Hunted(3)

It was time to join her older sisters in society—such as it was.

The houses became smaller and more spread out as she trudged along, the laneways connecting them covered with snow once more instead of the slush churned up by many feet and carriage wheels. Yeva could see her father’s house on the ridge and hurried her steps.

The sky was growing darker, though the hour was too early for the sun to set. The clouds were thickening. Perhaps there would be a storm after all. Yeva felt no shame at the fiction—there had been something in the air—but she would feel better able to face the baronessa tomorrow if some kind of weather came in the night.

The hill was steep enough to make Yeva’s breath puff white in the cold air, and she sputtered an oath. Such terrible shape for a hunter to be in. She used to be able to run for hours, uphill or down, blood coursing through her and urging her onward. But then, she was not a hunter anymore. The roundness of face and limb she saw in the washbasin each morning, the sleek deep red of her hair, the full lips, the lazy gaze—every day she was more a lady. Every day less herself.

Yeva hurried through the door, trying to still her panting breath so no one would see her winded. One of the servants met her at the door, his lanky arms outstretched to receive her furs.

“Thank you, Albe,” she told him with a smile that made him blush and duck his head. Albe had been with them since he was a boy, but lately he’d been inching around Yeva and her sisters as if they were made of glass.

All the merchants’ daughters were spoken of as beauties. Yeva would have preferred to be admired for her skill, but she’d suffered the great misfortune of having been born a girl. And so no one would ever know. When she was younger, she used to dream of a husband who would love her all the more if she could hunt with him, side by side. But age, and time spent with the baronessa, had worn away that imagined future.

She could remain unmarried, but to do so would make her a financial burden to her father. To marry would be to leave the wood forever, surrendering what little freedom she still had.

But Solmir is a hunter, whispered a sinuous thought. And a good one. If anyone were to admire your skill in the forest, it would be him. . . .

“Your sisters are in the kitchen, mistress,” said Albe, head still bowed. Yeva could see a flush on the back of his neck and the tips of his ears.

“Thank you,” she repeated, and left the poor boy to recover.

As she headed down the hall, a thumping, clattering, wild noise exploded from the back corner of the house. Laughing, Yeva crouched down so that when a pair of dogs came barreling around the edge of the hall, they hit her square. Less painful than letting them catch an arm or a leg. Doe-Eyes whined eagerly, burying her face in the fold of Yeva’s hip, while Pelei sniffed her all over, circling and circling and snuffling his aggravation at her collection of the day’s scents.

Pelei was the scent hound, thick and shaggy and red-brown, named for the clay he so resembled. Doe-Eyes was the runner, slimmer and lighter built, less armored against the biting cold in winter. They were her father’s hunting dogs, but any time the subject arose, he delighted in moaning about how his youngest daughter had stolen them from him, how they betrayed him every day they ran to her. But he loved to see them love her, and always spoke with a twinkle in his eye.

Yeva ordered the dogs back to their corner of the house, sending them reluctantly away, and went to the kitchen. She found Asenka and Lena kneading bread together, moving as one, each leaning down into the stroke as the other folded. They were closer in age to each other than Asenka was to Yeva, and so alike as to be nearly twins. Asenka’s hair was two shades darker than Lena’s chestnut brown, and her cheeks fuller and pinker, but from a distance the two were indistinguishable.

“Yeva,” said Asenka warmly, looking up but not halting at her work. “You’re home early.”

“The ladies thought there might be a storm coming,” Yeva replied, “and the baronessa dismissed us early.”

“The ladies?” echoed Asenka, a smile lurking behind her black eyes.

Yeva grinned and lifted one shoulder delicately. “My seat is closest to the window—why shouldn’t I notice incoming weather first?” She reached for the laces on her dress and tugged them loose, drawing in a long breath. Her blood was still pumping from her uphill walk.

“Oh, Yeva.” Lena’s voice was heavy with weary scolding. “What are you doing? Father will be home soon—what if he should see you?”

“Father has seen me head to toe in men’s clothing,” Yeva reminded her, “and half covered in boar’s blood. I don’t think he will die from the scandal.”

“But you were a child then,” said Lena delicately. “Now you are grown. And anyway, what if Albe were to come in?”

“Then he shall probably explode on the spot.”

Asenka let out a strangled laugh before turning her head aside to hide her mouth against her shoulder. Lena glared at her, the expression quickly dissipating in favor of a rueful smile. “Service to the baronessa was supposed to tame you, Beauty, not teach you new ways to torment us all.”

Yeva smiled, turning away before Lena noticed her mistake. Yeva had been Beauty all through her childhood. Her father had named her on the day she was born after the old goddess of beauty, as he’d named her sisters after light and grace. Every few years, the holy men from the west came through to perform weddings and naming ceremonies, and the townsfolk would hide their heathen accoutrements, as the priests called them, and hang up their crosses.