Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

22. Vera

Chapter 22

Vera

I relay our conversation in my mind and internally cringe. Why did I share so much? Something about this man puts me dangerously at ease, even has me removing cemented bricks from my fortified, emotional walls. It feels a lot like we’ve developed a neutrality of some sort, and I only just arrested him two nights ago. It’s hard because he is surprisingly… normal. I remind myself I didn’t share anything overly personal, nothing that would give me away, but if this continues, I know it’s not if I will, it’s when . And that’s the problem.

It’s not often I find someone I can vent about my dislike of kings and classes to, and who better than a mercenary? He says he’s not a criminal, but that’s to be expected from a criminal. It felt good to say it to someone who understands, to get it off my chest, but it’s also dangerous. I can’t forget that he and his friends are after the Tulips. They’re after me. I finish chewing and force the bite of meat down my throat. Though it’s delicious, it sticks in my throat like I just ate a hunk of old, moldy bread. I am a naive fool to forget who this man is. Just hours ago, I watched him kill a murk without any magic, aside from his enchanted sword. I’ve never seen any hunter defeat a gloam creature without magic, but I made sure not to make too big of a deal out of it. The confidence nearly radiates off him, and I don’t think he needs any extra. Besides, I don’t want him knowing how much it shook me. I swallow tightly. Instead of feeling safer with the knowledge of what he can do, I feel even more scared of the danger he inherently is.

I lift my gaze to look at him across the heat rising from the fire, and his eyes meet mine for a moment that seems long. All steely blue intensity. Hard and focused. Calculating, even. I thought all his magic was securely locked behind that handy cuff, but I begin to doubt it. Aside from magic, there’s no other way to explain the way his eyes hold mine and draw me in, and it’s not all terror that’s holding me there. I’ll be the first to admit that my criminal is attractive. There’s a pull about him that makes me feel a little panicky. Like I’m tied to a rope he’s slowly but surely winding closer. He’s intense. I can almost tangibly feel a drive within him that is entirely too intimidating. All day long I felt that presence behind my back, as if his overconfident self was just waiting for me to mess up so he could step into control and I would thank him for it. No way, mister. I narrow my eyes at him. He simply quirks a seemingly innocent, questioning brow at my glare, like he’s wondering what in the world he could have done to warrant it. I’ve chosen the worst criminal.

I shake my head and turn my attention to Rupi, who’s perched on my shoulder. She spent the last few minutes cleaning her feathers with her small beak, and now I stroke her fluffy softness. She pecks softly at my earlobe before she tucks her head down and sleeps. Which leaves me with nothing to do but watch the muscles of my criminal’s forearms move as he stokes the fire. He’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows to clean the rabbit earlier and left them that way—to my detriment or pleasure, I can’t say. I press my lips together unhappily. Why can’t he be filthy and gross? His voice nasally instead of rich and smooth? His hair matted or dirty instead of shiny and artfully mussed? I mean, we just walked out of a canyon pit full of sand winds and prickly bushes. Pretty sure it shows for me.

Just to show how much I don’t care what he thinks or how attractive he is, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand in a very drawn out, unladylike fashion. If he thinks I’m gross, then good. Maybe he’ll stop talking to me. Then I stand so quickly that Rupi gives a surprised cheep and her feathers begin to quill at the abrupt movement. Ikar watches me like he doesn’t know quite what to think, but says nothing. At least he won’t be able to figure me out. I can’t even do that myself. I laugh a little sharply to confuse us both even more as I stalk grumpily to my pack and prepare my bedroll. The one time I arrest a criminal on my own and he has to be like this . I huff a breath out as I adjust my blankets in an angry fashion, then fold my arms atop them and stare at the sky. There must be something wrong with me. Maybe I swallowed too much dark, disgusting river water, and now I’m attracted to hardened criminals for the rest of my life. I lay flat on my back and frown at the stars in the sky while I wait for sleep that refuses to come, Rupi’s tiny body pressed up against the warmth of my neck and nested in my hair.

I’m still awake when Ikar rises to prepare his own bedroll. He tosses it out, then digs through his pack for a moment. In his efforts to find whatever he’s looking for a small glass bottle drops out, rolls a few inches away, and settles comfortably against a patch of coarse field grass and dirt. Not sure if he noticed, and more curious than I should be, I scoop Rupi from the confines of my hair to the warmth of my blankets and climb out of my bedroll. I pluck the vial from the ground. Fae potion? I know from personal experience working with the makers that these are quite expensive.

