Page 86 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

He pulled his black tunic over his head and tucked it into his leathers, providing a cushion for his weapon belt to sit on. Over this tunic he placed a protective leather gilet. Drawing a set of arrows from the drawer, he stroked one finger along the shafts and lingered at the point.

Sharp enough to cut through anything.

It didn’t take much to hype Gideon up for the hunt, natural adrenaline took over. It never had been a problem for any of the Clan. All he had to do was smell that sulfuric, repugnant stink and he wouldn’t bat an eyelid as he removed them from the earth, blow by blow to the heart. Or maybe the skull, depending on his angle. He strapped his bow across his chest, feeling the pump of his heart kick through his veins. He kinked his neck from side to side and strapped on his black, leather fighting gloves that allowed the tips of his fingers to peek through. He shoved his feet into his shin-length boots that laced up the front to protect his leg bones from breakage. He handled a few of his weapons before he shoved them into his belt and left the room.

As he made his way to the foyer where every Hunter had been instructed to be standing after dusk, he heard his father’s voice coming from an office space that wasn’t his own.

He paused.

“Rhea, I want you to ready as many beds as you can for our return. Get the medical supplies now and keep some in the foyer.”

He didn’t hear Rhea’s response, but he predicted that she would have nodded politely and got to work straight away. Gideon flung himself against the wall as his father emerged from the door in his combat gear. He didn’t want his father to think that he was listening in on their conversation, so he opted not to be seen. To be a shadow in the Tower. It’s a good thing the sun had made its way to the earth, casting shades in the poorly lit corridors, or his father would have caught him eavesdropping.

Why was his father in leathers and strung with weapons? Was he fighting tonight? Viktir Blacksteel hadn’t fought in several years. He hadn’t been required to. He had done his time in the hunt, therefore he left it to the fresher recruits. Something felt off about his father in fighting gear.

“Father!” Gideon took off into a jog to catch up with him. “Father!”

Viktir didn’t turn as he stalked down the corridor. “Gideon, shouldn’t you be in the foyer already?” His tone was harsh and impatient. “And you are on duty—therefore, it’s Commander to you.”

“I had to go back for one of my throwing knives,” he lied. “I picked up the wrong one.”

“Carelessness will get you killed, Gideon.” His father didn’t slack on his strides as he powered down the hallway. “Besides, you can never have too many knives on you.”

Gideon ignored what he said and asked, “Are you fighting tonight?”

“Yes,” the commander snapped.

The pack was supporting the Hunters tonight—a lethal combination. Surely, he wasn’t required.

“Why are you fighting, Father?” His features twisted as he tried to process it. “Sorry—Commander Blacksteel.”

If he was truly needed, was there something that Gideon didn’t know? Something that wasn’t covered in the briefing?

His father’s solid build came to a halt. “It would suit you better to concentrate on yourself rather than questioning me. That’s when you make mistakes, boy. When you have too much going on up here”—he tapped his temple—“you make mistakes.” He drew in a breath. “You can’t even show up with the right weapons.” His father looked him dead in the eye. “Get to the foyer; I will see you in Ashdale.”

Gideon tore his eyes away from his father’s sharp face and sprinted into a jog. He knew a deflection when he saw one, and that had been a deflection on his father’s part. Viktir had trained him in how to do the same thing to avoid capture from an enemy or to withhold any information he didn’t want his enemy to know if arrest was inevitable.

However, Viktir was right. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in who should be fighting. He knew where he was supposed to be during the hunt and that’s what mattered. He had memorised it for days, looking at the maps and taking the details and coordinates from Murk’s inside information.

As he got to the foyer, Marcus and Torin were loading the wagons with spare equipment and weapons. Ten or eleven Hunters remained in the foyer in silence, probably going over the plan in their minds. The others were already waiting in the wagons.

“You’re late,” Torin shouted as he sheathed his double swords into their holdings on his back. Torin was ready for a war tonight. Gideon noticed twice as many weapons on his belt as usual.

“Well, it makes a change from you.” He stepped out from the foyer and closed in on the wagon.

“Sort out the head?” Marcus flung a grin towards him.

Gideon ignored Marcus as he took his seat in the back of the wagon. Torin also flung an unusual stare his way. It wasn’t dripping in antagonism, but wonder. Whatever that meant, Torin didn’t get the chance to start his sarcastic questioning, as the last of the brotherhood piled into the back of the wagon.

“I’m driving.” Marcus let out a cat-like grin as he slammed the wagon doors shut.

Darkness invaded the space, but Gideon welcomed it. It gave him more time to get into the zone and find the space in his head where he went to hunt. He rested his skull against the frame of the wagon and closed his eyes—not to rest them, but so that he could visualise her one last time before he went to battle.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew he put his life in the hands of the Gods every time he entered a hunt. So he thought of something that made him feel normal, made him feel like it was all for something.

When the wagon began to move a second later, she was gone, pushed into a secret cave in his mind.

Now, the Blood Moon hunt began.

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