A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 4
“Horde Ridmond, these are today’s orders.” The entire room sat still and silent on the edge of their seats waiting for the captain to continue. He let the silence drag.
How many riders knew the reason for this meeting? It was rare that they called the entire Horde together so urgently. Most of their missions were a long time coming, giving time for the gossip to spread before any one leader had announced it.
“We have received news that the great merchant, Elton Hamza, is dead.” Whispers moved through the riders like a wave and Captain Litorick frowned. “With this news, we have been sent requests by several members of our great Empire to escort them safely to the city of Croughton. One legion in general will be tasked with escorting Valen Brendal, son of Warlord Vigor Brendal. As always, you will protect the lives of those we escort with your own.”
More than one person groaned. Someone near Meira sighed and another shook their head. Elton Hamza had all but controlled half of the businesses across the continent. Scale riders were more than escorts though. When we were not fighting on behalf of the emperor, scale riders were called into battle to represent the oppressed. We fought for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. We were warriors with causes greater than ourselves. This meeting, while in response to a loss felt all over Augustine, was a call to act as a nanny for rich men.
“Crimson Legion.” Meira’s eyes snapped up. Bram straightened. “The Crimson Legion will escort the heir through dragonis territory. You’ll prepare yourselves and leave at first shadow. Scarlet Legion, you will ready to leave in three days' time to escort…” The captain looked down at the parchment in his hand. “Telday Martev, a businessman from Shandra, as it would seem, also to the city of Croughton. Everyone else will be prepared to fly at a moment's notice from the emperor.”
To Bram’s left, Lowell leaned forward to look down the row of Crimson Legion riders. “All to Croughton in the wake of Elton Hamza’s death? This is a race to claim war over his business, isn’t it? We’ll be fending off the dragonis to protect rich men who want to get richer, is that it?”
“That’s what this sounds like to me, but I don’t know. This is the first I’m hearing of it myself.” A muscle in Bram’s jaw twitched as he pointed his attention forward again.
Meira could hear the captain carrying on but his words became distant as her mind began to spin. There had to have been a reason she’d brought herself back to this part of her past. This journey to Croughton, could it bring her to the very man she hunted?
By dusk, they’d be taking flight. Soon she’d get her answers. She’d find that man and she’d kill him and be rid of this curse that tied them together. She knew little about a huntress curse but she knew enough that it was made with the intention of death. Death she could do. She’d been trained in the art of killing since she was eight years old when she had been adopted by scale riders. Then at ten, when she was bonded to a hatchling and her heart had been filled with love once more, she’d known there was nothing else for her. Meira was a scale rider through and through.
“You are dismissed.” Captain Litorick pulled away from the podium.
The five lieutenants relaxed from their positions as he strode from the stage. Yule’s brown eyes skimmed over the assembly and settled on the ten riders that made up the Crimson Legion. Then her attention further narrowed onto Meira and she cocked her head. Yule leapt the few feet from the platform to the ground and merged into the crowd headed straight for them.
“Well, this is a load of bullshit,” Jaselle said, bringing herself to the edge of the long bench and exchanging a withering glance with the rest of the legion. Her piercing blue gaze pinned Bram, waiting for further explanation. Bram only tilted his head up to the tall ceilings of the grand hall and massaged the space between his brows. In his silence, Jaselle looked at Meira. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”
“Glad to be alive.” I nod, then lower my voice to a whisper, “Incoming.”
Bram straightened, searching the throngs of riders rising from their seats and moving to the exit. Cutting a path as easily as a hot blade through butter, Yule slid across the bench in front of them. She pushed her sleeves up revealing the warm brown skin of her forearms and sat herself backward in the seat.
“I tried to get them to pick another legion, particularly not one of mine, but they know the two best dragon whisperers are in this group.” Yule pointed a glance at Meira and then over to Brooks who scratched a hand against the stubble on his chin and failed to conceal his not-so-subtle scowl.