I hand it back to him, and after a mumbled thank you, he nonchalantly tucks it into an inner pocket, and proceeds to arrange his pack again just so. He’s a tidy criminal, then.

“What kind of potion is it?” I ask, curious. Glamour or healing is the question.

“Healing, but it’s no longer potent.”

“Are you sure? How long ago did you buy it?”

When fae potions, which have always been the holy grail for healing elixirs, cross the fae borders, within hours they have lost half their power. And within a week or two, they will no longer heal at all. Part of the whole magic dying thing.

“I’m sure,” he says in the darkness, “it’s over a week old.”

Most people buy fae potions for specific reasons, or even travel to the fae to use them to ensure they aren’t wasted because their prices are so high. I’ve never known mercenaries to have so much money to spend… and waste. His enchanted sword looks like the best quality, custom type. And he purchases fae potions just to… keep on hand and forget about? But it’s none of my business. He is a criminal, I remind myself. He probably lifted it off someone he killed or used dirty money to purchase it. Those reminders have me quickly settling back into my bedroll several feet away and feeling grateful for that lock around his wrist.

With the help of the map, we left the Black Canyons and its deserts and entered into a forest that is much like the rest that fills the majority of the kingdoms. The trees are tall and thick, and dark green needles fill long branches and dust the ground beneath. Moss grows along the trunks of the trees, covers rocks with its green cushion, and carpets the forest floor. Small flowers sprout amongst forest grass here and there, but the shadows prevent anything too tall from growing within these depths. We pick our way through, and I’m trying not to compulsively check the map, but it’s hard.

I open it again and hope he doesn’t comment on the fact that I just opened it a few minutes ago, but I can’t help it. Everything in this dratted forest looks the same, and I only catch glimpses of the suns when there happens to be a gap in the tight weave of branches above. How am I to determine if we’ve been traveling in the right direction?

I squint a little to see it better. My criminal pointed out the Black Canyon Desert, which seems obvious to me now that I’m looking at it on the map, and we still need to get through the Shift Forest. Problem is, I can’t tell one forest from another on here. I turn the map a bit, trying to see if I can match it up with our direction, and I just know he’s watching me with that hard gaze of his. Judging my lack of map reading talent, I’m sure. I should just ask him. He’s as motivated as I to get to Moneyre, so I can trust him at least this much, right? My pride, though, stings like a flame spider’s bite.

Without allowing myself a second more to think about it, I stop in my tracks and angle the map toward him. He jerks to a stop, like I caught him off guard. Good . Keep things weird. Rupi takes this moment to coast on a light breeze and land gently on my forearm as I hold the map out, quirking her head between the map and Ikar. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she knows how to read my map as well. It’s a ridiculous thought. I would laugh, but I still have to ask Ikar for help. Best get it over with.

“Where do you think we are?” I keep my voice unemotional and flat, but inside, I’m hoping he doesn’t comment on the fact that I’m asking.

He looks at the map, turns it the opposite way I had it, and then points to a spot in the middle of an unmarked forest.

“Here, but we should probably shift a bit to the north to get to the city that leads into the Shift Forest.”

Rupi cheeps and hops to his still-extended wrist. Is this supposed to mean she agrees with him? My cheeks itch to turn red, but I quickly fold the map up. “Great, exactly what I was thinking, too.” Never mind I had the map upside down. And what’s up with Rupi? She looks even tinier perched on him than on me. I frown at her as she happily accepts a gentle stroke from Ikar’s forefinger, who looks afraid he may break her with his touch. It could be endearing if the man wasn’t a Tulip killer.

I grow a bit concerned about Rupi, wondering if she may have eaten something odd and it’s affecting her behavior. Rupi in her right mind would never accept affection like that from a criminal—she never has in the eight years I’ve worked with bounty hunters. I wait a second longer for her to return to my wrist, but she appears content to stay where she is. Instead of waiting for her I scoop her into my hands and carefully snatch her back from the mercenary, now truly worried she’s unwell. I decide I’ll keep a close eye on her the rest of the day, so I deposit her on my shoulder.

