A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 19
“Were there other survivors? Then the men? Did anyone escape?”
“What does it matter?” she hissed. “We’re all terrible creatures who eat babies and hunt innocent men for fun, aren't we? Do you not agree that the emperor was right to declare witches a great evil?”
Remis took a step back as if she’d hit him. She saw it there in the pity of his eyes that he wondered if she’d come from here, if she’d survived that night. Never had she uttered a word to anyone where she’d come from. If she admitted to it she was as good as dead too. Her mother, when she’d heard of the village’s breach, had sent Meira out into the woods. In stark clarity, she remembered her mother’s eyes, several shades brighter as they’d become reddened with tears. “Meira, some things even time travel cannot prevent. Do not come back here. Ever.”
Meira had already spent years learning her power from her mother. They both could move through time but not without great consequences. Her mother’s warning had stayed with her and she’d never attempted to fix the wrongs of that night. She’d pretty well given up all magic as she’d known it. As much as she’d wished to save her parents, she didn’t dare break the last commandment her mother had ever given. She’d been right after all. Even if Meira could go back and warn the city, her parents never would have fled. They’d always, on every timeline, have stayed to fight.
“I—” Remis exhaled. “It sounds ridiculous now to think that witches ever ate babies. Up until now, you were like myths…but you…you…”
She stood, letting her anger drain from her body as she watched him try to process everything she’d just said. “I…” she whispered, waiting for him to finish his statement.
“You seem normal. Apart from this.” He lifted his hand, though the fabric was still tightly wrapped around it. “I don’t find magic such a frightening thing. It’s absurd, I suppose, that it suddenly becomes so terrible when in the hands of women.”
Meira hadn’t known what she thought he might say but it certainly wasn’t that. It wasn’t a compliment but it wasn’t a bad conclusion to come to either. Though he could be agreeing with her to gain her favor. Looking into his gaze, she saw no evidence of falsehood. She scrubbed at her face.
“Are you a mage?” she asked.
His shoulders rose and fell. “Not officially.” Then he laughed. “Actually, the only reason I was in these damned woods during dragonis season was to gain my father’s favor so I can attend schooling for magestry. I have business I’m supposed to attend to in Croughton.”
Crossing the bridge as he had, weaseling his way into her mind, she’d suspected his affinity for magestry. He’d need plenty more training though to be anywhere close to as powerful as a witch. What she hadn’t realized was that he was just like every other greedy man racing for Elton Hamza’s legacy.
“Enough with the history lesson.” She smoothed a hand over her braid, running her fingers over the place he’d touched. “We’re going.”
“Where?”
And men thought women were chatty. He never stopped talking and asking questions. She wished for that perfect silence that came when she was miles above the ground riding on Mrithun’s back. Mrithun was near enough she’d come if Meira called, but her dragon was skilled at staying out of sight. Often she wondered if the beast was able to camouflage.
Meira rolled her eyes at him but motioned for him to follow as she made her way out of the home. The morning frost made the dilapidated porch steps slick, so she took careful steps and purposefully led them away from her childhood home. After the city had burned, she’d been an orphan on the streets for a couple of weeks before she happened upon the scale riders who took pity on her. Even the man, Henry, who’d found her and adopted her was long gone. He died in combat two years later.
She was thankful when they were back in the woods and away from the forgotten city in the middle of nowhere. The ghosts of her past still lingered in her mind, but at least she didn’t have to look them in the eye any longer. Even better though was the fact that Remis wasn’t talking anymore. He’d fallen into a contemplative silence and Meira reveled in the break of conversation. Her break didn’t last all that long.
“Where are we going?” Remis began again, hand braced against a tree trunk as he stepped over a decaying log. Meira deadpanned. He grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Please, tell me.”