Great, so this would all be pinned on her and Brooks all because they cared to treat Bold Wings like more than oversized pets. Once more, she felt the sweltering fever of others' attention on her face. She sighed but sat straight in her seat taking the brunt of it.
“Meira can’t go,” Bram hissed. “That only leaves Brooks to help us navigate through the dragonis without it turning into a bloodbath.”
Never had Bram forbade her a mission no matter how grueling or strange. Every ounce of heat rushed to Meira’s face as she turned toward her legion leader. “I’m going.”
He kept on looking ahead, ignoring the way she’d turned her entire body toward him. It was like he couldn’t even see her—that he wouldn’t. “She’s been unconscious for weeks and only woke up this morning. She’s weak and should stay behind to rest.”
Yule snorted. “You think Captain Litorick cares about her rest? No, if she's up and moving she’s going.”
“She almost died,” he lowered his voice.
Panic began to form in the aching cavity of her chest. She needed to be on this mission. Had she not been ill from the expenditure of her power there wouldn’t have been any question as to her capability. Bram was babying her in a way he would never do for the others. “But I didn’t die and I want to go.” The rest of her legion were painfully quiet as they sat and watched. Meira could feel Jaselle squirm restlessly in her seat before the girl pulled her white-blonde ponytail over her shoulder to run her finger through its end.
With the slow release of a tightly held breath, Bram finally turned to look at her. “You’ll take orders from your legion leader. How we proceed will not be up to you.”
Meira blinked. Surely, he didn’t mean that. A sinking feeling twisted in her stomach. She and Bram were always…casual. Never truly an item, just two people needing their primal needs met. That had always been enough. Meira cared about Bram, his overall well-being was important to her, so she understood why he might be spooked over her recent bout with a witch’s illness. This was taking it too far though, and that terrible wringing of her guts rose like a flame inside her, white-hot and angry.
“You can’t be serious?” The trembling in Meira’s legs was back. Whether or not it was from her continued recovery or from the tidal wave of frustration that mounted within her she wasn’t certain.
“Very.” Bram held her gaze. What she saw in his green eyes was not the man who cradled her in his arms as they fell asleep together. He wasn’t even the person who’d stood at the top of Mount Ridmond and pleaded with her not to get on her Bold Wing so soon. This man was a warrior, a leader, and someone who’d already made up his mind. He sucked his teeth, letting his attention jump back to Yule who watched with raised brows.
“Look,” Yule shrugged, “if the girl wants to go, let her.”
“She looks fine to me,” Lowell added. Meira couldn’t even muster a smile to thank him as she watched Bram’s face turn a shade of purple.
Bram turned his attention to the rest of the legion as if suddenly realizing that they were not alone. The entire group, all ten of them, had stayed put. Then to Yule, he said, “Why don’t you and I go talk somewhere in private to sort this out?”
Yule pressed her lips into a thin line, and Meira was certain she was holding back the urge to roll her eyes, but she nodded and pulled away from the bench. Bram rose to follow, fists clenched at his side, and Meira reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“I want to go. Don’t do this.” Her words were laced with every ounce of frustration and need. She only wondered briefly if it made her look weak to the others, then decided she didn’t care what she looked like to them as long as they didn’t assume she was a witch.
His eyes softened, if only marginally. “This isn’t about want, Meira. It’s about your health and the safety of our legion. We’re only as strong as our weakest person.” Pulling himself free from her grasp, he slipped through the end of the row and followed Yule from the room.
One by one, most of her legion stood and drifted out of the hall to prepare for their mission. Only Willa stopped to lay a comforting hand on Meira’s shoulder for several seconds as she stared at the open hall doors where Bram had just walked out. Meira wanted to give her friend a reassuring smile, but the best she could do was a lopsided frown. Then it was only Meira and Jaselle, who picked at her nails instead of making any sort of eye contact.