“You need to stop eating strange things. It’s not safe,” I scold her, quietly. But when I twist my neck to see her on my shoulder, she angles one eye at me. And for some reason, I feel like if she could manage an eye roll, I would have seen one. “Stay close,” I tell her, ignoring her attitude.

I start walking and look over my shoulder at him, but I shouldn’t have. All I see is that smile he does that’s annoyingly confident and calm, but this time it seems a bit smug. I whip my head back around. That’s the last time I’m asking him for help.

I tell myself that I have to wait to open the map again for at least an hour as I try to head in a more northernly direction to find Shift City. I wrap my hands around the straps of my pack over my shoulders to ensure I don’t grab the map in the next two minutes and prepare to trudge silently on through this dark piece of the kingdom.

Rather than continue silently, Ikar speaks from behind me. I brace myself to hear that I’ve gone in the wrong direction, but instead he asks, “You know I was serious about the deal, right?”

“What deal?” I feign innocence.

“I mentioned that if you released me, I’d pay you as much as the bounty reward, but I’d like to make one minor change to my offer since it hasn’t been accepted yet.”

“Make as many changes as you like, I won’t be accepting.” I glance at him, expecting to see a sign of frustration, but instead I still see the remnants of that grin on his face.

“I should clarify. I want to offer you a contract .” He gives me a pointed look. “In exchange for you assisting me on my search, I will pay you double the reward amount that was listed on the warrant.”

It is similar to what he suggested that first night I’d cuffed him when I immediately shut him down, and it’s a jaw-dropping amount of money. It’s an offer that can change my life. There has to be a drawback. I hate to act interested, but he’s ignited my curiosity.

“What exactly do you need help finding?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“A flower with magical properties. I believe it can be found high in the Lucent Mountains,” he says in his deep, rich voice that has me wanting to say yes just from the sound of it .

But I knew there was a drawback, and this is a huge one. The only thing I know about the Lucent Mountains is that no kingdom or realm has specific claim on them. They are, literally, owned and protected by magic. Lucent has weakened considerably. The entire mountain range may be engulfed in gloam by now.

“People don’t go there,” I say flatly.

He shakes his head in disagreement. “People have been there.”

“They haven’t returned!” I whisper-yell, my eyes wide at the insane idea he’s presented.

“I’m sure they’ve returned. They just don’t brag about it.”

“The logic there is surprisingly lacking.” He’s a smart man. He’s shown me that. Is he in denial?

“Doesn’t matter if it’s logical or not. It’s the only place I can find the flower I need.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I trust the king’s advisor. So, yes. But I need an Originator to do it.”

“Well, good luck finding anyone willing.”

“Just think about it.”

“Don’t need to. I don’t work with criminals,” I say.

I look back at him after an extended moment, wondering why he didn’t respond. I barely catch the way his eyes have tightened at the corners as his left shoulder pulls forward in the smallest way. A memory comes to mind of how my father’s bad shoulder used to cramp up after a long day. It was much more noticeable than this, but is it the same for him? He did fight off a murk yesterday and has carried that pack for two days straight.

“Your shoulder bad?”

“It’s fine.” His voice is flat.

“My father’s shoulder would cramp up when he’d use it too much, an old injury acting up.” I continue talking about my father and his injury and about some of the healers I worked with to fill the silence. He simply listens, and I end up feeling like I shared too much.

A minute later, Ikar speaks. “You talk about your father as if he no longer lives.”

It’s a statement, but I can sense the question within. For some reason, maybe because he’s been tolerable and, you know, sort of saved my life, I decide to answer this time.

“He doesn’t. Neither does my mother. They died when I was fourteen, and I spent the next four years with my fae aunt.”

We’re walking side-by-side now, the feeling between us very close to a comfortable camaraderie. My first instinct is to rush ahead and remind him I’m in charge and that we’re not friends. But I don’t, and don’t try to ask me why because I won’t be able to tell you.

“And after that?”

“After that, I left. Went off to make my own way.”