She ripped her arm out of his touch, but he reached for her again. Ducking, she lunged forward, her shoulder finding its home in his gut as they toppled backward into a tree. His breath wheezed from him and she smiled as she righted. His hands were lifted in defense as if he might strike her. She huffed a laugh then. At the idea that he might think himself superior in a fight with a scale rider.
“Tell me,” he said again, slowly lowering his arms.
“I’ll tell you if you can get me on my back.” Then she chuckled again because the idea was so utterly insane, and he was outmatched in more than one area. Distracted by her own humor she almost didn’t notice when he darted at her, his fist flying for her face.
Her damn rabbit thought he was going to land a punch? Meira shifted out of the way, listening to the whoosh of air as his hand sailed by without contact. She shoved her foot forward catching him and watched with great joy as he tumbled forward.
Remis caught himself at the last minute. If he was surprised by how easy this was for her he didn't show it. Likely assumed it was luck or just that she was fast. He bounced on his feet once, twice, a third time before attempting to run her through like a bull. Her fist found his solar plexus. He cried out as the pain ricocheted into his shoulder and reached for her, grabbing a handful of her cloak. With one flick of her finger, she’d undone the knot at her throat and slipped from the fabric.
He growled through his teeth and she swore she felt the vibration of it travel her entire body. Her cloak fluttered to the forest floor. Snow crunched under his boots as he threw another punch toward her. She answered with one of her own, pulling the weight of it but still connecting with his jaw. His face snapped to the side.
When he looked at her again, he opened and closed his jaw, a bloody lip staining his smile. “You hit like a girl.”
She didn’t pull her next punch and his nose crunched.
“Ah! Damn it!” Remis cursed, cupping his face.
Meira fought her smile. “You fight like a man of the Empire. You fight for show, pretty moves. There is no honor in fighting so stop pretending as if there is.” She snatched her cloak up from the ground. “Fight like your life depends on it. Because it does.”
23
Meira
When Remis was forced to breathe through his mouth he was a lot quieter on their travels. Meira wondered why she hadn’t thought to break his nose sooner. Eventually though, she’d found some small ounce of pity for him. They’d stopped by the river long enough to clean the blood from his face and she’d reset his nose with an ear-splitting crack. He’d paled and for a while, she thought he might vomit or pass out. Lucky enough for her, he did neither.
By the time they’d reached the next city, he was talking again. Though she continued to ignore him, only offering him silence in exchange for his thousands of questions, he treated it like some sort of game. The questions getting more personal and the answers he’d theorize and muse on his own more wild.
They passed through the village gates of Yordway, the guards who watched for dragonis as night fell waved at them curiously. Meira strolled forward, her face pink from the last crude thing Remis had said. For the last five minutes, he’d told her, in great detail, about the loss of his virginity. Of all the memories that could be forgotten she wished that story was one of them. She hadn’t liked hearing how some other woman had gotten to undress him, touch him, and make him feel any sort of way. More so, she hated that she cared enough not to like it.
Yordway was known to constantly be rumored for witches. Most travelers made a point to avoid the village altogether. Meira, however, had come in search of a witch. She’d remembered coming here a couple of times with her mother who had a friend here, but Meira had long given up hope that anyone she remembered had survived the emperor's wrath. Still, Meira was quite rusty with her magic and she’d lost her teacher when she’d lost her parents. If she could find another witch, someone who knew more than her, they could get her memories back. Hopefully.
With Remis at her side, she assumed they would catch up with her faster or that his presence would jog her memory. Only it didn’t. When she’d slept those few hours, she hadn’t dreamed of anything. This curse that bound them was still as real and agonizing as it had been on the first day she’d woken.
Dusk was setting in on the village but lanterns were strung across the streets warding off the darkness. Evergreen foliage shaped into thick bushy wreaths hung on storefronts. Vibrant splotches of color came and went in a flurry of skirts as men and women made their way down the street arm in arm, slowing to entertain the vendors who’d begun to pull their carts onto the sidewalks.
