Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

21. Ikar

Chapter 21

Ikar

A day later, we’re still making our way through what is called the Black Canyons. We’ve kept a quick pace, our only real stop the murk attack, and half a night’s sleep. Seems that the wannabe hunter doesn’t like these canyons much. I would laugh, but I admit that their twists and turns and tight spaces seem never-ending, and maybe they are, if you don’t choose the right path. The first sun sets, and I would have grown even more concerned with the lack of a forthcoming exit, except I notice that the canyon walls aren’t quite as steep, the crevices wider. Soon, evidence of green shrubs overtaking the prickly, stick-like weeds adds to my optimism. The second sun sets, but we continue. It’s not until the third sun is on its way down that Vera finally stops.

We stand in a small flat field of grass, the shadowy tree line several yards distant on all sides. Canyon walls are miles apart by this point, and I grudgingly admit she seems to know how to survive. I look over my shoulder at the Black Canyon far behind us in the distance. Grown, experienced men have lost their way between those narrow walls time and time again. If she has luck, it must be a hefty amount. I shrug, no complaints from me. I’ll not be questioning anything that speeds this journey up.

“We’ll stop here,” Vera says, as she removes her pack. She’s hardly looked in my direction today, and now is no different. I’m not sure if she’s scared of me, disgusted by my presence, or both. I’ve experienced neither of those directed toward me as the king. The opposite, in fact. People bowing so extravagantly they nearly fold in half, simpering women with their eyes on the throne beside me, and others planning ways in which to get ahead of another in my court—it’s all quite exhausting. I watch for a moment as she busies herself preparing a place for a small fire, continuing to ignore me. At least I know where she stands.

I gather wood while I wrestle with the fact that she’s in charge here. I’m not used to taking orders from anyone—it’s been years since I’ve had to. But while I press my lips shut and force myself not to say anything I think about the last person who truly had the power to give me an order—my father. What would he say about my current situation? For a moment on this journey, I was two steps ahead, but now I feel as if I’m five behind. I try to imagine what he’d say. How to get out of this? He was a peacemaking king, a uniter of the low kings and the people, and he was loved for it more than anything else he accomplished. He’d tell me to be humble and win her over with kindness and respect, which I already know I need to do in order to win her trust as I’ve planned, but those are the last things I want to offer right now.

I see Vera startle from the corner of my eye as I place the wood for a fire and follow her line of sight. All I see is the Black Canyon in the distance and the sparse beginnings of forest trees at the edges of this large field. Maybe she senses something I can’t see, but I’m magically helpless, so I don’t know. The gloam creatures normally lurk in shadow, but here, at least the moon shines brightly. Light won’t keep them away, but it helps. I warily eye the trees at the edge of the field, but all is still.

Earlier in the evening, I used my bow to shoot a rabbit that appeared to be following us. Odd behavior for a rabbit, but I’ve seen stranger. I now cook it over our small fire while Vera settles and watches, quietly perched on a rough log she tipped on its side. A small bird, that looks more like a wad of fluffy, fresh cotton than anything that can fly, glides through camp and lands on her shoulder with a happy chirp. I watch, intrigued, as her face visibly softens and her eyes widen with pleasure.

“Rupi,” Vera whisper-greets the bird with a tender smile.

She lifts a finger, and the bird hops onto it, wrapping its tiny feet around securely. It turns its head and looks at me with a judgmental, tiny, black eye encircled with a small gray ring, and lets out another chirp from its black beak that can be no longer than the tip of a flat quill. It’s fluffy white all over. The fuzz around its face gives it a soft, friendly look that’s at odds with the black eye directing a glare my way. The body of the bird is, at most, two inches long. Its tail another two inches. It’s tiny. And somehow, oddly familiar, though I don’t recall ever seeing a bird of this variety before.

“Is this your… pet?” I ask, as I turn the rabbit over the fire, waiting for Vera to snap at me for asking a question again.

