Hunting Grounds

ADELINE REGINA

Ad had left the capital two days ago, departing from the Hanging Market—a sprawling maze of stalls suspended above the Lake of Lilies, which encircled the capital like a shimmering, endless mirror. The market was alive at all hours, its floating platforms teeming with merchants peddling everything from exotic spices to illicit goods smuggled past the city's watchful eyes. Now, far beyond its bustling chaos, she and her companions passed through the Black Market in the River Morrow, towards the north, where hunters gathered to trade the spoils of their deadly craft.

Here, beast cores gleamed like captured stars, their glow pulsing in dim lantern light. Monster parts—horns, talons, preserved eyes—were laid out on thick hides, bartered over in gruff whispers. Weapons, both crude and masterfully crafted, lined the stalls, their steel polished to a deceptive gleam. Even witches and wizards sold their wares in quiet corners, their enchanted trinkets and alchemical potions slipping into merchants' hands, destined for the Capital's Central Market, where they would be resold at inflated prices.

"Should we steady ourselves at the Hooping Pen's?" Hazel asked. North to the River Morrow.

The wind tugged at her oversized brown cloak, revealing her black leggings—tight enough to trace the toned definition of her legs—and the white tunic beneath, its fabric fluttering wildly. They traveled in a modest wagon, its wooden frame creaking with every uneven roll of the wheels. Hazel's dark eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, the smudged circles beneath them deepened by two sleepless nights. She popped her hood back on, her black bangs falling messily over her face, then clutched the cloak's edges and drew them tight, cocooning herself against the cold.

"If you're tired that much—"

"I am not." She cut Ad off before the words had fully left her lips, her voice sharp with immediate offense. Ad lifted her hands in surrender, though the defiance in Hazel's tone was telling enough.

"I want the horses to get some rest. We've been traveling for two days straight, only stopping for brief intervals. They won't hold up at this pace," she reasoned.

The driver scoffed, his voice bellowing over the wind. "Hazel Brown, do not ever, in your godsforsaken, wasted life, insult my ladies like that!"

Horn barely spared them a glance, his grip steady on the reins as he urged the horses forward. "Fritz and Bell traveled through the Hills of Free Men nonstop for seven days—steep hills, mind you," he added, casting a fleeting look back. His ghost shirt, tattered at the front, hung open, obscuring most of his scarred face, but now and then, the wind revealed flashes of his expression: a wild, toothy grin, black eyes gleaming with excitement rather than anger. The horns protruding from his forehead were wrapped in green cloth, a crude attempt at modesty or disguise.

"Don't project your insecurities onto my loves, you perfumed rat," he sneered, turning his attention back to the road.

A chuckle slipped past Ad's lips before she could stop it, though she quickly stifled it with a hand over her mouth. Unlike Hazel, she barely felt the cold. She was dressed comfortably in a blue velvet coat, newly purchased from Daphne, and a crisp white tunic underneath. Her brown velvet leggings clung snugly to her legs, shielding her from the worst of the chill.

At her side, she carried Aldric's short sword, which had been given—no, thrown—into her hands after a particularly heated argument before her departure.

Hazel muttered a string of curses under her breath as she slumped against the side of the wagon, pulling her cloak tighter around herself in a futile attempt to find warmth. Her exhaustion was evident in the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her head lolled slightly before she finally gave in to sleep.

Ad turned her gaze behind them. The second wagon followed at a steady pace, its wooden wheels rattling against the frozen dirt road. Their own wagon carried medical supplies—bandages, tinctures, potions, and herbs, all packed tightly in crates. The letters sent to The Stalking Murder had dwindled to half their usual number, sometimes even less, with the roads growing more dangerous. Beasts no longer lurked solely in the wilds; they attacked the very wagons meant to carry desperate pleas for aid.

Winter stretched on, relentless and unmerciful. Two months remained, and already it had proven crueler than the last.

Ad exhaled softly and brought her hands to her mouth, warming her fingers with her breath. She had insulted Aldric for his inaction, thrown his own profession in his face, mocked him as both a hunter and a knight. But hadn't it been the right thing to do?

All the wisdom in the world meant nothing if he chose to remain stagnant. What was he if he did not act?