I remember all the energetic zeal I’d had at eighteen, leaving my aunt’s home of comfort and wealth with nothing but the small amount of money my parents left to me. That’s when I got caught up in the trouble with that first contract with the Class A criminal where I almost died. Obviously, things haven’t improved too much. I scoff as I look down at the pants that will hardly stay up, the boots that are a size or two too large with laces so worn I’ve had to attach other pieces of string to keep them tied up. I’ve intentionally dressed in men’s clothing as a matter of self-preservation, and that part, I still don’t mind. My whole goal in life is to not be noticed. But their condition has deteriorated, and I’ve been so focused on saving every bit of money, I haven’t been willing to replace anything. I’d never really cared before, but I feel a twinge of something I can only label as self-consciousness for the first time in a long time.

“You see how that’s gone.” I laugh a little like it’s a joke and then quickly redirect the conversation. I shouldn’t have said that last sarcastic part. I really don’t want a placating, obligatory compliment. I hurry to ask him something instead. “Tell me about your family.” It sort of comes out commanding, so I add, “If you want,” after a long second. Why do I have to be so awkward?

He gives me a sideways glance with a bit of a smile at my attempt at normal conversation, but I see a flicker of grief in his eyes. “My mother died eight years ago, my father five. I’m an only child.”

A sudden fountain of questions begins pouring into my mind now that I’ve allowed myself to ask him something. But by now, we’re climbing up a rather steep incline, and with his taller build and stronger arms, he’s able to more quickly pull himself ahead while I slip and fall to my knees again and again in my overlarge boots—I couldn’t ask questions if I tried. He reaches the top as I’m scrambling up behind him and offers a hand as soon as I’m within distance. I stare at it for a moment. Two days ago, I would have lobbed a big spit in it rather than take it, but after a slight hesitation, I place my small hand in his larger palm, and he easily helps me to the top. Look at us, getting along. I brush the dirt and forest debris from my clothes, even though it does no good. I’m filthy as an armored pig.

We continue on, navigating through darkening forest. Shadows lengthen, and I begin to think I’m seeing things in my peripheral. When we’d left the Black Canyon, I’d thought for sure I saw shadowed forms when we’d made camp, but nothing showed itself. Just now, I’m sure I caught a glimpse of tall shadows not just from the suns going down, but from tall figures in the forest. But when I turn my head to look, there’s nothing there. Again.

“You see something?” Ikar asks, craning his neck to search where my eyes have lingered.

“Thought so. There’s nothing, though.” I shrug. But suddenly, I find I’m grateful for Ikar’s steady, capable presence at my side all the same.

We find a place to make camp, and I begin to build a fire while Ikar rolls up his sleeves again and prepares a small, wild turkey to be cooked.

“This one about begged to be caught.” He glances up at me beneath his brows as he works, “Trailed us for two miles this evening.”

I paste an innocent expression that consists of wide eyes and a gentle shrug, but inside I’m a thread’s width from cursing my friendly forest animals. They’re going to give me away, and I feel horrible about eating them. My stomach growls loudly, oblivious to my guilt.

He shakes his head and mumbles, “Never seen anything like it.”

We sleep soon after. Doesn’t take me long to drift off anymore, with the long days of walking and climbing. Apparently, I’m more tired than I thought since I keep seeing things that aren’t there. I drift for awhile in light sleep before I wake and lay there, wondering how late it is and seeing that Ikar still sits before the glowing embers of our fire. He has pulled something from his pack that looks like a round, flat badge of some sort, but I don’t ask about it. I’m supposed to be asleep, and I shouldn’t care anyway.

His shoulders are hunched forward, his forearms on his knees, and he holds it between his hands. Turning it between his fingers in a habitual, familiar motion as he gazes, unseeing, into the fire, lost in thoughts so intense I’m not sure I want to know what they are. I can’t tug my gaze away, even though I feel like I’m infringing on a moment too personal. He’s always so guarded and emotionally blocked off. All business, all the time. Smirking and leading and trying to order me around, and quiet when he’s not. But if I didn’t know him and I’d happened upon this scene, I’d think he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. I study his face, wondering at the emotion so openly displayed there. I struggle to define it. Sorrow, worry… maybe even guilt? Because of his assortment of violent crimes, probably. I shouldn’t feel so bad for him. He’s still a Class A criminal. Just apparently a very respectful, kind, and good one. I sigh in disgust. How confusing. My guilt finally wins over my curiosity and forces my gaze away, but it’s awhile until I calm the questions in my thoughts so I can sleep.