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Authors: Wendy Higgins
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grumbled.
Tiern and his father ignored Paxton’s gibe and tone. They were accustomed to his negativity toward the king, and toward everything in general. When the four of them were gathered around the fire, Mr. Seabolt set down his empty bowl and placed his large palms on his knees. All attention turned to him.
“The king’s proclamation states that the best hunters from all of Eurona are invited to Lochlanach for a massive hunt. Whoever kills the great beast will get the most valuable reward the king can offer . . .” He paused and the room was thick with expectancy. “The hand of Princess Aerity.”
Mrs. Seabolt gasped, nearly toppling her bowl.
“No shite?” Tiern breathed. His mother must have been in shock because she didn’t even swat him for his language.
“Aye,” their father said.
Tiern and Paxton stared at each other, their eyes distant as their minds swirled with possibility.
Killing the great beast would turn a regular man—a mere hunter, a commoner—into royalty. He would marry a princess, thereby earning himself the most gorgeous of waterway lands with abundant crops, enclosed within the safety of the legendary stone wall. Their family would be comfortable for generations. Beyond comfortable.
“Get it out of your minds. It’s too dangerous,” Mrs. Seabolt whispered, panicked. “Even soldiers cannot kill it!”
“The boys are smart,” their father said. “The king’s soldiers have become lazy due to our blessed lack of war, and they train primarily for sea battles and defensive attacks, not tracking. Our boys know the forests. They have common sense and a world of skill. I think they should both enter. Someone has to kill this beast. It may as well be them. They’d be heroes, and think of the prize!”
Mrs. Seabolt pursed her lips at him.
“I’d be out hunting the beast anyhow if it weren’t for the bloody curfew threatening to arrest everyone,” Paxton said.
His mother propped a hand on her hip. “Pfft! I don’t think so, young man!” But they all knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
Tiern and his brother became lost in visions of the ultimate hunt.
Their mother absently fiddled with her apron, twisting it and then smoothing it, a nervous habit. “This is absurd. I think . . .”
Their father’s eyebrows drew together. “What, dear?”
“It’s just that . . .” Her eyes slid to Tiern with worry and he sat up straighter.
“He can rival any hunter, Mother,” Paxton told her.
“Aye, but he’s young still.” She swallowed and shook her head.
Tiern ground his teeth. When would she stop viewing him as a wee lad? He knew how children were valued in their society, but he hated to be coddled and sheltered. He shot her a pleading expression.
“I’m seventeen, Mother. Not a child.”
Her eyes scanned his lean frame as if he were still five. “I know, dear.” She barely got the words out before tears were escaping. “But this beast . . .”
“Now, now.” Mr. Seabolt sighed and reached for his wife’s hand. “Fear not. The boys will look out for each other—”
“You’re not frightened at all?” she asked, louder now. “Idon’t care about the riches! I care about my boys. You can stop them! Forbid them.”
Both boys turned to their father. Indeed, Tiern could see there was reluctance, and something darker, in the man’s face. Maybe fear. But he knew their father could see the hunt for what it was: an honor and the opportunity of a lifetime.
“The boys do not have to go, Maryn, but if they choose to participate, I will not stop them.”
“Mother.” Paxton’s voice was firm, his eyes like strong mahogany as he held her gaze. He spoke with absolute conviction, and Tiern wondered if he’d ever be able to talk like that and be taken as seriously as his older brother. “I vow not to let harm come to Tiern. One of us will kill this beast and we will both return home safely. We will make you proud. Please, let us go with your
Tiern and his father ignored Paxton’s gibe and tone. They were accustomed to his negativity toward the king, and toward everything in general. When the four of them were gathered around the fire, Mr. Seabolt set down his empty bowl and placed his large palms on his knees. All attention turned to him.
“The king’s proclamation states that the best hunters from all of Eurona are invited to Lochlanach for a massive hunt. Whoever kills the great beast will get the most valuable reward the king can offer . . .” He paused and the room was thick with expectancy. “The hand of Princess Aerity.”
Mrs. Seabolt gasped, nearly toppling her bowl.
“No shite?” Tiern breathed. His mother must have been in shock because she didn’t even swat him for his language.
“Aye,” their father said.
Tiern and Paxton stared at each other, their eyes distant as their minds swirled with possibility.
Killing the great beast would turn a regular man—a mere hunter, a commoner—into royalty. He would marry a princess, thereby earning himself the most gorgeous of waterway lands with abundant crops, enclosed within the safety of the legendary stone wall. Their family would be comfortable for generations. Beyond comfortable.
“Get it out of your minds. It’s too dangerous,” Mrs. Seabolt whispered, panicked. “Even soldiers cannot kill it!”
“The boys are smart,” their father said. “The king’s soldiers have become lazy due to our blessed lack of war, and they train primarily for sea battles and defensive attacks, not tracking. Our boys know the forests. They have common sense and a world of skill. I think they should both enter. Someone has to kill this beast. It may as well be them. They’d be heroes, and think of the prize!”
Mrs. Seabolt pursed her lips at him.
“I’d be out hunting the beast anyhow if it weren’t for the bloody curfew threatening to arrest everyone,” Paxton said.
His mother propped a hand on her hip. “Pfft! I don’t think so, young man!” But they all knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
Tiern and his brother became lost in visions of the ultimate hunt.
Their mother absently fiddled with her apron, twisting it and then smoothing it, a nervous habit. “This is absurd. I think . . .”
Their father’s eyebrows drew together. “What, dear?”
“It’s just that . . .” Her eyes slid to Tiern with worry and he sat up straighter.
“He can rival any hunter, Mother,” Paxton told her.
“Aye, but he’s young still.” She swallowed and shook her head.
Tiern ground his teeth. When would she stop viewing him as a wee lad? He knew how children were valued in their society, but he hated to be coddled and sheltered. He shot her a pleading expression.
“I’m seventeen, Mother. Not a child.”
Her eyes scanned his lean frame as if he were still five. “I know, dear.” She barely got the words out before tears were escaping. “But this beast . . .”
“Now, now.” Mr. Seabolt sighed and reached for his wife’s hand. “Fear not. The boys will look out for each other—”
“You’re not frightened at all?” she asked, louder now. “Idon’t care about the riches! I care about my boys. You can stop them! Forbid them.”
Both boys turned to their father. Indeed, Tiern could see there was reluctance, and something darker, in the man’s face. Maybe fear. But he knew their father could see the hunt for what it was: an honor and the opportunity of a lifetime.
“The boys do not have to go, Maryn, but if they choose to participate, I will not stop them.”
“Mother.” Paxton’s voice was firm, his eyes like strong mahogany as he held her gaze. He spoke with absolute conviction, and Tiern wondered if he’d ever be able to talk like that and be taken as seriously as his older brother. “I vow not to let harm come to Tiern. One of us will kill this beast and we will both return home safely. We will make you proud. Please, let us go with your
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