Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

12. Ikar

Chapter 12

Ikar

D arvy, Rhosse, and I intentionally pass the sleek royal boats docked at the side of a busy boardwalk along the river. The glamour Jethonan created must be working since no one has spared me a glance. Darvy and Rhosse have gotten a few salutes and head bows. Being two of my highest commanders, they are well-known amongst the royal crews and soldiers who patrol the dock. But we make our way forward otherwise unhindered. We come to a boat already half-filled, headed toward Kivan, a decent-sized city to the south that is a hub where we have decided to begin our search for a Queen of the Night. After a quick inspection of the steel-bottomed ship, we quickly pay the fare and board. We take our seats on hard, splintery benches planted around the deck of the ship and bolted to the wood floor. If I didn’t know anything about enchanted river boats, I’d be worried by this one, but I don’t care if the top is rotting through, it’s the steel bottom that matters, and this one appears solid enough.

Moments after we take our seats, clouds roll in, dark and black, obscuring two of the three suns above us. I take a second look at the sturdiness of the ship we chose. The weather can be violent at times, and it grows worse with the ever-increasing gloam.

“What d’you wanna bet that this thing sinks before we dock in Kivan?” Darvy leans forward and speaks around me to Rhosse as he flicks his eyes toward the clouds speedily rolling our way.

Rhosse considers seriously for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest as he inspects the ship. “It’ll make it, I think.” He knocks his large knuckles against a piece of the deck railing. It makes a suspicious cracking sound but doesn’t appear to break. “This trusty boat has made it this far. It’ll make another trip.”

Rhosse and he begin to banter back and forth about the wager while a middle-aged woman sitting nearby, who obviously overheard, begins to glance worriedly around and whisper with the teenage girl beside her.

I elbow Darvy in the ribs. “Stop it. You’re scaring my citizens,” I growl.

“Shush, Simon,” Darvy says, happily forgoing my title as I instructed him.

“Do not call me Simon,” I mutter. I refuse to take my hawk’s name.

Rhosse pipes up next, “How is it we went over every detail of this plan except your name?” he asks low.

“My name is Ikar, no need to change it. Enough people named their kids after me after I was born that it won’t be a problem. Common as any name, now.”

The ship captain stomps up the plank, tugs it inside, and tosses it on the deck before he mumbles some warnings and instructions so incoherently that I have no idea what he said. Moments later, the ship takes off, sailing smoothly into the dark, gloam-infested river.

As I keep an eye on the roiling clouds moving in above us, my thoughts wander back to yesterday. My chest squeezes uncomfortably when I think of Nadiette’s face when I told her I couldn’t marry her. No matter what I do, I feel guilt. If I forgo my duty and marry Nadiette, my people suffer and possibly die. Yes, my people will be disappointed that their favored Originator will no longer be my queen, and I know Nadiette will also be embarrassed about the turn of events. And then I wonder, how will they receive a Black Tulip who I intend to marry instead? Hopefully, my people’s loyalty will also come to include our future Queen of the Night. And maybe I can even hope, in time, that my people come to love her. But I won’t. I will have to share my kingdom, my people, my rule, my bed, and even my magic with her. My heart will stay my own.

As much as I know about love, I can say that I love Nadiette. At least, I think I do. But it’s over, and now I need to prepare myself to marry and bridge with a Tulip—if I can find one. There are not many records kept on the history, so all I have to go on are stories and personal journals. My great-great-grandfather and grandmother were a bridged marriage, and from what I read, they seemed to be happy. But the thought of sharing such an intimate bond with someone I don’t know has me swinging from angry to fearful. A standard arranged marriage is intimate, yes, but my magic stays my own. It feels as if magic is forcing me to give access to one of my most cherished parts to another. It’s strange and disconcerting and necessary all at once, and I struggle to maintain the motivation to continue the mission.

That leads me to my biggest question. Where do I find a Black Tulip? One of the biggest problems I face is the fact that the Tulips are no longer an organized group. They have dispersed and spread since being hunted down, they likely don’t even receive any sort of training. I have to track one down and hope she’s willing, before my glamour wears off, and my kingdom disintegrates. It’s a monumental task.

We’ve been in Kivan for over a week, and I feel my patience diminishing like sand emptying from an hourglass in a steady stream. We’ve frequented every tavern, gambling establishment, and friendly bakery in this city. We’ve walked every street several times over, listening and watching, asking questions here and there, only to be given odd looks or completely ignored as people rush away. Half the people we’ve asked don’t even know what a Black Tulip is .

Tonight, we sit in a tavern that has rooms we’ve paid for on its second level. But it’s almost a waste of money, as I assume we’ll be sitting amongst the drunken gambling crowds until well into the early morning hours if tonight is anything like the others. Here on the main floor is a large room full of scarred and chipped round tables, rough-cut wood chairs around each. A bar counter spans the width at the back, lined with stools of varying heights. It is our last night here before we move on to the next major city.

