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I bet the rest of the Crown’s Watch hates this guy.
He comes to a stop a few paces away from me and tips his head toward me. “What are you doing wandering around over here?”
I twirl the wildflower between my fingers. “Can’t a lady stop to enjoy the flowers?”
He knits his brow at me beneath his chocolate-brown curls, as if he’s trying to figure out how flower-picking could be a questionable act. The tingle of magic wafting off him reminds me to be wary of his unknown gift.
Then he asks the last question I’d have expected. “Are you all right?”
I blink at him and scramble for words. “Quite. Even better now that my nose has enjoyed this lovely scent. But now I have places to be.”
I hustle on toward the stable, willing him to return to his post.
Thankfully, I haven’t missed the hunt. Pampered nobles aren’t known for their sense of urgency.
A couple dozen students are milling around the yard outside the stable, most already mounted but a few not even having claimed horses yet. It looks like the hunt master’s assistant has only just started handing out bows.
I spot several familiar faces in the bunch: my former bully Anya and a couple of her friends, my rival Romild taking a bow into her arms like it’s an extra limb, Petra the distant royal off to the side with her usual reserved distance—and not one but two faces I recognize from Alek’s profiles and my own investigations of the entomology club.
Restraining a smile of relief, I hustle into the stable to get my steed.
Toast huffs at the sight of me as if admonishing me for neglecting him. I rub his nose as I lead him out. “Who else would give you a chance at all, huh? You’d better behave, or maybe I’ll pick a new favorite horse.”
The temperamental stallion stomps a hoof, but then he walks out behind me without more than a brief shake of his reins.
As I mount him, Anya arches her eyebrows at me. “Really? You’re riding that beast again?”
I aim a wry grin at her. “We’ve formed an understanding, and now we get along just fine. Thank you for introducing me to him.”
The haughty noblewoman looks as if she’s bitten back some caustic comment, probably remembering the understanding the two ofusreached that ensures Stavros doesn’t have her arrested.
Petra catches my eye briefly with a flicker of a smile I pretend I don’t notice. She did suggest that I join another of these hunts, didn’t she? Does she figure I’m here to kindle a friendship with her?
I’d imagine it’s best if the probable conspirators in our midst don’t get the impression I’m cozy with any member of the royal family, no matter how minor.
I accept the bow and the sheath of arrows the assistant offers me and wield them with a little more skill than the first time. With a subtle twitch of the reins, I send Toast ambling away from Petra, closer to the bug club members so they’ll have a clear view.
If I really had been touched by the gods in my stand-off with Benedikt, I’d be startled by the unexpected talent I seemed to have gained. I might hope my improved skill was permanent.
I stroke my fingers along the wooden curve of the bow and adjust my position in the saddle, giving my best impression of a noblewoman eager to enjoy her newfound ability.
I can tell before the hunt master even directs us into the woods that I’m going to be clumsy as ever with the arrows. If I could throw knives at the conjured targets that appear along the forest path,thenI’d be showing up the spoiled elites around me.
Instead, I let my face fall with disappointment more and more at every arrow that misses its mark. Partway through the trek, I pause and stare down at my hands as if I don’t understand how they could be failing me now.
Great God help me, let the scourge sorcerers be watching my performance. Let them be thinking about how well the gods must have guided me the other day for me to have bested Benedikt then, how much faith they must have in me.
Otherwise I’ve acted like an idiot for nothing.
I’ve just prodded Toast back to a trot when Petra draws up beside me. She glances sideways with a purse of her lips. “Have you been getting on well, Ivy?”
I force a chuckle and waggle my bow. “It doesn’t seem to be getting on with me.”
She shakes her head. “No, I mean… in general.”
A trickle of uneasiness winds through my stomach. What is it with people thinking I’m not okay? First that guard, now a royal niece-twice-removed or whatever exactly Petra is.
Do Ilooklike I’m in some kind of trouble?
