The Great Hunt (Eurona Duology, #1)(59)

“Aye.” He gave the squirrel a quarter turn over the flames with a stick.

“You made a fire?” Harrison asked, coming to life at the end of their row. He leaned down to poke at his ankle, grimacing.

Paxton cleared his throat, hoping his brother couldn’t read his lies. “I had flint. Found some dry wood sheltered by a fallen log that way.” He jerked his head to the side, ignoring Tiern’s questioning eyes narrowed on him.

Paxton glanced down at his dirty hands, at the fingertips he’d muddied hours ago after building the fire. He crossed his arms, shoving his hands into hiding.

“I had the strangest imaginings. . . .” Tiern stared down at the fire.

“I’m sure you did,” Paxton said. “Only dreams. You were laughing to yourself like a nutter, completely frozen, and then you fell fast asleep.”

Harrison chuckled, giving his ankle a gingerly turn.

“How’s it feel now?” Tiern asked him.

“Better. Still tender, but I think the cold was actually good for it.” He stood carefully, and nodded. “I’ll make it back today, perhaps at the speed of a turtle.”

Slow suited Paxton. He was ill of mind that morning. First, it felt as though he’d let the beast slip through his fingers, simply handing it to the Ascomannians, and then . . . then he’d done the unthinkable—the thing he’d promised his grandmother he’d never do—the thing that could get him killed. But he’d kept his brother and the lieutenant alive. That was what mattered. The only thing he regretted was the fact that he lived in an age with ridiculous laws and prejudices.

Paxton stood, suddenly angry all over again. He could feel Tiern watching him as he paced over frosted leaves and icy twigs. He squatted to turn the squirrel on the fire, and looked out at the forest around them, dipping downward at a slope. As the sun rose, it made the ice glitter on the trees, and slowly the sounds of droplets hitting the forest floor began as a melting temperature set in.

He didn’t want to return to Lochlanach. He didn’t want to face the people who’d rather see his brother freeze to death than to be kept warm by the use of magic. He didn’t want to hear the land’s uproar of hysteria if they found out one of the hunters was Lashed, and they were bound to find out if he didn’t stay in hiding for as long as it would take his nails to grow out. Lochlans, even the fishermen and farmers, prided themselves on keeping clean hands in the off hours for that very reason.

To prove they weren’t like him.

“You all right?” Harrison asked. Paxton realized his hands were in his hair, grasping at the long strands that had fallen out of the tie.

“Fine,” he said, dropping his hands. He nodded at the squirrel, which was browned now. “It’s ready to eat.”

Tiern set to work on their breakfast, dividing the small amount of meat and innards. He tried to hand some to Paxton, who shook his head.

“You’ve got to eat,” Tiern told him.

“I’m fine for now.” He couldn’t explain to his brother the buzz of clean energy that surged through him since he’d worked magic—as if years had been added to his life. He felt like a much younger lad, and it made him realize that he, too, would age quickly, just as his grandmother and other Lashed did when they didn’t use their powers.

Paxton set to pacing again, breathing fast, trying to control his raging emotions.

When they finished eating, they began the slow trek back down the mountainside. It would take a good part of the day, which was fine, because Paxton had a lot to think about. He needed to decide what to do. He wished they hadn’t had to sell his grandmother’s seaside cottage when she passed. It was the perfect home, away from others, where one could live out their life in solitude. Because that’s what Paxton needed to seek now. Solitude.

He would have to decide whether or not to tell his family, or to let them believe he was abandoning them. Tiern should probably know, given the chance that his own children could be burdened with this curse someday.

A pang of hunger hit Paxton around high noon and he kept his eyes peeled for prey. After half a mile, when the grade in the ground’s tilt began to lessen, Paxton thought he spied a nut tree with a small clearing under its canopy. He cut a path through the brush until they reached it.

Large green orbs hung limply from branches, and the ground was littered with them.

“Walnuts!” Harrison exclaimed.

The men set to crushing the tough green outer shells underfoot and peeling them off. The inner shells had to be pried open with their knives. When Paxton finally got his first one open and poured its broken contents into his mouth, his stomach gave a loud growl.

“Pax, your hands are filthy,” Tiern pointed out.

Paxton dropped his hands to his sides too quickly. “I’m not going to waste valuable water cleaning my hands.”

He turned to pick another nut, putting his back to them.

“River’s probably less than a mile east,” Harrison said. “We can detour there to wash up if you’d like.”

Paxton responded without turning. “No. I’d prefer to get back sooner if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yeah,” Tiern said, kicking a rotted nut. “I want to find out if the Ascomannians found the beast. Seas alive, I’ll die if that Volgan barbarian killed it.”