White Stag (Permafrost #1)(17)
Gingerly, I reached for the package and set it down on a table of black cherry. The skin was so soft beneath my touch that I wasn’t surprised to see the white speckles dotting the brown. I wondered if the fawn’s mother was alive to mourn it, then figured she had probably been killed too.
Inside the first fold were two leather bracers, as well as sturdy archery gloves. On the left bracer, there was a pocket too small for any knife. It didn’t take me long to guess what it was for. In the second fold was a belt with a sheath; inside the sheath, an axe of wickedly sharp, goblin-forged bronze shone black as Hel. In the third fold was a bow and quiver, the arrows tipped with goblin-forged bronze, the bow whiter than snow. Dragon bone.
I swallowed. New gear and weapons fit for a goblin; so carefully wrought a human’s touch could taint them. Weapons, hunting gear, and armor—the holy trinity of what goblins were able to create with their own hands.
“I already have supplies,” I said, thinking back to the bow I’d left at the palace entrance.
Soren snorted. “Weak supplies. This is well-made. For the Hunt. You’d be wise to take them. You wouldn’t want your weapons giving out mid-hunt.”
I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “How long is the Hunt, anyway?”
He furrowed his brows. “I’ve never heard of it lasting longer than it takes for the new moon to come.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, and I got a sense he didn’t really care about the topic. “Most of the competition is weeded out by then, I suppose. I don’t think it really matters—all that matters is winning. Still, take the weapons.”
I took the items. I couldn’t refuse now that I’d touched them. Even if I did refuse, I wouldn’t put it past him to force them on me.
“Proper gear will help your change.”
Change. Adapt. Become like him. Disgust curled in the pit of my stomach, but I couldn’t help noticing the anticipation in my muscles. I wanted to feel the bracers against my skin. I wanted to pierce something’s flesh with those arrows. I wanted, I wanted …
“What do you want?” Soren’s hand caught mine as I stroked the bow. I didn’t realize I’d been speaking aloud.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“You know that’s a lie.”
I tore my hand from his grip, the skin where he touched me burning. “I can fight it,” I said. “This plot you have to make me change into your species, I can fight it, I will fight it.”
Those purple eyes looked so sad. I wished I believed they were. “Then you’ll die; a human can’t survive the Hunt. It’s not possible. But, I don’t think you’re going to die. I also think death isn’t something you fear.”
No. I wasn’t going to die. I was going to escape.
He strode across the bedchamber and threw open the heavy double doors that led to the rest of the palace. “I expect you outside, fully equipped, in an hour.” He paused in the middle of the doorway. “Please don’t fight this, Janneka. I told you, this is because I care.”
The doors swung shut, leaving me alone in the cold room.
“Janneke,” I said to the icy air. “My name is Janneke.”
The child who long ago wished for the feminine name was now dead.
* * *
I WALKED OUT into the courtyard with the bracers on my arms, the axe brushing against my hips, the gloves caressing my hands, and the bow and quiver slung across my back. The bent iron nail fit snugly into the pocket of the bracers.
Chaos erupted.
Murmurs, then shouts of outrage, taunts and snarls and animal yowls assaulted my ears. I kept my back straight as I walked through the courtyard, seeing Soren in the distance. I frowned. He was talking to Elvira. Helka stood beside her, along with another she-goblin I didn’t know.
A young lordling, sensing my distraction, came up to me, sneering. But as he lunged—fangs growing and features sharpening from deathly beautiful to wolfish, ugly, and cruel—I had my bow out and arrow notched. It pierced his chest without a moment’s hesitation. The whoosh of power swept out of him, hung in the air, and hit me with its might. The intensity stung my skin, but I kept a grip on the bow, knowing I’d need it still. The power assaulted me again, trying to find a place to seep in, until it lingered on my skin like a covering of invisible dust and slowly sank into my pores with a burning agony worse than I’d ever felt before. It hurt even more realizing that since I absorbed power, I was tiptoeing the fine line between humanity and monstrosity.
I yanked the arrow out of the dead goblin and wiped the blood off with my tunic. “Would anyone else care to try?” I turned to the rest of the spectators.
The shouts quieted to whispers and the glares turned to side-eyes as I came up to Soren. He had two horses saddled and ready. I recognized his, a black stallion named Terror. But another, younger stallion with a cream-colored flank and a dark mane pawed the ground beside him. There were two other horses as well, black as Terror was, and beside them, a great snow cat. The cat was as big as the horses, its black hide rippling with muscles, its claws permanently unsheathed. Its tail twitched back and forth as it took me in, probably wondering if I was worth killing. I snarled at it, and it looked away.
I stopped in front of Soren, dipping my head in greeting. His lips twitched as he looked me over, but the scowl remained on his face. Finally, something natural. He was smiling too much for my tastes lately.