“For the lovely lady?” With a gray beard grown long enough to touch his chest, an old man with grease-slicked hair stepped into their path. He held a single red rose in his wrinkled grasp and offered it to Remis looking between the two.
Fresh heat danced over Meira’s cheeks. “We are not a couple.” She glanced at Remis, certain he’d be as appalled by the idea as she was.
Instead, of blanching at the mention of them being something more, Remis smirked.
“But you could be,” the old man crooned.
“We could be,” Remis sang the words back, already digging in his pocket. There was a jingle of coins and then he held one out in his palm. She’d hardly blinked before the vendor had snatched the coin up and placed the flower in his hand. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Meira stomped forward, Remis strolling behind her with easy long strides. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at that flower. She was supposed to hate him, want him dead…and she did…mostly, but her curiosity won her over every time she got close enough to work up the courage to run him through with her sword. The memories she knew consisted of heated glances, teeth, and tongue. He wasn’t entirely terrible to look at.
She dared a sideways glance in his direction. Remis twirled the rose gently in his hand, brought it to his nose, and breathed it in.
“For you.” He held the rose out to her, keeping her pace.
No one had ever given her flowers before. Bram didn’t give her gifts of affection and she’d not had parents or parental figures in several years to think of lavishing her with anything special.
Staring at the damn rose turned her annoyance into a hive of bees flying about in the pits of her stomach. Her heart did something weird in her chest. She hated it.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Meira snatched the flower from his hand only to crumple the petals inside her palm before letting the entire thing drop to the ground. For good measure, she crushed it under the ball of her foot as she passed.
“That,” Remis pointed at her, “was rude.”
She wanted to snarl, shake him, and scream at him to show himself as the monster he was supposed to be. She didn’t want to hate this man who listened to her sob story of the past and bought her flowers.
Meira needed to find another witch, someone with more experience, who could help her recover her memories. That’s why they'd come to Yordway in the first place. Though, with the decorations and the eager vendors, it would appear as if the citizens of this little village were setting up for something.
“You cannot flirt your way out of me killing you,” Meira snapped.
“That’s quite bold of you to say when you’ve not experienced the extent of my talents.” He was watching her with those night encapsulated eyes and a lazy smirk. The way the word talents hung between them suggested so much more.
She’d experienced his talents in another timeline. She’d had a taste of him.
“I am quite charming,” he added, leaning in just enough for her to scent the river on his clothes, the salt of his sweat, and a natural musk that was entirely him.
“I am not so easily swayed,” Meira managed to say, her tone the bored drone of apathy she’d intended even though her pulse began to thrum at his nearness.
Remis stared at her, a glitter of amusement in his gaze. “Give me ten minutes alone with you and I’m certain I can change your mind.”
By the Dragons. Her body tingled all over. “Ten minutes? Is that all?”
He barked a laugh and the sensation prickling her skin shot straight between her legs. “That’s all I’d need to sway you, but for you, my wolfish friend, I could go all night.”
Even her ears burned red hot now. She tried not to give him her attention and forced herself to look away with a shake of her head. The shops they passed finally gave way to homes. Modest houses only large enough to hold a small family and far from the ridiculous luxuriousness of Warlord Vigor’s mansion. Ribbons were wrapped around porch railings and more evergreen wreaths were nailed upon doors. A couple scurried from a house in a fit of giggles, racing hand in hand down the street toward the line of vendors Remis and Meira had only just passed. The pair slowed as they caught sight of Meira in her leathers, their smiles falling.
She sighed. What memories she had were quite clear, even the ones that stretched far back into her childhood. And if those memories served her, then they’d turn a bend and reach the town square. If a witch was hiding here, then she’d be hiding in plain sight. Dragons knew she always had. If you couldn’t run from your enemies, becoming one of them was just as good if you wanted to survive.
