White Stag (Permafrost #1)(7)
I swallowed the burning in my throat. The Hunt. “He hasn’t gone already?”
Tanya shifted to cross her legs. “He is deciding who and what to take with him. And perhaps he’ll eliminate some competitors who are taking their time as well.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. I might’ve never experienced the Hunt in person, but I knew what was at stake. Everyone did.
“Do you think he’ll win?” I asked, then bit my tongue. It wasn’t like she’d say anything but yes.
She stood. “I think he has more than winning on his mind.” Without looking back, she crossed the room and unlocked the door. “He wishes to see you in his apartments as soon as you’re able.”
Then she left.
I lay there, heart pumping fast in my chest, trying to recall everything I knew about the stag hunt. The stag was the symbol of the Erlking’s power, of the fact that the Erlking was the strongest, fastest, best predator in the Permafrost. If the stag ran from the Erlking, then he wasn’t the strongest anymore.
It wasn’t just a hunt. The winner would be whoever had the most power as a predator; only he’d be the one to successfully reach and kill the stag. The ancient force that flowed through the very being of every goblin and marked their strength came from their kills and throughout the Hunt, you could gain more power by killing other competitors. It came with a cost, like everything did, but those with considerable power—like Soren and Lydian—dominated the goblins’ martial society for a reason. The longer the Hunt, the fewer contenders, but I didn’t know how long the Hunt officially lasted, only that sooner or later, the most powerful predator killed the stag and became the new Erlking. That meant that more than the stag would die, and unlike the stag, they wouldn’t reincarnate as the new Erlking’s symbol at the end.
If Soren died … what would happen to me? That wasn’t something I wanted to think about.
I rose and stood at the mirror, wincing as the icy air assaulted my limbs. Despite the slowly fading ache in my chest, my body looked fine. Or, well, as fine as it could’ve been. Three once-deep gashes joined the mass of scar tissue decorating my chest, and the slash marks from Lydian’s claws were ugly pink lines on my cheek. But I was alive. That was enough.
Next to the sleeping platform I found a pair of hunter’s clothes. The good kind. The tunic was the color of the sun peering through forest leaves, and the warm wool was soft against my dark skin. Over that went a jerkin of light-brown leather, already soft and supple enough for immediate use. Next to a pair of hunting leggings, made with the same supple leather as the jerkin, were woolen wraps. Carefully, starting at the knees and working my way down, I wrapped the warm fabric around my legs, then slid on the leggings. A half cloak of wolfskin wrapped around my waist and hung down to my knees. With the boots, the ensemble was complete.
The person in the mirror was a stranger: a girl with wild, dark hair and eyes that reflected the green of the tunic, she was in fine clothes and looked less human than I would have liked. But they made me seem fierce and brave.
I couldn’t reason why I was wearing such clothes. Goblin clothes, made specifically superior by the most talented of humans to endure endless combat and hunting. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths as nausea churned in my stomach.
“You have to go now,” I said to myself. “Soren doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
So, with a straight back and a face wiped of emotion, I slid the door open and entered the darkened hallways of the Erlking’s palace. From holes in the ceiling, light hit gleaming crystals and shattered into rainbows. Around me the steady drips of water worked to slow my racing heart. Compared to the grandness of the courtroom, the darkened, cavernous hallway was calming. This was my element. You could hide in the dark, listen in the dark; in the dark you could see your enemies but they couldn’t see you. In the harsh light of day, the sun shone on things that should never be brought to the light.
I came upon Soren’s door, knocked once, and waited.
The door slid open. Soren was dressed in almost identical clothing to me, though his were tailored for a man and decorated with embroidery that indicated a higher rank. The complex, looping designs of golden thread in his dark tunic could’ve only been made by a skilled, human hand. A female thrall probably spent hours perfecting it, aware that her skills in embroidery were going toward the enemy’s clothing.
His hair, normally loose around his shoulders, was pulled back in a series of intricate braids. His eyes were still the same cold lilac I expected, though. Those eyes looked me up and down for a long moment, before meeting my own.
“Yes,” he murmured, almost to himself, “that suits you.”
I bowed my head. “Thank you.”
“Come in. We have much to discuss.”
I followed him inside his chambers, eyeing every nook and cranny. The room was made of the same gray quartz, but there was a mahogany table and cluster of chairs, the furs on the sleeping platform looked untouched, and his favorite weapons hung on one side of the wall. Other than that, the space was much like my own. Sparse and bare, with little attempt at decoration. I had to chuckle at the irony of it.
“Something funny?” he asked.
“For someone who scoffed at the lack of decorations in the palace proper, you seem to dislike decorating yourself.”
His eyes flashed quickly to the walls. “It would be a high inconvenience for everyone if I decided to carry all my things with me every time I traveled. Especially with a hunt going on.”