For the first time in three thousand years, she had seen him truly angry. And for the first time in three thousand years, she had not wanted to leave.

Yet she had gone anyway.

What was her relationship with him, truly? She had rejected his love, not because she did not care for him, but because she could not bear the weight of another's affection. Not after her late husband.

Her husband, who had died—no, been killed by her.

Since then, she had perhaps forgotten what it meant to be close to someone. It was easier that way. If she did not open herself, if she remained distant, then there was nothing to express, nothing to be judged for. Only she could judge herself.

But Aldric had stayed.

No matter how many times she pushed him away, no matter how many times she shut him out, he remained. Waiting under the bridge with a lamp and a small boat, ready to pull her from the water when the tide rose too high.

"Goddammit!" Horn suddenly bellowed. The wagon lurched violently, the horses neighing in protest before coming to an abrupt stop.

Ad snapped out of her thoughts. "What's wrong?"

"The godsdamn wheel just broke off!" Horn shouted, though he still had the decency to address her politely. "I need time to fix it, ma'am!"

Ad swung herself down from the wagon, casting a quick glance at Hazel. She was still asleep, her breathing deep and undisturbed. Ad let her be and stepped away. The second wagon pulled up beside them, its driver reining the horses to a slow halt.

"You need help?" Zack called down. His square jaw and stocky frame made him look twice as solid despite being shorter than Ad. He remained seated, his grip still firm on the reins.

"No," Horn replied, waving a dismissive hand. "But will you be able to take Lady Regina and Hazel on your wagon? I'll fix mine and catch up as fast as I can." His brows furrowed as he scratched the back of his head, his gaze bouncing between Zack and the broken wheel.

"No need," Ad interjected before Zack could respond. "Just take Hazel with you. I'll stay behind with Horn to guard the wagon."

Both men exchanged glances, raising their brows in unspoken skepticism.

It was warranted. They knew Ad only as a medic.

The upper cloth of the wagon rustled as Hazel peeked out, her face still half-buried in the folds of her cloak. "I'm fine too," she muttered groggily. "You go on ahead. Camp somewhere nearby." Then, without waiting for an answer, she disappeared back inside, settling in once more.

"Are you both sure?" Horn asked hesitantly. "I'm a horned—"

"I know who you are, Horn," Ad cut him off, raising a hand in a calm but firm gesture. "I paid you for this journey. That means it's also my responsibility to make sure you are comfortable with it. Zack, please go. We'll follow soon."

Zack exhaled through his nose, giving Horn a questioning look. Horn only shrugged.

"As you please, Lady Regina," Zack relented. With a sharp hyaaah!, "Giddy-up!" He snapped the reins, and the horses surged forward.

They rode off, disappearing into the distant white fog of the winter road.

There was no sun in this fog, and without it, night would settle faster. Horn worked hastily, but even he knew he would not finish in time. They all did.

"You should've gone with 'em, ma'am," he insisted, though the wagon was long gone.

"Why are you so obsessed with getting rid of us? Oh! You nasty man, you and your horse—"

"I am not going to do such things! How dare you!" Horn cut her off before she could finish her accusation, his voice carrying both outrage and exasperation as he kept himself busy with the broken wagon wheel. It had shattered under the strain of their journey, splintered wood and iron buckling beneath the relentless weight of travel. The repairs were difficult and slow, each piece needing careful binding before it could bear weight again. "How can I copulate with my love in midst daylight?" Horn gave reasonable logic to which Hazel's nose scrunched in disgust, "Disgusting."

Accepting the delay, Ad had ordered Hazel to set up camp. A fire was lit, its flames caged by a ring of stones to keep the wind from snuffing it out or the fire spreading unwantedly.

Hazel stirred, stretching before shaking her head in distaste. "I'm not eating dried-up jerky again. I'm going hunting," she announced, already reaching for her bow and arrows.

"It's dangerous. Don't," Ad warned, but Hazel barely spared her a glance.

"And I'm a hunter," she retorted, as if that alone was enough to silence any concern. Slinging her quiver over her shoulder, she added, "I'll be back in half an hour. Promise." With a lazy wave of her hand, she vanished into the thicket, leaping through the underbrush with practiced ease.

