtfully to her request, then negotiated her price as only a good tradeswoman would. Marania recalled sitting in the cottage with her mouth hanging open in shock. She’d heard that Zepatra wasn’t on the best terms with her people, but she hadn’t expected her to be so open and callous about it.

Her spoils safely hidden away, Zepatra locked eyes with Marania for a few moments. The Havani was still as stone, making the younger woman feel very exposed. She shifted uncomfortably, studying Zepatra in the faint glow of the castle torchlight. The fortune teller was old, thin, and bent with age. Her long, frizzy hair was mostly gray, and her skin was wrinkled and sagging. But underneath the years, Marania caught the remaining recognizable traits of the Havani race: raven black hair, alabaster skin, and bright blue eyes. Zepatra must have been a striking woman when she was younger. The Havani had a rather magnetic effect on those around them. Perhaps this was one of the reasons the king disliked them so much. He didn’t approve of anything he couldn’t immediately understand. 

Marania shook her head in bewilderment. “I must admit, Zepatra, I’m still rather surprised at your willingness to subject your own people to this kind of potential harm.”

Zepatra gave her a sly smile. “I am old, dear. Older than you might imagine, in fact. I left my tribe when I was young because I preferred the idea of village life over roaming the land in wagons and scavenging for food. In reality, there are quite a few village-dwelling Havani in this kingdom. Though it’s not the life most would prefer. We exist throughout all the kingdoms of Terravalia. There aren’t many tribes who follow the old ways like those in Enderhail.” Her gaze drifted briefly as if she was watching the past play out before her. “I love my people. But in their eyes, I betrayed them long ago.” She sighed. “The world is about to change. The last time this happened, the Havani were unwilling to adapt. That cannot be allowed to happen again.”

What does that mean? Marania felt her stomach turn over with anxiety once again. The older woman clearly wasn’t being completely honest about her willingness to accept the terms of their deal. Should she press the issue? Demand to know why Zepatra was so prepared to do as she asked? 

The Havani woman caught Marania’s quizzical stare and glowered a warning. 

Suddenly fearful of the silence and her guest, the duchess quickly brought up another subject. “Are you afraid of what may happen after tonight?” 

Zepatra shook her head, apathy returning to her face. “I plan on leaving the kingdom as soon as I complete the task you’ve given me. It will likely no longer be safe for any Havani after tonight.”

Marania nodded. Their primary target was the Seers, but it was entirely possible that all the nomads would be at some level of risk. They had no idea exactly how the king would react. “If that is the case, run west to the border pass. I will keep you from being pursued.” She turned to leave. “Wait fifteen minutes after I have left and then approach the front gate. Tell the guard you have an urgent message for the royal family. Don’t take no for an answer. The guard will likely fetch the king’s chief advisor to question you. Do what you must to convince him. If you absolutely cannot get him to let you in, take your gold and go. I will come up with another plan.” She furrowed her brow. “Are you truly one of the Seers, Zepatra?”

“Does it matter?” the woman asked matter of factly. 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Marania conceded. She’d find out how to tell them apart on her own.

“Do you ever fear for your own life, my dear? After what happened to your sister?”

Marania turned her back to the Havani woman and started to walk away. “I believe we all get what’s coming to us in the end. Whether we like it or not.” She walked away, feeling Zepatra’s eyes boring into her.

Marania hiked up the small hill to the castle gate, her heart thundering as she approached the guards. Oldart, the captain of the guard, was on duty, and he waved her through. 

“Did you enjoy your evening walk, Duchess?” He gave a slight bow.

“Yes, thank you, Oldart. It was very...enlightening,” she said casually. 

Oldart raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Marania knew they all thought she’d been acting strangely recently. The castle’s inhabitants assumed her odd behavior was nothing more than the grief of a loving sister. If only they knew the truth. 