“I don’t think Bram will get his way. Both Yule and Litorick want you with us.” The length of her ponytail swayed as she lifted herself out of the seat and stretched to reveal a slender line of pale skin across her stomach. “And for what it’s worth, Meira, even now you’ll never be the weakest of us.”
What Jaselle said was kind but Meira didn’t believe her. If Jaselle knew who and what Meira truly was, she wouldn’t be saying that. No matter that they were practically sisters in spirit. If there was one thing the people of Augustine hated it was scale riders. And if there was one thing scale riders hated it was witches. Meira was both.
5
Remis
The sun was quickly fading now. There were mere minutes before he’d be forced to venture out toward Croughton. Remis had started his day with a fountain of hope for his future all because of Elton Hamza and now…well now…Remis hated Elton more than ever. He died and now Remis would die too.
Leaning against the green wallpaper, Remis ran his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other, trying to count his teeth one way and then again from the opposite direction. It was something to keep his mind from counting down the seconds until his departure. He tapped his foot with impatience. Certainly, his father had purposefully overloaded his sister’s schedule so he wouldn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye, but it would be over Remis’ dead body that he didn’t get these final parting words with the kid he cared most about.
When the head of stick-straight dark hair rounded the corner holding a thick stack of books in her arms, Remis nearly fell over with relief. “There you are, Lettie.”
“Here I am.” Lettie nodded, a smile lifting the apples of her cheeks. Childlike youth still claimed the girl's round face. She was only fourteen years old and hadn’t yet begun to look like a woman, even if she’d jumped a foot in height since last summer.
Remis rubbed a hand against the ache in his chest. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Father set me up with a few extra classes this morning.” She tried to raise the sum of books in her hands a little higher as proof. One book was nearly triple the size of the others, the pages thick and weathered. His father’s business ledger no doubt. Remis could remember the day he’d been told to study the old book. It had the scribbling of his father’s notes on all business matters as well as detailed accounts of where the money came and went.
“We need to talk.”
Lettie’s face fell. “You’re going away, aren’t you?”
Remis nodded.
“For how long?”
“I don’t actually know.”
With a thwunk that echoed down the hall, Lettie lunged forward, letting the books fall to the floor. Her arms, still thin and gangly, circled around Remis before she gave him a tight squeeze. She was still so frail and small in his arms. A child who’d need protection and guidance for many years to come. Remis squeezed his eyes closed, holding her tightly.
“If you scratch the ledger, Father will be mad and I won’t be here to stand between you two when his anger gets the best of him.” He pulled Lettie away, examining her at arm’s length, trying to memorize all the details of the girl he’d watched grow up. Lettie was his sister in blood but in his heart, she was more akin to a daughter. It had been him, after all, who had practically raised her after their mother died in childbirth. Remis had been the person who’d held her blood-covered and incredibly fragile body while she screamed at the top of her impossibly strong longs mere seconds after their mother had bled out. He’d been with her when she took her first steps. Remis had taught her how to hold her sword properly. Most importantly, he’d taught her how to avoid their father. “Keep your head down and do what you’re told. Okay? No funny business while I’m gone.”
Lettie laughed despite the shine of tears in her eyes. The girl sniffled and stepped back before carefully picking the books back up into her arms. Her hazel eyes, courtesy of their mother, drifted over the still-pink cut where their father’s ring had collided with Remis’ face. “I will throw myself into my studies.”
Remis smiled though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Smart girl.”
They stood in silence for a moment, both of them looking the other over. An uncomfortable swell of emotion clogged Remis’ throat and a burning sensation in his eyes left him blinking rapidly, but the sun was setting and dusk was here. There wasn’t time left or any words that could be said to ease the pain rooted in his sister’s heart.
“I will try to write when I am able.” Remis cleared his throat. If he was able. If he ever got the chance. He took one step back creating the space neither one of them truly wanted to give. Then he turned and began down the hall.
