“But we’re no match for them,” one of the men shouted, staring at the mutilated corpses of his fellow soldiers.

“Then come find me,” Marai said in her dry Butcher voice, “and I will dispose of them.”

The man’s throat bobbed.

Avilyard continued to stare at Marai. “You’re going to be busy, then.”

Marai’s face hardened. Yet another job to add to her list: Lady Butcher, Bodyguard to the Prince of Nevandia, and now Monster Hunter.

“We must bury the dead,” Ruenen said. Not just the soldiers, but the remains of the innocent family inside the cottage. They all deserved to be laid to rest.

He reached for a shovel that was propped up against the outside wall with other farming tools.

“My men will do that, Your Highness,” Avilyard said with a stilling hand, his eyes sorrowful. He pointed at the two soldiers who hadn’t completely fallen apart in fear. “You two will stay. Don’t linger out here too long, in case there are more nearby. Be back by dusk.”

The soldiers nodded as the others gathered their mounts, glancing hastily to the ash pile.

Nosficio approached Ruenen and Marai with a wicked smile, and said, “Thanks for the adventure. See you tomorrow,” then disappeared.

Marai and Ruenen hoisted themselves up into their saddles and began the ride back to Kellesar. Back to more responsibility, more work and meetings, and most likely, more death if they didn’t defeat Tacorn soon. Marai’s face, however, was dubious. Something bothered her.

“What?” Ruenen asked, slowing his horse to a trot.

She pulled back on the reins, as well. “Dark magic created that thing. I used dark magic in Cleaving Tides. Maybe I created it. I might be the reason that family and those soldiers–”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Marai stared down at her fingers with loathing. “This monster may not have been mine, but it’s out there somewhere, doing the same in another town.”

“We’ll get them all, one day, I promise. Let’s start by dealing with Rayghast. You saved innocent lives today by destroying that creature,” Ruenen said gently.

“Did you hear it speak?” she asked, her forehead pinched. “That language . . . it sounded almost like ancient fae, but different. Whatever these creatures are, they’re not animals.”

Ruenen was wondering the same. “What do you think that means?”

Marai didn’t respond. She kept her gaze straight ahead. Her legs tightened on her mare’s sides, and she charged forward, leaving Ruenen and the soldiers behind, wondering if he should go after her. With Avilyard and his guards on all sides, Ruenen’s movement was limited. Marai was already across the dead-heather-strewn hills near the city entrance. She rode onwards, following the Nydian River towards the horizon.

Ruenen sighed. She’ll ride all night to get away from what haunts her.

After returning his horse to the stables, Ruenen couldn’t bear to go inside, back to that stifling council chamber. The image of the eviscerated family seared his eyeballs. He didn’t want to explain what he’d seen to Holfast and the others. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about how the creature had slaughtered two of his men.

Mayestral greeted him in the courtyard. “Welcome back, Your Highness!”

“Can someone please bring me my lute?” Ruenen asked in near desperation.

Mayestral bobbed a bow and rushed off into the castle.

Lute finally in hand, Ruenen ventured to find a private place to play outdoors and take away the memories. He entered the training square next door. Wooden practice blades, bows and arrows, sharp spears, and real swords lined the wooden fence.

He wasn’t Marai. A training ground wasn’t his ideal form of relaxation, but there was nowhere else nearby as secluded. He sat down on a bench, closed his eyes, and his fingers began to strum away. He was conscious of Avilyard and his unit watching along the fence. They’d followed Ruenen from the stables. He could no longer wander freely as a royal. Protective eyes were always on him, but he shut them out as he played. This melody wasn’t for them.

One with his music, Ruenen lost track of time. He played for the family. He played for the lost soldiers. He played to Lirr, hoping the goddess would guide their souls to peace.

He was tugged back to reality at the sound of metal.

Ruenen’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing Marai railing Dimtoir against one of the wooden scarecrow posts in fierce concentration. Only then did he notice all the spectators around the fences. Avilyard and his unit hadn’t left. In fact, more soldiers had joined, along with the stableboys. Even more shocking were the pointed ears and glowing eyes he saw in the crowd.

Marai walked over to Keshel, Raife, Leif, Aresti, Thora, and Kadiatu standing on the far side of the court.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as Ruenen came to her side.

“We came to pick up Keshel from his meeting,” Raife said with a shrug, “but we heard music and wanted to see what it was.”

“What happened in the Dale?” asked Keshel, lowering his voice.

Marai pursed her lips and glanced at Kadiatu. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“This a training court,” stated Aresti, surveying the weapons, posts, and archery targets.

“It’s yours to use if you should ever want,” Ruenen said.

Without wasting a moment, Aresti climbed over the fence with her long legs and strutted over to the wooden posts in the corner.

Ruenen stared after her. “I guess now is fine . . .”

Aresti unsheathed her two short swords and began spinning with the same effortless grace as Marai, plunging her swords into the padded scarecrows. Avilyard and his soldiers watched her with wide, interested eyes. She was truly a sight, strength and beauty combined, dressed in form fitting leather and linen.

“I think it’s a good idea for these humans to see what we can do,” Leif said. He, too, hopped the fence and entered the court. He plucked a bow and a quiver of arrows from against the fence. He nocked an arrow, pulling the string taut to his cheek. Leif let out a breath, and the arrow flew, lodging into the red bullseye.

With a cocky smile, Leif looked back at the soldiers. Marai rolled her eyes, but returned to the court. Raife followed, leaving Ruenen alone with Keshel, Thora and Kadiatu.

“Were you the one playing, Your Highness?” Thora asked, gesturing to his lute on the bench.

Ruenen blinked at her formality, then smiled. “You can call me Ruenen.”

“That seems . . . disrespectful,” said Thora, casting her ginger eyes to the dirt. “I don’t want to be so informal, especially since your people are still getting to know you.”

“I don’t mind. Please, Thora, consider me a friend.”

She gave Ruenen a smile.

“And yes, I do play,” Ruenen continued. “Do you want to hear a secret?”

Kadiatu nodded with vigor, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“I was a bard before I took up the throne. Marai first met me in a tavern. She called me a lousy bard.”

Thora gasped as Kadiatu laughed. Keshel’s face betrayed no reaction. He probably already knew the whole story.