Once inside, the duchess made her way up the stairs to the great hall, where the king was sitting with a few members of his court, poring over some important and likely complex governing documents. She relished the thought of that being her job one day, having the power to decide the fate of the kingdom and how it was run, a council whose sole purpose was to help enumerate and enforce her will. The future Queen Marania wouldn’t be afraid to assert dominance over her people and the neighboring kingdoms, unlike her late father and the current monarch.

King Steflan Felhold glanced up at his sister-in-law as she took a seat at the table but didn’t acknowledge her otherwise. They had never been overly fond of one another but managed to be civil, for the most part. It had been that way since he’d first arrived from the nearby kingdom of Dalheim to prepare to marry Alyssandra. Marania suspected that she disliked him far more than he disliked her. Still, he rarely betrayed his feelings about much of anything. She reached for one of the books that constantly littered the head table, save for banquet evenings, and observed her late sister’s husband out of the corner of her eye as she absently flipped through the pages. 

Steflan had been rather handsome when he was younger, but the stress of ruling the kingdom and raising his young son alone over the past year had taken its toll. The bags under his eyes were heavy and gave him the appearance of constant fatigue. His once dark auburn hair was graying at the temples, and his frame had become relatively thin and frail as his physical activity decreased. He looked well past his thirty-five years of age. 

Marania watched as the king absently reached over to the next chair and ruffled the little prince’s chestnut brown hair. Despite looking distracted by his toy soldiers, everyone knew the boy was listening to his father’s every word. At eight years of age, he should have been actively learning to be a leader and warrior himself one day. However, the once active and outspoken child had not uttered a single word since his mother died. Marania hated that. Her bright nephew’s silence was a constant reminder of her terrible deed. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to deal with that much longer. 

The boy caught his aunt’s gaze with his brown eyes and smiled shyly at her by way of greeting. A pang of guilt hit her stomach as she smiled back. He looked so much like her sister, unlike Marania herself, blonde-haired and green-eyed as she was. She tried to turn her attention to her book, wanting to appear calm when news of a visitor arrived. Failing to concentrate on the words in front of her, she found her ears preoccupied with the conversation at the other end of the table. Everything she could make out was about the council meeting the previous morning. Annoyingly, the king and his lords were doing their best to keep the conversation between themselves.

As Marania was straining to listen in, old Hemsgrid hurried into the room, his breath short and his words flustered. The king looked up at his wiry chief advisor and furrowed his brows. “Hemsgrid, whatever is the matter? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Well...sire, I regret to inform you that…” Hemsgrid was hardly able to get the words out.

Steflan stood and put his hands on his old friend’s shoulders, steadying him. “Pull yourself together, man. What is it you’re trying to tell me?”

Hemsgrid took a deep breath. As he was about to continue, Zepatra swept into the room, looking quite intimidating despite her walking stick. 

Oldart stumbled in behind her, visibly annoyed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I tried to stop her.”

“As did I,” Hemsgrid interjected. “She insisted, and well...you know the effect her people can have…”

“I certainly do.” The king’s square jaw was rigid, and he stared coldly at the Havani woman. “Zepatra,” he said, entirely unamused. “What are you doing here?”

Marania stood up in alarm and tried to appear unfazed. “You know this woman, brother?” She furiously made eye contact with Zepatra. This was not part of the plan. 

“Oh, we’re acquainted,” the old woman said with a sly smile. She looked around at the assembly and paused as she caught sight of the prince, who had gotten out of his chair to take cover behind his father. “Well, who do we have here?” The boy glared nervously at the woman before them. 

King Steflan did not revert his gaze from Zepatra. “Marania, would you leave us, please? You as well, my lords.” He gestured to the others in the room.

The duchess frowned. “Steflan, I really don’t–”

“Out!” He cut her off, clenching his fists.

Marania bit her tongue and left the room in a huff, the two lords following her. Oldart and Hemsgrid stayed and pushed the grand double doors shut behind them. The whispering courtiers shuffled down the passage, disappearing around a corner. The duchess remained just outside the great hall, pacing nervously back and forth. Who does he think he is? Who does SHE think she is? 