Instead, she smiles affectionately at it, and I’m caught off guard by the soft tone of her voice. “Yeah, her name is Rupi.”

Vera pulls a small bag from her pack and pours out a tiny pile of seed in her hand, the fluffy bird eagerly hops on her palm and begins pecking. It pauses with a seed in its beak and jerks its head toward the forest, seeming to listen. Then when nothing jumps out, continues cracking the seed and pecking for more. Vera watches quietly. Then the bird hops back to her shoulder where she promptly ruffles up her feathers and nestles into the warm crook between her shoulder and neck, cushioned by her cloak, looking like something so round and fluffy it belongs in a children’s book.

“And what about the squirrel from earlier?” I’m positive it followed us for at least twelve miles.

A hint of wariness enters her eyes, but she laughs. “Just a friendly squirrel.” She shrugs her shoulders.

A friendly squirrel ? Right. I’m beginning to think she’s some sort of animal whisperer. I decide not to mention the rabbit, since my questioning appears to be making her uncomfortable and I fear she’ll quit talking altogether. Animal whisperers are a subset of the hunter faction, as Rhosse is, but she can’t possibly be of the hunter faction because I saw with my own eyes her ability to pull raw lucent magic. She’s an Originator, isn’t she? I look a little closer at her, expecting the explanation to reveal itself. It doesn’t seem to add up, so I decide I’ve made more of the friendly animal situation than I need to. There are bigger things to be worried about, like survival.

“How do you usually protect yourself on these bounty hunts?” I ask, as I continue to turn the meat. “I would think maybe you would have adopted something… bigger, for protection.” I eye the bird.

She pours the leftover seeds in her hand back into the small leather pouch, still not looking at me. “Rupi is the perfect companion.” Her voice is borderline defensive.

The bird turns its head slightly, like it understood my comment, and seems to give me a side eye of disdain, but the effect falls flat with the fluff surrounding its face.

She continues. “I accept contracts for work.” She pulls two strings, and the bag cinches up, then she wraps her hands around the bag and looks up, her forearms resting on her knees and her eyes meeting mine for the first time since this afternoon. “I work with bounty hunters, but am not officially one of them. As part of the contract, it is their job to offer me protection for the duration of the job, and in return, I offer them lucent magic. It’s always worked well enough—until now.” The emotion in her eyes is a mixture of guilt and independent attitude. I realize then that maybe she avoids making eye contact because her eyes reveal more than she likes.

“Why did you arrest me without a hunter?”

“I suppose I owe you that much, since I’ve put you in a bit of danger.” She bites the edge of her lip, and there’s that guilty flash in her eyes again before she directs her gaze to her fingers fiddling with the strings that tie the pouch of birdseed.

So, the woman does have a heart.

“I was supposed to go back to meet him. I was correct in assuming you’d follow me, and I thought I’d lead you right to him, but I didn’t account for the trap. You know the story from there.” Her nose wrinkles like she can still smell the sour of the goblins. I know I can.

“So, you’re a rule breaker.” I state the fact with a smug smirk. I can’t help it, the way she’s labeled me a criminal still irks.

Her eyes shoot up to meet mine, her brows rising in surprised denial and her mouth opening as if she’s about to defend herself. Then she realizes I’m right, and her lips press together with a frown. I cast her a knowing glance with an accusatory brow raise, but find myself enjoying the open emotion I see in her gaze and immediately shut down the desire to find more ways to initiate eye contact. This isn’t a game or a friendship .

“That’s not fair,” she says quietly.

“There’s a good chance we’ll both die out here if you keep me cuffed,” I say bluntly. She knows it as well as I.

“Almost done?” She gestures toward the rabbit with a jerk of her chin.

I decide to let the cuff situation drop for now. I know if I push her too hard, it’ll make it worse, so I simply nod. “What other types of contracts do you take?”

She fiddles with the small strings of her bag. “Healers and hunters, usually. Sometimes potion makers.”

