Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

20. Ikar

Chapter 20

Ikar

S he has no idea how to read that map. She’s an interesting conundrum, claiming to be a bounty hunter but lacking many of the skills necessary to make money in such a competitive, dangerous job choice. That, and I never sensed any hunter magic about her.

I know exactly where we are. Raised to be the High King, I spent hours with tutors learning all subjects. My study of geography was particularly intense and difficult, and when I grew old enough, I traveled and trained with soldiers of all the low kingdoms within my own—one of my main reasons for needing a glamour to hide my identity. I’m still curious how the artist of the bounty picture got some of my glamour, it’s the only way that bounty sketch could’ve been made. I saw the picture myself. I know for a fact Jethonan would never have been involved, but who? Apparently, someone close to me at the castle who can’t be trusted. Something to consider.

Right now, we’re wasting time while she pretends to read the map and will likely get us further from our destination if I don’t help. But I don’t want to help her. Anger tempts me to make this the most miserable, impossible job she’s ever taken. I want to be so awful that she gives up and releases me so I can get on with my mission to save the kingdom of people that I’m responsible for, including her. But my mother raised me better than that, and I don’t have time to play games. Though I find it irritating that even after her shady arrest, my protective instincts are triggered, and I want to smooth the wrinkle of concern that shows between her brows as her eyes scan the map. I lean over her shoulder, taking mercy.

I place my finger on the map. “We are here in this area somewhere,” I say tersely, circling a large desert portion of the kingdom.

She stiffens beside me.

“And we’re heading to the High Kingdom, Moneyre.” I state, scanning the map and locating the city far to the north.

“No. First, the fae,” she says.

I jerk my gaze to hers. “I don’t have time for errands.” Barely contained anger laces my voice.

She steps away, shooting me a dirty look. “Keep your distance.” She goes back to studying the map after she decides she’s a decent distance from me and frowns. “I’m in charge, and we’ll be visiting the fae first.” She gives me a pointed look, then looks at the map again. “We are much, much further than we were in Kivan. The river did a number on our travel days.”

There’s nothing to say to that. It’s frustrating, but the river was the only option to escape the goblins, so I can’t regret it. I fiddle with the strap of one of my scabbards while she continues to look over the map. I’m about to begin breathing exercises to extend my patience.

Finally, she seems to make a decision and folds up the map decisively. I have zero confidence that she has chosen the best route. So, naturally, I begin to suggest one.

“It would be fastest if we?—”

“I don’t need your opinion.” She throws her pack over her shoulders and starts walking.

My instinctive response, drilled into me for over twenty years, is to reprimand her for her disrespect, like she’s one of my soldiers, but she’s not. I hold my tongue, barely. The problem is, if she doesn’t accept my help, it’s very likely that I’m going to end up forever cuffed to this stubborn woman.

It’s been almost an entire day since we left the riverside. We made camp a few miles from the river and attempted to get a few hours of sleep, then continued our journey early this morning. Before long, we found the deep black canyons that this desert is known for. Maze-like, tiny paths wind through its narrow crevices. Some of them are wide enough to travel side-by-side, but most aren’t, and some I even have to turn sideways to get through. Others are pitch black, enclosed, tube-like tunnels we’re forced to scramble through. A claustrophobic’s nightmare. Even with the suns high in the sky, the canyons are so deep and narrow that the light that reaches the bottom where we travel is dim and dusty. Occasional winds kick up the loose sand beneath our feet and send it flying around and over us, so much so that my clothing and skin feel gritty. I keep my mouth pressed shut. Don’t need sand there as well.