When Marania had visited the fortune teller’s shop in the village, the old hag had neglected to mention that she knew the king. What else had the Havani kept from her? This development could ruin her plans. Everything had happened so abruptly, and she’d lost control. If this didn’t work, what would she tell Lord Kels and Lady Enid when she spoke to them in the morning? She’d assured them she could do this herself. Talis, as she’d eventually learned to call him, and the rest of The Scythe were getting impatient. She felt these were people she didn’t want to cross. 

Marania was contemplating whether or not to try spying through the keyhole when a loud crash sounded from the room. She jumped as she heard the king roar with anger, and Zepatra burst through the doors. 

“Self-fulfilling prophecy!” The crone’s voice warned mockingly as she darted past Marania and down the stairs to the foyer. 

The duchess fought the urge to follow her and returned to the great hall to find Hemsgrid rubbing his temples. Oldart was sprawled out on the stone floor, looking dazed. The guard stumbled to his feet and ran after Zepatra, barking for any nearby soldiers to join him in his pursuit. A red-faced King Steflan was on his knees helping his son, who had also been knocked off his feet. Despite his defiant expression, the boy was shaking, obviously frightened by the Havani madwoman and his father’s rage. 

Marania stood frozen and shocked in the doorway, transfixed by the conflicted face of her nephew and the fury in Steflan’s eyes as he glared past her. After a moment, she let out a sharp breath and left the room. She made her way to her chambers, cursing herself for obeying the king’s order to go in the first place and wondering what Zepatra had done to elicit such a reaction. For now, at least, it appeared that whatever events had transpired had accomplished what she wanted. It was time to get a few hours of restless sleep and prepare to carry out the next stage of her plan.

~~~

Hours later, Lady Marania cracked open her door and peered into the dark passageway. Most of the torches had burned out, and the only light came from the open foyer below, which was still under guard from the earlier events of the evening. The maids told her that Zepatra had been followed by Oldart and his men, but there had been no sign of her past the main gate. If they couldn’t capture her, they at least wanted to be definite that she didn’t return. In the chaos of her exit, Marania had forgotten her promise to ensure Zepatra wasn’t followed by the guards. Even without that help, she felt confident the Havani woman had made her escape and left Enderhail far behind. 

She took a shaking breath as she pulled up her hood and stepped out of her chambers, silently closing the door behind her. The thought of the next terrible deed she would carry out gave her pause, if only for a moment. Despite the things she had already done, this would undoubtedly be the most challenging part of her plan. 

Marania shuddered and pressed forward, taking a right turn down the hall toward the king’s chambers. Upon reaching the first door, she pressed her trembling hand against the wood and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. The late queen’s chambers had not been touched in a year. The events of that night threatened to overwhelm her, but she took a quivering breath and steeled herself, moving on to the next door. 

Very slowly, Marania pushed the king’s door open and slipped into the large room. The fire was on its last embers and cast shadows all over the high ceilings. She looked over at the large four-poster bed where the king slept, shaking her head and scoffing silently. She could take him out of the equation at that very moment if she wanted to. Part of her did want to, in fact. It would be so simple. However, she and The Scythe had something else in mind for Steflan, an end that would require more patience and cunning than merely slitting his throat. For that reason, she would ignore this particular murderous impulse, for the time being at least. Enjoy the time you have left, Your Majesty, she thought bitterly. However long that may be.

Having satisfied her perhaps infantile desire to mock the sleeping monarch, she turned to the small bed on the other side of the room. The little prince lay fast asleep, a ratty blue blanket cradled tightly in his arms. It was unusual for a king to share a chamber with his young child, but after what had happened to the queen, he wanted to keep his son close by. Understandable and yet utterly inconvenient. 

Marania sighed heavily and softened her gaze as she looked at the boy. Part of her wished it did not have to be this way. But there was no other option. She gently picked up the child, grunting under his weight, and checked that the blanket was not left behind. Despite the nightly sleeping draught he was given to keep his nightmares at bay, she feared he would make a fuss if it left his grasp. It was the only thing he had of his mother’s. 