Around the next corner, the village square waited, a fountain shaped with the patient precision of two lovers wrapped in an intimate embrace at its center. The water that dripped from several carved holes in the statues had been dyed a terribly bright shade of red. It ran in rivulets down into the pool at the lover’s feet looking more and more like blood as Meira watched it.
More lanterns were strung above their heads, their various colors casting a rainbow of light all around them. People were already gathered here, many wearing those fluffy wreaths on top of their heads. She slowed as they entered the crowd. Somewhere amongst the celebration, someone ran a bow across their fiddle. Another musician plucked at strings of something larger, deeper sounding. It wasn’t music yet, just the preemptive tuning of instruments and the promise of dancing to come.
The buildings around the square all had their doors propped open, allowing people to come and go as they pleased. Meira stayed to the edge of the square, Remis’ presence at her back a mild comfort. She could lose him in this crowd. Yes, she was faster, but if she was tripping over these lavish gowns and rows of people, he’d get his chance. Then she’d be hunting again, hating the terrible pull of the curse.
The smell of freshly cooked turkey legs drifted by them. She swore she heard Remis’ stomach growl even over the start of the musicians’ first song. Cheers went up all around them, hands thrust into the air, wine sloshing over glasses. Meira hissed as mead was tipped and splashed onto the toe of her boot. A man with long black hair tied at the nape of his neck who’d spilled looked at her, his mouth opening, light gray eyes warm as though he meant to apologize. Yet when his gaze settled on her, drifting down her flight leathers, the corners of his mouth drooped down.
“What are you looking at, scale rider?” He laughed, spittle flying from his lips.
Meira drew up short, her legs no longer thinking of carrying her. Her brows pinched together. This wasn’t the first time someone had recognized her as a scale rider. The uniform was well known. However, that was the first time she’d been recognized while alone without the rest of her legion to have her back.
The empire’s dogs, that’s what scale riders were to Augustine citizens. Pets on a short leash, due no more respect than the mangy mutts loose on the streets. He wouldn’t be saying a word though if he was face to face with Mrithun.
“You’d do well to keep your mouth shut.” She pushed aside her cloak and let him watch as she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. He was a drunkard, eager for a fight, and she needed to keep a low profile. The man wore no weapons, at least none that weren’t somehow concealed. Even if he had something hiding under that tuft of pink material he wore, she doubted it would do much against her blade.
The mead on his breath was well-crafted, giving off a floral scent that covered most of the sour smell underneath. He blew a breath that ruffled the loose curls around her face. “Our village does not need the likes of you wandering around on a night like this.”
Her grip tightened on the hilt, but Remis placed a hand on her arm. “I think it’s best if we’re on our way. Excuse us.” He steered Meira away, putting pressure on her arm until she slid her weapon back into its sheath and was stalking forward.
“Good luck with your scale rider bitch!” The man’s voice rose after them. “I hope she’s at least a good fuck!”
Every muscle in her body tensed. She stopped abruptly, Remis’ momentum slamming into her back. The world didn’t have to like scale riders. They didn’t have to respect what they did, but no scale rider would tolerate the offense, the suggestion, that she was little more than a whore, and let them walk away.
Meira started to turn but Remis was there, his hands on her shoulders, hunching forward until they were eye level. “No…no.” His attention danced between her eyes. “He’s drunk, let him go, he does not know what he’s saying.”
“He knows,” Meira said through her tightening jaw. “He knows what hate he harbors in his heart and spews out into this world.”
She pushed against his hands but Remis held firm. “Why are we here?” he asked. “Why bring me to this village? What are we looking for?”
Meira closed her eyes. The crowd was moving around them again, music picking up into a healthy tune that made the air stir into a dance. Then there was her and Remis, still and quiet.
His hands, calloused and rough, despite his clear status, cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking against her. Her eyes snapped open; a familiar longing drawn up within her at his touch. She might not remember Remis as much as she should have, but her body remembered him. It reacted as it might to a lover, and she clamped down on the sensation warming in her chest.