She glances every so often at me, cool gray eyes full of distrust and hate. I keep my face wiped of all expression. I don’t want her to know how irritated I am. According to the document she showed me, I have been classified as a Class A criminal. I don’t want to be proud of that, but it does help ease the sting of being cuffed by an obviously inexperienced hunter. I try not to show that I care too much about the cuff, but whenever I catch a glimpse of it on my wrist, I have to tamp down a frown. It’s a literal, portable prison. My magic is stopped like water behind a solid dam. I force the pressure of my magic against the cuff, testing and attempting to pull and manipulate it, but it doesn’t work. I’m basically an Absent. I hope my skill and strength with weapons and fighting are enough to fend off anything we come up against during this journey, but my hope is lacking. I’ve relied on my magic heavily these last few years to win the bigger gloam battles. Without my magic, if I can’t protect her, and she dies, this cuff is stuck forever and my kingdom is doomed. And to top it all off, the small woman walking ahead of me is infuriating. Nothing like a charmed cuff and an arrest to thank someone for rescuing you, and an attitude much larger than her small frame to top it all off. It doesn’t help that I feel like an idiot for dropping my guard after I rescued her. I’d made an easy catch.

“How long have you been a hunter?”

“I started working with hunters five years ago,” she says evasively.

So, not even a hunter. The shame surrounding my arrest deepens, and I want to punch the nearest canyon wall, but I’d probably end up with busted knuckles for the duration of this eternal journey, and I no longer have Darvy as a healer. The vulnerability is real, and I don’t like it.

“If not a hunter, what faction are you?”

“Why do you care?” She raises a brow with another heavy dose of attitude for such an innocent-looking woman.

“Just wondering who arrested me.”

“You don’t need to know anything about me.”

“So we just walk in silence, and I trust that you are who you say you are and that you know where you’re going? ”

“That would be preferable.” She smiles sweetly, but there’s venom in her words. The sandy winds have pulled strands of her dark brown hair from her braid, and they float around her face in a wispy dance. At first glance in that tavern, I thought she was too skinny, boyish even, in her oversized clothing. But right now, with her hair messy and loose, her gray eyes framed by dark lashes, and the lightest sign of freckles across her nose, I could never mistake her for a boy. Up close, she’s all fragile beauty.

I pull myself from whatever mesmerizing trick she’s playing. Defiance rises in my chest. I am the High King. I have an entire army at my command. I have a high kingdom and four low kingdoms of people to care for, who depend on me, and an important mission to complete to keep them safe. But right now, I’m labeled a prisoner and criminal and am under complete control by a wannabe bounty hunter. I can tell her I’m a king—I have my seal and my mark—but will she even know what it is? Do I risk more by revealing my identity to someone I don’t trust while I have no magic and no backup or keep my mouth shut?

I’ll have to make the journey back either way, and I decide it’s best to keep my anonymity. Seven days. Give or take a few. I’ve done worse for that length of time. Like the time when I assisted my soldiers with a rescue in the mountains, and we were stranded for a week in a shard beast and scorpion-infested cave in blizzard conditions. Strange mix, that. An awful battle ensued as we fought for shelter. I can still feel the depth of the cold in my soul. Or the time we hauled a large convoy of weapons through dead, gloam-filled forest in a sand storm so thick I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Didn’t like breathing dirt much.

I eye the small woman ahead of me, practically drowning in the men’s clothing she wears. Her braid continues to be pulled from its twists by the gusts of wind. She seems harmless enough. I can do this for seven days. It will undoubtedly be easier than many of the missions I’ve commanded.

In the silence between us, I spend the hours watching for dark creatures hiding in the crevices and shadowed canyon walls and wondering who would set a bounty on me and how this happened. Those who know me know I am king, and those who don’t know me have no reason to do so. Most would recognize me on the spot, and since Vera doesn’t know who I am, I have to believe the glamour is still working. So, at least there’s that. I know without a doubt that Jethonan didn’t betray me. One of the servants maybe? They’ve all worked for me for years, so it doesn’t make sense that all of a sudden one would develop a grudge.

I continue to think on it, picturing the servants that frequent my rooms and office as our current, narrow crevice path opens into a wide open space. The ground is covered in weeds and plants with sharp, poky leaves. Three other paths lead out at the other side, two narrow crevices such as this one, the other a cave-like entrance. Vera stops suddenly, jarring me from my thoughts. I freeze and listen, instinctively attempting to pull magic, but it doesn’t come. My hearing and vision, my strength, all stay the same. They aren’t what they should be, and I clench my jaw in frustration.