“You don’t work with other Originators?” I ask, more curious than I should be about the woman across the fire.

Her eyes turn guarded. “No.”

I can tell she will not divulge anything further along that line of questioning. Why would an Originator not want to work with other Originators? I tuck the question away for later.

I decide to test the waters without directly inquiring. Now isn’t the time for me to offer her a contract, but I can still gather information.

“What about official kingdom contracts or permanent positions? Or working with armies, small missions, that type of thing?” I keep an innocent expression on my face. She has no need to know my position at this point.

Her gray eyes fill with ice, and the tense muscles that must have tightened in her shoulders have Rupi readjusting against the warmth of her neck. “I would never accept contracts for any official capacity. And I’m not noble , so it’s impossible to find a permanent position anyway.”

Now, it’s my brows rising. What is the source of her disgust for official capacity jobs? They pay well. Many Originators compete for them, though I can understand her frustration about the limitations for lower class Originators. I’m not sure when that started, years before my time, but something about being here with her has me wanting to look into it when I return.

“Why would you, who apparently loves to live life by the rules, have an issue with officials?” I ask lightly, like her answer won’t affect me, but my chest grows tight. If she refuses to work with me, I have to spend precious time finding another Originator. Time I don’t have, especially after being cuffed and lost for days. I don’t care if she’s noble or not. She appears to be powerful no matter her class.

She raises her gaze to mine. “You’re a mercenary, so I assume you don’t like officials—or shall we be clear and say it’s the kings —either, or you’d be working as an honorable soldier in one of the low or high royal armies. Right?” She looks at me, waiting. It smarts, but I choose not to be offended that she views me as less-than-honorable.

I lift my shoulders noncommittally, unwilling to outright lie. I’m not so sure now that I am prepared for her opinion when I see the ice in her eyes melt and fill with flames of fire.

“High Kings and almost all low kings are violent, selfish, wealthy, entitled, spoiled men who take and take from their people and are in constant search for more power. They allow needless murder and the poor to be mistreated and ignored. Look at the suffering of the kingdoms. What is there to like? Tell me one place that is thriving.” She hardly pauses for a breath before she continues, “Why should nobility refuse to take on a low-class Originator for a permanent position? It’s not just Originators, either. The lower class suffers across all forms of magic, and the kings have done nothing to help them or change it.”

I feel like she punched me in the chest. I want to argue with her. Many parts of the kingdom are doing relatively well, considering the circumstances of lucent and gloam, but can I say they are thriving? Probably not. The one thing I can’t argue at all is the fact that the suffering of the kingdom is my fault.

“I believe most kings are doing their best,” I respond carefully.

“Have you worked for one?” She sounds doubtful.

“I’ve been around a few,” I say vaguely. She doesn’t need to know that I know the other four kings personally. Or that I am, in fact, the High King she hates. “Have you met one, seen one, even?”

“I’ve been around a low king, but I haven’t met or seen any of the others, that I know of.” She looks uncomfortable. “I find it odd that you, as a criminal, have such a glowing opinion of our leadership.” She looks at me with a mix of thoughtfulness and confusion.

“I told you from the start this was all a misunderstanding. I’m not a criminal.” I meet her gray gaze with mine, challenge in my eyes.

She looks away first. I want to ask her more. I understand her anger over the treatment of the lower class. I admit that I should consider how to approach such large cultural treatment of a class, but unfortunately, changes such as those take time and patience. In the meantime, I want to find out where those other beliefs come from, about kings, but I think I’ve pushed the limits of this conversation. I only nod as I pull the now-cooked rabbit from the fire and hand Vera her portion. We eat in silence, the fire crackling warmly between us. I have roughly six more days to convince this woman to accept an official contract. Six days to change an opinion that, from the fire in her eyes, has deep roots. Six days to figure out what she knows about the Tulips. I tear off a large bite of perfectly-cooked meat. This adventure just got a lot more interesting.