Page 11 of A Hunt Bound in Blood

“I’m serious. I don’t see how it’s possible to hide your beautiful quirks unless you stay on your guard every moment, day and night.” Ashara latched on to my hand, her eyes burning with intensity. “So that’s what you have to do, you hear me? Whatever it takes, you hide your secrets. Bury your instincts so far down you need a reminder to drink. He cannot find out.”

Any humour I had over her worries evaporated, and I squeezed her hand. “I promise.” The memory of Cammon’s sharp red eyes, not captured by the newspaper sketch, caused something in my gut to twist, and I pulled my fingers free and picked up my wineglass. “At least there’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

Ashara raised an eyebrow. “Mm?”

I grimaced and spun my glass on the counter, watching the light dance across the surface of the deep red. “I wish you could have come with me today and met him for yourself. The man’s an ass who can’t make it through a conversation without tripping over his ego. His temptations might work on a lot of women, but I’m no simpering fool. I know you were afraid for my virtue when I went in there, but let me assure you, he stands no chance of charming me out of my pants—or my secrets.”

Long after sunset, Ashara left me to the rest of my packing. Not knowing how often I’d get to wash my clothes, I gathered three spare sets, four pairs of underclothes, and all my related notebooks, reference texts, and maps. I also had a tent that would be large enough to contain me and my supplies—and more, likely, but I hadn’t found the option of anything smaller.

Because my friend was amazing, she’d enchanted a sturdy woolen blanket to radiate heat, and I’d also purchased a thick bedroll. Just because I had to sleep in unknown conditions didn’t mean I had to be uncomfortable.

Once I was certain everything was bound up tightly and in a way that would be heavy but easily carried, I poured myself a bracing glass of blood to set me up for the week and turned my attention to the map spread out across my kitchen table.

Now that I was standing on the precipice of this journey, however, my stomach threatened to rebel. The ill-judged glass of wine and the few sips of blood I’d taken bubbled and sloshed, leaving an uncomfortable, acidic burn along my esophagus, and my thoughts wouldn’t settle. On the contrary, they bounced from one worst-case scenario to the next, offering a smorgasbord of all the ways this mission might go wrong. Cammon could find out my secret, blab to the king, and get me executed. Or Cammon could find out my secret and blackmail me into offering up all my deepest, darkest emotions. Or worse, he could find out my secret and demand I give him full credit for finding the lost amulet.

I clutched my notebook to my chest at the idea of years of research being stolen by that space-taking, smirking, condescending… hammerhead. Much as it disgusted me, I would prefer the theft of my emotions or my execution over seeing that man—or anyone else—lauded for my achievements.

Of course, that all assumed we found the amulet. There was a non-zero possibility it no longer, or never, existed. There was also a chance someone else had found it. My research had revealed numerous hints of where its final resting place might be, but in order to reach it, we’d have to follow the clues. For all the research I’d done, I’d never come across anyone else who’d attempted the journey. At least, if they had, no evidence had been discovered of their efforts. That in itself made me worry. If the clues were straightforward, why wouldn’t someone else have tried? This was a life-saving amulet. According to Mage Tersey’s journal, it could cure even the most serious of injuries or illnesses. Of course it could. He’d designed it to keep himself alive long past his natural lifespan so he could be with his fae lover.

Rumours of the amulet abounded in several mages’ journals, but the only real evidence of its existence was in Mage Tersey’s hand, and based on the ramblings of some of his later notes and his hints about the nature of the signposts he’d created to prevent anyone from following his trail, I had reason to suspect the man’s sanity hadn’t quite been intact.

The reasons King Evaniel might want me dead before the end of this journey were staggering compared to the odds that I’d survive, but the gain…

I sighed and dropped onto my dining chair, resting my forehead on my notebook.

The gains were everything.

The position of royal researcher beckoned to me, promising a future of isolation where I didn’t need to work so hard to hide. A refuge where I would report to no one but the king. The only people I’d have to worry about were subordinates whose job it would be to fetch texts for me, and I could see them as little as I liked. I could burrow in that office from sunup to sundown, then retire to my small apartment and spend my evenings with Ashara or by myself.

It was all I’d longed for since claiming my position on the mages’ council. I hated the constant bickering and back and forth and politics. I’d suffered through it for three years, waiting for my opportunity to rise above it.

That opportunity was here, now, and I wouldn’t waste it.

Cammon

VI

Hours after Sy retired to his room, I sat in my office, my feet on the desk and the king’s letter in one hand. With the other, I spun my glass of brandy, watching the way the amber liquid caught the candlelight and threw its reflections across the treasures I’d collected in the years since my exile.

I sipped my drink and appreciated the warmth as it slid down my throat and burned like a low fire in my belly. The sensation was a bracing defence against the memories that pleaded for my attention. I saw myself kneeling before my father’s throne, a guard with a sword pointed at my throat on either side of me while I received my sentence.

The night before, two of my brothers, Donal and Leto, and my sister Sabina had attempted to overthrow the king. Twenty-five guards had died in the attack, along with three dozen civilians. My siblings hadn’t bothered fighting for themselves, hiring thugs instead. The coup had failed, but they’d forged my signature on certain documents as a precaution. All weak. All pathetic. But it had been enough to humiliate Father. I was the crowned prince. The heir. And on paper, it appeared as though I’d made a fool of him.

Instead of pushing to discover the truth, he’d cast me out. To this day, I played through those moments, trying to find some regret in his eyes when he’d done it, but there had been nothing but stone. A demon king protecting his position.

I had no interest in reuniting with him, but by the hells, that crown was mine, and the traitors had no right to steal it from me. The rage that had sputtered in my blood flared hotter tonight with the opportunity before me to reclaim what I’d lost.

I flipped open the king’s letter, which had already begun to tear along the fold with my continual perusals. Should you agree to offer your assistance—and succeed—he will hand over the evidence you require to clear your name and reclaim your position. A promise I couldn’t ignore. A chance to resume my identity. A chance to go home. A chance to tear my fucking siblings apart limb from limb.

The mage would be a nuisance, but an easily ignorable one. And worth it with justice—and a satisfying dose of vengeance—waiting for me.

Despite my late night, I was up well before dawn the next morning. I spent the day double-checking the kit I kept packed for any sudden call of adventure, going through the motions as I’d done a hundred times before.

“All’s well, Master Cammon?” Mrs. Taylor asked from my office doorway.

“As well as they can be when one is at someone else’s mercy,” I replied, throwing a pointed glance at the king’s letter.

“Very good, sir. Any requests for me while you’re gone? Master Sy had me prepare his room for the duration of your absence.”