The Hunt

[Jay Carpenter]

The sun was orange as copper and closing in on the horizon. Jai found it painfully fitting for Arad Doman and turned away from it. The talons by then dug down to the bone, but it was not from the wash of dull aches that left spots across his sights. Something so beautiful as a Domani sunset burned the corneas to watch too long.

He deposited the quarter and organ skein on a small cart shortly before it was wheeled away to a butchery with the rest of the elk.

"Bloody better be worth it."
He snagged a passing flute of something sparkling, frowned at the questionable liquid, and downed it with a bittersweet grimace. "Flaming spice in everything."
The courtyard by then was busy with more than just the hunting party. People began to filter indoors seeking wash basins and fresh clothes. Servants offering trays of the same liquid mingled as easily as the breeze around sweaty bodies. The presence of guards posted on the edges reminded everyone this was the King’s property. Then the crowd parted, and he saw her.

She leaned over the balustrade, enraptured with the view and oblivious to the apparent danger of such a long stretch toward it. Dark hair curled in the breeze and swept from her shoulders with such perfection a painter would weep to capture it. She was outlined in the fires from the west, and it caught the skin of her neck with shadowy heat. The wind lifted her thin robes gentle as a lover.

"Breathe, friend."


Jai felt a clap on the shoulder. He winced at the shock it sent down to the elbow, but thankfully drew some much needed air. The Captain of the Guard was a stern man, but even his honorable eyes could appreciate the thing of beauty across the way. Antony’s Lady-wife filtered somewhere, but he was too dedicated a man to House and Family to watch the creature stolen away by Liridia Sedai for long. But not so numb a man as to skip nodding a firm approval on Jai's account.

"You two have seen better days."
Daryen's laughter joined them, circling around to himself stand in the portrait previously occupied by Nythadri across the courtyard. His skin glittered with gold and pink stains, hair flowing on the breeze as usual, and ravenous with hunger. Antony grunted a laugh, fully aware of his own appearance. His noble wife should have him stripped and tubbed by now, so he took his leave. Jai had a few ideas himself along those same lines. A few parting words left suggestions that the cook leave some meat unspoiled with spice and orders that someone track him down a drink that doesn't try to burn a new hole in his throat and he took off.

Unlike the previous estate where the Razor roamed Fate's pastures, Jai knew these grounds. It did not take long before he was descending. He took the rough steps hewn from the cliff two at a time. It was the shortest path to the beach below, faster to go straight down on foot than to take the cart road just out of sight. Daryen’s House often entertained feasts on the sands itself, torches for light and tents for cover, cushions for comfort, curtains for privacy. Jai fell toward it, ignoring the complaints from legs tired from the saddle and fighting.

The sand was undisturbed by cart wheels and foot steps this night. The same wind which blew the coat backward from his shoulders etched strong stings of sand into his skin. Without slowing, he discarded it. Then everything else. And found the water.

Alone. Finally. Some light forsaken peace and quiet. He soaked it up.

“Bloody earned it.”


And floated.

On the fringes, torchlight eventually began to grow. He'd strained on this beach before, but never could make any sounds of what happened high above; the howl of shoreline was too strong. There was no point trying now. With some reluctance to return to the stake, he grabbed the strewn about piles of black, tucked boots under one arm, and was still in the process of lacing up pants when he mindlessly crossed a gate of his own.

As little as he cared about leaving saltwater trailing behind, the gate closed an inch off the floor to not scorch the Domani's precious timber floor. Carved columns hewn of the same stained wood framed an undisturbed bed. It was draped with white linen for protection from bitemes, but that was about the most useful thing in sight. Everything from gilded vases lush with flowers to the crystal sconces lining the wood paneling were sprawled throughout these rooms. Even the bloody stool legs were carved with enough detail to curse their craftsmen blind.

The half-clad Jai deposited his boots to the side of one such stool and dumped the pile of black on the other.

“Yui.”
He called through the suite of rooms. “Yui? Are there bandages?”
The snug knot miserably failed to keep pants heavy with water from falling as he roamed into the rooms beyond. So his fist did the job.

The House Mistress, or Secretary, or whatever her title was after ‘Yui’ was not the one to find Jai in the washroom rinsing the salt-crusted gouge digging tiny daggers into his leg. The servant wordlessly left a stack of bandages, lye and lemon juice to purge the wound clean. After which it was back to the gaudy stool where he worked a buff of the Power to bring his boots back to the morning’s shine. Then expunge the filth from the black. A needle and thread, procured by protesting servants that they do the work, efficiently repaired at the frayed edges of the damaged pant leg. The shirt and coat were pressed back to shape worthy of their high silk and wool blend. It was the pins which won the brunt of his focus for some time. He ran a finger across the silver sword complete with cross guard and pommel. Slightly curved like his own full sized weapon, and nearly as sharp as the day he first pricked a surprising drop of blood doing the exact same thing. The gold dragon gleamed as strong as pride when he finally returned it to his neck, the red coursing inside the sinuous creature like blood in veins. The routine was almost as calming as counting: polishing and repairing the uniform. And took nearly as long.

Short of bathing, he rinsed the salt from his hair to keep the crystals from falling like snow to the black circling his neck and shoulders. But he could feel them scraping inside his sleeves and down his back when he twisted to buckle on the freshly cleaned sword and scabbard. Only after studying the result of the chores in a long, gilded mirror, tug his sleeves down and straighten the pins did he find satisfaction enough to channel the glass of wine to his hand.

He left it empty by the door on the way out.