Ad sighed.

"I think you should go after her, ma'am," Horn remarked, eyes still on his work.

Why was he so eager to be left alone?

"Am I bothering you in some way, Horn?" Ad asked at last, brow furrowing slightly.

Horn looked up at her, then back down at his hands, exhaling a small chuckle. "No, ma'am. I just thought you wouldn't enjoy my company. I'm not nobility."

"Where'd you get that idea?" Ad asked, mildly amused. "Last time I visited The Hornet, I recall there being no system resembling ours."

Horn's hands stilled for half a second, his eyes widening slightly before his usual composure returned. He bent back over his work, binding the wood with metal with careful precision. "You're full of surprises, ma'am," he scoffed lightly.

"I've had many passengers. Some nobles didn't like looking me in the eye," he mused, his voice slipping into a mocking impression. "'It would hurt the dignity of a higher man!'" He sneered, shaking his head.

Three thousand years. That was how long she had walked this world. Nobility? Beggars? They were all the same to her now. If she had been young—back in the old world—perhaps she would not have entertained a conversation with a mere wagon driver. But time had stripped such things of meaning.

"For me, Horn," she said evenly, "it's all the same. I don't care what you are—only whether you have the character to back yourself up."

Horn nodded at that, something in his face softening. "Perhaps, ma'am," he said with a grin, "I'll enjoy this assignment after all."

Ad found herself a little surprised at his ease with words, the smoothness of his speech, the understanding behind them. The Hornet had begun educating its people in the ways of men, then? Even those sent beyond its borders? Astounding.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind me asking, will you be selling this medicine to the villages?" Horn inquired after a while, still threading the leather beneath the wheel's frame.

"I've more money than I care to spend, Horn," she answered, an old memory stirring at the edge of her mind. "Some of it goes toward buying medical supplies and distributing them freely." She hesitated for a breath, then added, "My mother would have wanted this."

"Then she must've been a fine woman," Horn said, chuckling as he focused on his task. His breath hitched slightly as he concentrated, careful not to tear the leather as he pulled it taut. "Don't mind me, ma'am. As an old man—like an uncle, let's say—I'm proud. Proud that children grow up this decent on the inside."

If only you knew my age, Horn. If only.

"I've never had the chance to father a child," Horn continued, "but if I ever do, I hope they turn out half as pleasant as you, ma'am."

"Why, thank you for such kind compliments," Ad replied with customary grace. "Even if I deserve far less of them."

"You deserve all," Horn pressed. "Gilded luck it would be, the man who marries you."

Ad's eyes flickered at his words. Marry her? She scoffed inwardly. Marry her? As if—no, never. That door had long since shut, rusted over with time and regret. She had no right to wed, no right to invite someone into the ruin that followed in her wake. Intimacy invites death. It always had. It always would.

She was better off dying alone.

Dying alone...

The thought should have settled like iron in her chest, but when she tried to picture it—truly imagine herself alone—she found that she couldn't. There, at the edges of every lonely vision, he remained. Aldric, standing just beyond her reach, always watching, always waiting.

It was a one-sided love from him, not her. So why?

"You ought to be on my feet, Horn!"

Hazel's roar cut through the thick brush before Ad could sink any further. She had barely been gone a quarter of an hour, yet she emerged now from the thicket, dragging behind her four suckling pigs.

"Four?" Horn barked, his hands still steady on the half-fixed wheel. "Wasn't two enough for you? Now you want to eat the third one too?!"

Hazel shot him a glare as she stomped closer, her face already flushing red. "You are the fat pig amongst us! How dare you?!" she snapped, indignant. "Did you forget you're speaking to a noblewoman? You'll hang for that, Horn!"

Horn gasped theatrically, pressing his hands to his lips in mock horror. He even let the wheel settle against his thighs for effect. "Oh, the audacity! The sheer gall!" he lamented, his voice high and exaggerated. "I am but a humble servant of the road, condemned for speaking the truth!"

Hazel's fists clenched at her sides, her frustration mounting as Horn's grin widened. He was enjoying this far too much, and she knew it.

Ad merely exhaled, shaking her head. It would be a cold night, but at least it would be a jolly one for Horn.