I look across the room and see Darvy immersed in a game of cards, a heavy pile of money sits at the center of the round table, surrounded by a rough-looking bunch of men. He says something, and the man beside him laughs until they set their cards down and then he frowns at Darvy’s hand. I smirk. Darvy looks much more innocent than he truly is. A young face, that one, but his experience with weapons, and especially healing, are unsurpassed.

Rhosse, on the other hand, has the seasoned lines of a mature warrior on his face, though that doesn’t seem to detract from his appeal to women wherever we go. My smirk grows wider when I see him on a stool at the counter at the rear of the tavern, a drink nestled between his large hands while a blonde tavern girl appears to coyly be moving closer with a flirtatious air about her. For some reason, the heaviness of danger that accompanies a man who’s seen as much as he seems to attract some women rather than chase them off. Where Darvy excels at the technical parts of sword fighting, Rhosse commands a sword with more lethality than anyone else I know, including myself. But he also has hunter magic as I do, his strongest gifts in tracking and working with animals. I’ve never met anyone or anything that can outrun Rhosse. I assume a Black Tulip won’t, either. I chastise myself a bit for comparing my future queen to prey, but if I think of it more as a hunt it seems to settle better.

I stretch my shoulders back and shift in the uncomfortable wood chair. I’ve been watching a door at the back of the tavern, just past the bar counter. It’s a door that most would assume leads out to a back alley, but I’ve noticed there’s an unusual amount of traffic coming in and out. My hearing is sharp with magic that I’ve been pulling the entire time we’ve been here, in small amounts in order to keep it up for the duration of the night. The struggle is tuning out the heavy mix of conversation when all I’m searching for are words to do with Black Tulips. Like a needle in a haystack, this search. Along with the amount of people entering and exiting that door, though, it’s noisy. Most wouldn’t be able to hear the cheering I hear with the rumble of voices in the dining area, but it’s clear something is going on back there.

I stand and casually make my way to the back when I see one of the brazen tavern girls hanging on the arm of a drunk man heading toward the door. I glance over my shoulder to see Rhosse still pursued by the same blonde woman, but no matter. I slip in beside them on my own and find myself in a long, dark hallway. I’ve no choice but to follow it now. Seems more productive than sitting in a chair the rest of the night anyway.

I follow the unaware couple, who turn the handle of a door at the end of the hallway and enter another room. I follow them into a press of people, shouting and jeering and immediately jostling against me. I push my way forward, curious about what the focus of their excitement is. The heat of the crowded space presses on me, and I find myself sweating after just minutes. Swearing and jeers ring in my ears, and soon, I see why. From several rows of people back, I see the ropes of a fighting ring. A man in jet-black leather armor stands on the corners of the ropes, his long hair tied back, and with a strong arm jams a small piece of parchment in the air.

“Winner gets the list!” he shouts. “Last call!”

The crowd roars and pushes forward, and I watch as several large men move forward to sign their names on a parchment near the ring.

I look around, trying to figure out what is going on. What is the list about, and why would so many be willing to fight for it? Probably just a bunch of bored drunks out to have fun. I’m about to leave before I decide to ask a somewhat coherent-looking man what the deal is.

I raise my voice to be heard over the commotion, “What’s the list?” I gesture toward the man still standing on the ropes and waving the list, tauntingly, urging fighters to sign up.

“A list o’ Tulips to be found for reward and only one list to be had.” He grins.

List of Tulips? My heartbeat picks up its pace. It can’t be this easy. The man is about to begin weaving through the crowd again, but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “To be found? For what?”

The man is beginning to look annoyed, but answers me anyway. “Someone’s set a reward on Tulips. Wants ‘em dead. If you want it, better join the fight, or you won’t know who to look for and who to go to for payment.” He jerks his shoulder from my grip and disappears into the swarm of people. I don’t stop to think about it. If that man is right, that list is exactly what I need. And also exactly what I need to keep from anyone willing to track Tulips down to kill them.

Without thinking any further, I roughly push my way to where the list of competitors sign up and reach for the quill, but a greedy-looking man with gaps of missing teeth in his smile opens up a large bag and taps the amount posted on a sign to join the fight. Above the price, it’s clearly noted that this is a fight between mercenaries. Can a person decide he’s a mercenary at any time? I don’t know, but I just did. I pull out the money—it’ll take everything I brought tonight—but I drop it anyway, knowing it will be well worth it if I can get that list. I grab the pen from him and scribble my name beneath the long list of competitors.

“What are the rules?” I ask.

The man laughs, and air whistles between the gaps of his teeth. “Aren’t any.”

I’m pushed aside by three more men and a woman who also pay and sign their names beneath mine. I clench my jaw. It’s going to be a long night.