Carrying the boy in her arms, the duchess silently left the room and crept back into the corridor. Feeling along the dark wall as she walked, her hand found the latch to the small door leading to the servants’ back staircase. To her alarm, the hinges let out an ear-shattering squeal. She froze, teeth gritted. She didn’t dare move another inch until she knew it hadn’t been heard by the guards in the open foyer below. A strained few seconds passed without a sign of movement from any direction. When she was satisfied with the silence, she carefully closed the door and continued her journey. She padded down the drafty staircase to the kitchens, which were thankfully deserted and had an outside door leading to the back of the courtyard.

When Marania finally stepped into the cold night air, she heaved a sigh of relief and instinctively held the boy closer. The night guards were already giving up their posts and gravitating towards their warm beds in the barracks, just as a recent Scythe recruit from the army had told her. Steflan would certainly be enraged to know his men were neglecting their duties, but it meant that no one was there to question or stop her. She crossed the empty courtyard as quickly as possible and ran down the hill to the tree line, as far into the forest as she dared this late at night. The weight of the child in her arms slowed her a bit, but not enough to deter her convictions. A bright, full moon made the frost shine on the fallen leaves and lit her way through the twisted branches and low underbrush.

Finding a well-hidden hollow in the trees, she set her nephew softly on the forest floor and knelt beside him. Her hand disappeared into her cloak and produced her dagger, shaking so hard she could barely hold it steady. You’ve got to do this, Marania. You’ve done it before, with this very knife. This is your last step. Everything else will be easy from here. She closed her eyes and raised the quivering blade above her head, intending to plunge it downward before she could even think about stopping herself. 

As she was about to do just that, the boy sighed and stirred, causing his aunt to open her eyes. He smiled in his sleep and curled himself into a ball, his hair falling across his face. His mother had often slept like that as a child.

  Tears instantly filled Marania’s eyes, her trembling arm stuck in the attack position as her heart fought what her brain was telling it to do. She didn’t even realize she’d released her grip until the knife hit the ground with a dull thud. Why was this time so much harder? She stared at the child, swallowing her sobs and shivering from cold and anxiety. Several minutes passed before the fog of dread cleared from her brain, and her breathing returned to normal.

Suddenly overcome with nostalgia, she began a lullaby, one her mother used to sing to her and her sister when they were young. As she sang the comforting words, she reached out to stroke the boy’s hair. His eyes opened slightly at her touch, startling his aunt. She stopped and held her breath, slowly moving her hand away and hoping he wouldn’t wake. The child didn’t stir again, his brown eyes fluttering closed. Feeling a strange combination of relief and disappointment, Marania reached for her dropped dagger and forced herself to stand and back away, leaving her nephew alone in the night. 

She made her lonely way back to the castle, through the kitchens, up the stairs, and down the hall to her chamber. The bed was warm and inviting; the fire in her room had not yet died down. She collapsed on the blankets and closed her heavy eyelids. The image of the sleeping boy burned in her mind. It was done. Surely, the child would die in no time out there on his own. His blood would not be on her hands. He would simply be another victim of the harsh Enderhail weather. The Scythe had told her this was another necessary sacrifice, and she knew they were right. They didn’t need to know how she had done it. All they had to do now was wait for the inevitable. Once the prince’s body was found, the king would do the rest of the damage himself. It was only a matter of time. 

Back in the forest, the sun had barely begun to rise. In the dim morning light, the little prince finally shivered himself out of his sleep. He peered around blearily and sat up in confusion. He didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten there. He didn’t know where his father was. He got up slowly, struggling to make out his unfamiliar surroundings. A wolf howled in the distance, chilling the boy to his very bones. He dashed in the opposite direction, his tattered blanket clutched tightly to his chest. After several minutes, he turned to look behind him and careened into a fallen tree. Flipping head over heels and hitting the ground with a terrible thud, the world around him turned to total darkness. He felt a wave of calm wash over him as he slipped into unconsciousness.