His sister’s whispered “Goodbye,” resounded in Remis’ ears. He was bound to leave her one way or another whether it was to attend school on the other side of the empire or to go on this maddening business venture. Knowing that didn’t erase the blooming sense of worry. No one was going to shield Lettie from their father’s heavy hand. The girl was smart enough to know when to be silent and when to find herself busy with needlepoint and other feminine things with their young stepmother. Still, Remis remembered being fourteen and how he wanted to rebel against his father at every turn and then how quickly he learned not to when he’d spent too many nights nursing a fat lip, a black eye, or a sore gut from the fist of his father’s own hand.
Her goodbye followed him through the halls and right out the front of the manor where he jogged down the steps to the waiting carriage only to come to an abrupt halt. His foot hung in midair between one step and the other as he inhaled sharply.
It wasn’t the carriage that gave him pause, though it was a plain looking thing hardly better than anything a man of lesser standing would use. It was his two long-time friends glaring heavily up at him. Under the weight of their scrutiny, he managed to stumble down to the rocky drive.
“A letter? The two of us are only worth a hastily scrawled parting letter?” Merritt said. His dirty blond hair was ruffled as though he’d been running his fingers through it only a moment before. His disheveled locks were at odds with the stiff perfections of his expensive clothes, a blue embroidered waistcoat over a neatly pressed white collared shirt nearly hidden by a thick fur-lined cloak. Those blue eyes of his narrowed. “What a bastard. Don’t you agree, Percy?”
Percy lowered the book that he held cradled in his hands and frowned. “Remis isn’t a bastard. His parents were married upon his conception, but he is a terribly mean friend.” Percy shook his head, his features taking on the same ‘don’t waste my time’ look that Merritt wore. It was so ridiculously a Percy thing to say.
Merritt’s scowl deepened. Though he was the youngest of the three of them, all only months apart in age, he had no qualms about acting as the group's proverbial mother. “I told him not to bring the damn book.”
Percy’s affliction for reading was about as bad as it could get. Remis had seen him turn down party invitations and even a run down to the city’s brothel for some fun for a chance to finish whatever novel he’d picked up that day. From what Remis could tell, the man wasn’t interested in women or men or sex for that matter. Which in and of itself was as bizarre to both Remis and Merritt as the moon turning purple. But Percy was their purple moon and had been since the trio had met in their early years of school. Nothing short of the world ending might change that. Gaze lifting to the sky, Remis slid his tongue over his lips and prepared to launch into the very reason why his world was ending.
Percy closed his book and tucked it under his arm. With one hand, he scrubbed his short-cropped brown hair before smoothing over the gilded buttons of his jacket. “You were going to leave without us?”
“There better be a good reason,” Merritt hissed.
“Is certain death not a perfectly fine reason to leave you two behind?” Remis began pacing before the carriage. Four steps one way and four back. “I’m leaving, right now, if you didn’t notice.” The notes he’d sent his friends were quite elusive and contained little to no details as to what Remis was actually doing. He’d just let them know that he was leaving and left it at that. They deserved more than he’d given them. “My father is sending me to attend to some business deals. He’s made arrangements for me to leave. He will not be persuaded to wait until after dragonis season so we know the likelihood of my survival is…low.” He took a deep breath. “He is holding my contract for school over my head. He’ll rip up my contract should I refuse.”
How his friends understood the jumbled mess of words he’d said far too quickly was beyond him, but both of them stood unfazed. Something was working behind Merritt's icy gaze, ever the fixer of problems. “Fuck.”
Fuck was right.
Fuck was exactly what this situation was.
“Not your schooling.” Percy’s thin brows pulled low over his eyes.
“He really won’t consider waiting until after dragonis season?” Merritt asked.
Remis shook his head. Rocks crunched under his boots as he moved back and forth. “He seems to be under the impression that this is abundantly urgent, and any amount of waiting will lose him business.”
