Canvas tents dotted the meadow like giant mushrooms, their peaks crowned with the banners of noble houses — red, yellow, gray. Ladies in pastel gowns clustered under a white pavilion, their laughter carried by the wind and mingled with the tinkling of tea spoons. Men in leather riding gear crowded near a row of tethered horses.
A dozen servants in mustard-yellow livery bustled between the raised tables, which were lined with decanters and silver platters of quail still steaming faintly.
Bastian snorted as we approached, his ears twitching at the sound of hounds barking from inside iron cages. Oberon dismounted first, tossing the reins to a stableboy before turning to watch me awkwardly slide off the stallion. My boots sank into the soft ground, and I adjusted my cloak just in time to see Count Wellinor emerge from the central pavilion, waving a hand that still held a half-gnawed chicken leg.
"Alder! You've decided to honor us after all!" he boomed. His cheeks jiggled as he stared at the walnut wine crate being unloaded from my carriage. His powdered wig sat askew, exposing blotchy patches of sweaty pink scalp underneath.
"A small apology for the abrupt visit, my lord," I said, peeling off my gloves. My palms were slick under the thick fabric, making an unpleasant squelch. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped them with visible distaste.
I hated this suffocating heat. All I wanted was a damn bath.
The count snorted. He was a barrel-chested man with a rust-colored beard and small gray eyes. He gripped my forearm with a hand strong enough to crack walnuts.
"From the '64 vintage? You've exceeded all my expectations," he said, finally letting go. He gave my arm a light punch, and I nearly stumbled into Oberon, who stood behind me. The count carried on casually. "Glad you came. High society's been whispering that you've fused with your study chair."
I laughed, mimicking his cheerful tone.
"Not at all. There was just too much to do at the estate. I'll be inspecting the factories next week."
He nodded approvingly.
"Nowadays, personal business needs more tending than a woman."
My smile faded, but I masked it quickly with a hand.
"You've set everything up nicely," I said, glancing around, then motioned toward the line of tents trimmed in velvet and silk. "When does the hunt begin?"
"In forty minutes. Will you ride with us? We were planning to split into groups."
I watched the captain head off toward a cluster of three lieutenants, then shrugged and said:
"I'd prefer a walk, if you don't mind. Been having some health issues lately, so I thought I'd take it easy. I hope that's not too much of an inconvenience?"
The lie rolled off my tongue like water. I needed a soft excuse, something that wouldn't fuel ridiculous rumors.
The count froze briefly, then grunted, brushing imaginary dust from my collar.
"No matter, Duke. What matters is that you're here. Take it easy — and tonight we'll sample your wine with the officers. You do play cards, don't you?"
A woman's hand settled on the count's elbow — gloves the color of ivory, embroidered with real gold thread. Countess Eleanor stood a full head taller than her husband, her face the perfect sculpture of aristocratic disdain beneath a hat that held what looked like a taxidermied hummingbird.
"My dear, you remember Duke Alder?" the count patted her hand with languid affection. "The man who funded the Larkspur orphanage after the flood."
The countess extended her gloved hand. I leaned in and kissed the air just above her knuckles, catching a strong whiff of verbena laced with the sharp undertone of medicine.
"A noble cause," she said. "We've set your tent near the brook, away from the main fire. Lady Margarita mentioned your dislike of rowdy games and loud company more than once."
"You're too kind."
So, the little bird's tea parties weren't for nothing.
"Nonsense!" Count Wellinor barked. "It's the least we can do for the man employing half my district."
Then he turned and bellowed,
"Havisham! Ready the rifles — we're setting off soon!"
Oberon gave a polite nod, shooting me a glance from under his brow. I don't know — maybe he wanted to say something, but I was too tired, even though the ride hadn't been that long. So I turned away and strolled lazily toward where I'd be sleeping tonight.
The tent was set up on the leeward side, shaded by heavy willow branches, far from the main bonfire, which already reeked of smoke. When I stepped inside, the servants were arranging trunks in the corners. A folding bed stood near a small table, draped with yellowing fox pelts. Off to the side — a copper tub and two barrels of hot water.
Nothing excessive. Just how I liked it.
I dropped my belt on the table and sat down on the bed. It sagged a bit under my weight, but that didn't bother me. I remembered the apartment I'd tried to rent back in college — that place had been a nightmare, especially the moldy smell in the corners that eventually gave me pneumonia.
I blinked when a young page approached.
"My lord, would you like to warm up in the bath?"
I shrugged, snapping a finger against my knee.
"No. Later, when I get back from the hunt."
He nodded and bowed so low it looked like his nose might touch the floor. A newbie. Cute.
I waved him off and closed my eyes again, listening to the sounds around me. The pleasant thrum of spring wind rattling the canvas, noblemen calling out as they loaded their rifles, the howl of hounds with greedy saliva dripping from their jaws.
It reminded me of some camping trip with my classmates. That time we...
Something twisted in my stomach again. I bent forward sharply but kept my palm pressed to my mouth — I wasn't about to throw up on the carpet I'd be sleeping beside. My eyes widened, breath quickened, and for a second, a sharp pain hit my chest so bad I clawed at my buttons, trying to rip them open.
It felt like a bone was lodged in my throat, but my fingers couldn't reach it to yank it out.
The awful sensation faded as I pressed my fingers against both temples. Still breathing hard and wet, I got up, grabbed a goblet of cool water, and drained it fast.
The tent swam in my vision. The burning was gone, but that phantom bone still seemed stuck in my throat. What the hell was that? Maybe the herring was expired? Though it had tasted fine — actually, it was pretty damn good.
I fell back onto the bed, covering my face with my hand. The fur gently tickled my cheek, sending shivers down my skin.
A minute later, a horn blared outside, calling everyone to the hunt.
My mouth turned down at the corners. With a groan, I sat up again.
"Goddammit," I muttered while my hands fumbled the belt back through the loops. At this point, all that was missing was tripping over some sack at the exit, falling face-first into the dirt, and just staying there.
"Honestly, a nap sounds kinda great," I thought, limping toward Bastian, who started wagging his fluffy tail a little too enthusiastically when he saw me.
Great. I was definitely getting face-planted into a ditch today.