The Great Hunt (Eurona Duology, #1)(40)

Their grandmother Seabolt had looked after the boys during the day while their father fished and their mother haggled with vendors.

He recalled the summer morning when he was eight and a woman round with pregnancy came bursting into his grandmother’s cottage.

“It’s not moving! Something is wrong—I can sense it. Please, help me, miss!”

Paxton had been confused by the woman’s frantic pleading. He couldn’t understand what his grandmother could possibly do to help.

His grandmother had gone an ashen shade of gray. “I cannot help you. I’m so very sorry.”

“Please!” The woman had begged, her shaking hands splayed across her belly. “I know you’re Lashed! My own mother told me. I know you can feel for its heart and . . . and . . .” She began crying. “This is my sixth pregnancy. None have lasted this long. Please . . .”

Paxton had hated the sad feeling that overtook him at the woman’s desperate sobbing, and the way his grandmother’s eyes filled with tears.

“If I help you, I will be killed when they do the census. I have grandsons to care for. I cannot risk it. Please . . . you must go.”

Paxton’s eyes burned as the memory faded and a hot bout of flame overtook the skin at his waist. He hissed and watched in awe as the bloodied claw marks sealed themselves between the woman’s splayed fingers. Mrs. Rathbrook’s creased forehead relaxed and she opened her eyes.

“There now. Good as new.”

“Thank you.” He slowly pushed himself up, marveling at the lack of pain. But the woman placed a hand on his shoulder and urged him to lie back.

“Magic can take a toll on the body. You’ll need to rest for a bit and eat something.” She pushed a cart to his side filled with sliced fruit, bread, juice, and dark coffee, a delicacy impored from the forests of Kalor.

“Thank you,” he said again.

Mrs. Rathbrook gave him a small smile and pushed his hair out of his face. When she turned to go, he called out, “Wait.”

She faced him again, her head tilting.

“She wasn’t very old when she died,” Paxton said. He felt like a child, unable to hold back the words, remembering. “Her health declined so quickly.”

“Aye.” Mrs. Rathbrook nodded solemnly. “As do all Lashed who do not use their powers.”

Paxton sat up, wincing, and the woman gently pushed him back down. “Easy now.”

He propped up on his elbows to see her face better. “So the two are linked? A Lashed One’s health to their magic?”

“Aye. How do you think I’ve lived this long?” Indeed. It was just as he’d feared.

“I thought perhaps Lashed had shorter lifespans by nature, or that some were sickly from a lack of nutrition. I hoped it was coincidence.” He felt like a fool for not acknowledging the truth of it sooner. He lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I miss her.” Deep seas . . . he hadn’t spoken of her in years. He expected to feel weak after vocalizing his feelings, but he didn’t. He felt only loss and regret.

“I’m sure you do,” the Lashed woman murmured in return. She gave his cheek a fond pat. “I hope you’ll visit me whenever you’re in the castle, Paxton Seabolt.”

And with that, the woman with magic hands left him, and Paxton fell back, rubbing his eyes, chest burning with familiar anger. His grandmother could have lived longer had she used her magic. He could still have her today if it weren’t for the law of the land.











Chapter


18


Princess Aerity woke with a start as she remembered the hunters leaving for last night’s hunt. She untangled her long nightgown from the covers and ran to the window, heart racing as she threw aside the thick curtains. Her eyes squinted against the bright morning sky as she scanned the people below.

Her stomach turned, realizing there were definitely fewer hunters, and they didn’t seem to be celebratory. Some were milling about, taking off their weapons. Others were clustered in small groups, slumped as they spoke. She recognized three of the Zandalee in all black, facing the wall on their knees, as if praying. Had they lost one? Aerity’s stomach dropped in sadness.

She scanned the crowd, and found fewer dark-haired men. There was Harrison’s short hair—thank the seas! He seemed well, and her stomach began to right itself. She spotted Tiern Seabolt next. Her eyes circled all around him, but didn’t find his brother at his side.

Where was Paxton Seabolt? The brothers were always together. Air moved faster into her lungs, pressed out in short spurts. She shouldn’t care this much. He’d never even been civil to her. Still, concern ate at her.

She jumped from the window seat and snatched her robe from the hook, throwing it over her arms. Aerity yanked open the door and found her maid standing there with a tray. Caitrin jumped and let out a small squeal.

“I’ll be right back!” Aerity ran past her.

“But, miss! Your Highness, your shoes!”

It wasn’t proper to be seen outside her chambers in nightclothes, and it was even more uncivilized to be seen barefoot. Aerity didn’t care, driven by some frantic fear for a complete stranger. She ignored the open stares from servants as she passed, and she barely noticed the guards following as she burst from the castle doors and ran down the path to the west commons area. It wasn’t until she neared the vine-covered gates and men came into view that she began to worry about her state.