“There’s a gloam creature nearby,” she whispers.

Another thing I should be able to sense with my magic.

I pull my sword, crafted and enchanted by a renowned weapons master, from its scabbard at my side. I may not be able to power it with magic like I did to beat the shard beast, but its enchantments will still help defeat most gloam creatures. Even a magic cuff won’t stop the enchantments crafted into my weapon. I grin at the thought.

“What direction?” I ask, my voice low.

“Coming down the path to the right, I think.”

I watch closely, scanning the tall canyon walls and down each of the other paths as well. But instead of a creature bounding out and attacking violently, a dark, thick mist begins to fill in the space around us, and the canyon becomes heavy with an ominous silence. I know exactly what it is and immediately try to slow and limit my breaths, knowing that if the mist thickens enough and I stand in it for too long, it will eventually kill me. Vera, as well.

“A murk. Try not to breathe it in.”

The woman seems inexperienced, but I hope she knows what a murk is. Gloam creatures with no definitive form, who use hallucinogenic mist as their offensive weapon to confuse, paralyze, and kill their prey. An enchanted weapon will kill them, but finding them in their half-solid state in time is the problem. That, and protecting the wannabe bounty hunter that I can no longer see. I turn, scanning, listening. My magic strains against the cuff, and I clench my jaw at the vulnerability and weakness I feel with the lack of it. The space that had once been wide open and full of weeds is now pitch black.

The back of my neck tingles with awareness, and I quickly spin to my left just as mist forms into a darker shadow and lunges from my left. Its shapeless, gaping mouth angles for my chest with a skin-crawling rasp in its attempt to suck the lucent magic from my soul for its own survival. I thrust my sword where it should be, but it’s gone, and I only slice through mist so thick that now I can’t even see my hands in front of my face. I have no idea where Vera is. I take slow steps to where I think she was last, hoping that lack of a struggle means the murk hasn’t found her yet.

“Vera?” I ask, my voice low, as I turn in all directions.

My brain begins to turn foggy, my thoughts churning like thick mud. I see Darvy and Rhosse in front of me. They’re here. I smile in relief before I remember that the three of us are in a battle of some sort. What battle? My gaze swerves back and forth as I search. My friends end up in a different spot than they were when I spin around again. That’s okay—they’re here and alive. I stride toward them and watch as they pull magic to prepare for the fight, and I feel a rush of relief and camaraderie that was missing just moments ago. Why? I pull magic, and just when I begin to wonder why it’s not working, they fall dead and gloam overtakes their forms like a rabid dog, twisting and snapping. I shout and rush to their aid. But just as I swing my sword at the gloam, it’s gone. Steel strikes dirt with a thud.

I turn. Where is it? Where is… what? I cover my eyes with a hand as I try to pull my thoughts from the mud they’ve been immersed in. What am I fighting? But my muscles burn with fatigue even just lifting my arm, and the hand grasping my sword is slick with sweat. I hear a feminine voice shouting, but it’s muffled and difficult to discern. I recover one word from the string of others. Hallucination . It’s enough. I lift my gaze and search. I see the dim shimmer of light through the mist and blink several times to make sure it’s not another hallucination created by the murk.

The mist gets thinner, and my thoughts clearer, the closer I get until I realize it’s Vera, holding a ball of lucent in her hand. Shock erupts through me. She’s an Originator. And she must be powerful in her own right to hold off a murk attack like this on her own with that tiny lucent orb. The mist isn’t as quickly condensing around her, due to her lucent magic, but it’s slowly filling in. Her comments from yesterday make more sense now, but I don’t have time to think over it. I blink, and she’s gone. I hear her scream, but it sounds like it’s coming from all directions at once. I begin to turn, then stop and try to gain my bearings again, but my eyes burn, and my movements begin to feel increasingly sluggish once more. The murk mist is so dense now that it feels difficult to inhale, like I’m breathing in pudding.

Then like the beginnings of a tornado, the fog begins to pull and spin in thick clouds around me. My hair and clothing begin to forcefully whip around my body. I grip my sword firmly, holding it tightly as the murk attempts to rip it from my grasp with its powerful, gale-force winds. My eyes struggle to blink, tears streaming from their corners, and then the funnel tightens. The wind has gathered loose debris from the forest floor, and I lift my arms to protect myself from the loose rocks, sticks, sharp leaves, and thorns that seem to be attacking me. I feel the sting of cuts on my face, neck, and hands. I feel the hit of larger rocks battering my body and know there will be bruises if I survive.

Tighter and tighter, the wind narrows, sucking the last precious bits of oxygen from my grasp, bit by precious bit, until it stops and instantaneously gathers into the dark oxygen-stealing blanket that is murk. It’s all over me, suffocating. All I see is black. I shout as I feel it pulling my magic to the surface of my soul through my chest—it feels like death. My breathing sounds like a sharp wheeze, and my blindness is accentuated with bright dots due to my lack of air. I hear Vera shouting but can’t make out what she’s saying. My body burns with murk-induced fatigue, and it takes all my will power to lift my arm. With a wild swing that my weapons trainer would balk at, I slice through part of it with my sword, and it temporarily falls away, gives a long, drawn out rasp, and comes at me again. Blackness once again enshrouds me, and I pull my magic so hard against the cuff I’m surprised it holds.

Of all the struggles I’ve had in my life, being absent of my magic has never been one of them, and I think it might be the worst. I see Vera’s light press through its form on the opposite side, and immediately, with her lucent magic, the murk’s power weakens enough that my vision clears. I lift my sword before the murk can dissipate again and stab straight through it. The charm around my weapon practically sizzles as it comes in contact with the murk’s physical gloam form, neutralizing it into a wisp of air that rises and disappears in seconds. I stand there panting and wipe a smear of blood across my face with my sleeve, taking great gulps of air and feeling relief as the burn and fog leaves my body.

“Enchanted sword? Those are pricey.” Vera lifts a shapely brow and looks pointedly at it while her orb snuffs out as if it was never there.

I sheathe my sword, more grateful for it than I’ve ever been. It’s my only lifeline at this point. “And you’re an Originator.”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal, brushes past me, and continues in the direction we were headed before the murk appeared. I follow, but my mind is turning as it continues to clear. Originators, especially those who can share raw magic like those I employ, are sought after by all factions of magic. It makes sense now, why she would be working with bounty hunters. Their ability to increase another person’s magic, like a magical conductor of sorts, is extremely valuable and has only become more so as magic has begun to decay at a steady pace. The energy required to pull and use magic has become almost unsustainable, but having an Originator changes everything. Healers, hunters, even other types of Originators, need more magic. She’s exactly what I need to find the flower since I was forced to leave my personal Originators with my kingdom, and it wouldn’t have been right to ask Nadiette to help me with this mission. I feel a stab of guilt again at the way I had to end things, but there’s nothing for it.

I push the thoughts away and refocus on the woman ahead of me. Suddenly, I find I’m not quite as angry toward her as I was a few minutes ago. I’ve found a powerful Originator, now I just need to hire her. I could find another Originator if she says no, but another Originator doesn’t also carry knowledge about the Tulips. I want this one. I want her.

There’s just the small fact that she doesn’t currently view us on equal grounds, me being her prisoner and all. I frown and lift the cuff to see its links around my wrist. With my current state of luck, as soon as she delivers me to the officials, my glamour will still be working so well they’ll lock me up and leave me there until it wears off or Darvy and Rhosse show up—if they ever do. A deep sorrow stabs through my chest. The hallucination caused by the murk felt too real, seeing them torn apart by gloam as if I was watching them die a second time. I force the image out of my head, unwilling to mourn. There’s a chance they are alive, and I’m not giving up hope. My two closest friends aren’t dead. They can’t be.

Back to the matter at hand—I don’t have time to rot in prison. And I don’t intend to end up there. Better by far, is convincing her of my character and my law-abiding reputation. She doesn’t need to know I’m king, but I need her to trust me. I’ve got a week to sway her opinion. In the meantime, I need to put together the offer of a lifetime to get her help.