Page 2 of Bounty Hunter

“With more power comes more responsibility—and risk. If you, or your heirs, fail to do as I have said, gloam will slowly overtake lucent, until, eventually, the lucent will be overcome by gloam entirely, and you will lose the protection my magic, and my Tulips, have offered, leaving your kingdom vulnerable to past and future enemies… and I will not help you. Your kingdom, people, and heirs will perish—engulfed in inescapable darkness.” She lets her words sink in for a prolonged moment before she continues.

“As specially chosen conductors of my magic, and chosen by me, my Tulips deserve the deepest of respect and adoration and will be treated as such. If they aren’t, I will not send one strong enough to bridge, until a king worthy of her takes the throne. By then, it may be too late. Ensure that you, and your future heirs, do not fail in this.” She caresses the soft petals of a tulip in her hand.

The king carefully runs the words through his mind. “Every heir must simply marry and bridge with a Black Tulip, a Queen of the Night. Care for her and protect her. That’s your price?” He stares, bewildered that so simple a thing be asked in return for so great protection.

Lucentia nods. “Yes. But beware the jealousies and passions of mortals.”

The king lifts a confused brow. “Is that a prophecy?”

“Take it as you will, but let neither you nor your heirs forget it.”

“I agree.”

“Magic is presented in many forms, different for every person. All born with magic will be marked according to their strongest gifts to show that all are equal and chosen by magic. But you and your heirs will have a different mark, one that will grow with every generation and indicates your direct bond with your kingdom.” She stands. “Bare your chest, King.”

He does so, his movements sure and unwavering even as the weight of what he’s doing settles on his shoulders.

Lucentia’s eyes glow silver once again as she places a pale, delicate hand against his heart. The black behind his lids is replaced with warm light, all he can see is light, and behind that light, the width and breadth of his kingdom and people flow through his mind and find a place in his soul. His soul tugs and knots, woven and made as one with the very fabric of his kingdom. It fills his chest, his vision, his blood. Then, curling warmth travels down his upper left arm, down the top of his shoulder blade, and down to his collarbone. Lucentia removes her hand, and the light fades from his vision, but his gaze is drawn to where the still lucent mark now rests, one with the skin of his shoulder, arm, and chest. Wonder lights his eyes as he feels the magic running freely through his veins. His vision sharpens and clears, his hearing amplifies, his senses of touch and smell increase, and his muscles fill with easy power and strength like never before.

Lucentia smiles. “You are a hunter, as will all your heirs be. You will learn to control it, to use it to help your people.”

She gestures to the tulip the king still holds in his grasp, its petals tightly hugged together. “You’ll need this to bridge yourmagic with my Black Tulip. Every bridging must take place with a black tulip, not yet in full bloom. Already a woman has been chosen and marked, her magic complimentary to yours in every way. Your soul calls to her, the heat of your magic yearns for her cool—and hers to yours. Go, King,have care, and have magic.”

“Thank you, Queen of the Night.”

Chapter 1

Vera

Present Day

Ismack an errant branch out of my faceas I stomp through the forest. An unrelenting drizzle has my boots soggy. My contract was canceled last minute, and instead of moving on to the next job—or heading to Mr. Eddieren, who usually hires me between jobs—I have to take what Tatania, the leader of the Tulips, calls a happybreakto attend the ‘yearly required meeting of the Tulips.’ I hear it in her sweet, motherly voice, but she doesn’t know what a stomach so empty it’s collapsing on itself feels like. She’s an elf, a rich one. I’m half-fae, half-human, all-orphan, and I’m poor. I’m a Tulip by blood, part of the exclusive group of women nicknamed for the black tulip emblazoned by magic at the base of our necks. A mark that designates us as protectors and strengtheners of kingdoms. It used to be an honor. A mark that tells the world that we can bridge with a king and combine our powers to protect the kingdoms. Except, no one knows if we can anymore. Even if we could, if people knew we still existed, we would be hated and hunted, just like we were before.

What once was a beautiful stone building covered in green,reaching vines and surrounded by well-kept beds of black tulips appears before me. A long-forgotten building that the forest has decided to overtake and claim as its own. The somewhat majestic entrance still commands, and a now uneven cobbled path leads up to a grand set of stairs that ushers visitors to the pillared doorway. Trees, bushes, and grass now grow where flowerbeds once lay, and invasive tendrils of long, vining plants have attached to the outside of the brick and claimed over half the front wall. The large wood doors are faded, the windows that line the front of the building foggy. A visual representation of the state of the Tulips, unfortunately. I sidestep a stone that sticks up more than the others on my way to the doors. There’s no way this place is still safe, but maybe no one cares since the Tulips are supposed to be obsolete. Before I reach the entrance, a soggy white blur soars toward me through the rain, and I smile, even though I know she’s going to plaster her wet little body to the side of my neck to get warm in the next few seconds. Rupi lands with a flustered flap of soaked wings and a pitiful soundingcheepas she nestles up to my neck.

“You can come,” I tell her, “but stay hidden. No shenanigans.”

Her responding chirp sounds a little saucy.

The handle at the entrance jiggles loosely beneath my grip, and I hope it doesn’t fall off in my hand as I open the resistant door. I step inside a grand main hall with a staircase that splits into two, each curving away from the other and connecting to a landing above. A once-charmed chandelier above hangs dormant. If the door handle hasn’t gotten the attention it needs, I highly doubt the chandelier has either, so I intentionally skirt the hall to make sure I’m not beneath it in case it comes crashing to the ground. The state of disrepair is somber, but I’venever known it any other way. I pass the stairs, go beneath the landing, and enter the ballroom. I pull my cloak hood down and remove my hair from its messy braid, using it to conceal Rupi’s presence. Tatania would never allow a bird to enter the building. Renna and I jokingly call her the dictator of the Tulips, but it’s more truth than joke—she runs a tight ship.

The entire back wall is a series of floor-to-ceiling windows, two stories tall, that overlook a deep, green-filled canyon. I’ve always found it breathtaking. I imagine the deep green walls of the ballroom adorned with heavy curtains, music filling the empty silence, dimmed lights adding intimate warmth, and dancing couples twirling across the wood floor. It could be beautiful again. But the giant room sits empty except for the seven wood chairs placed in a neat semi circle near one of the back windows. To my left is a fragile-looking wood desk, and seated behind it is Tatania’s ever-joyful assistant, Lillath. She’s not a Tulip, but she’s trusted.

“So glad you’ve made it, andearly. If only everyone was as eager as us to be here.” She smiles widely as she passes me a fancy envelope stamped with my name.

Yes, so eager. I put aside my work and am currently starving so I can sit amidst a group of women that pity me.I keep my mouth shut with my lips shaped into a firm sort of smile as I reach into my pack and pull out the money I’ve saved to pay the dues. Precious, hard-earned money. My stomach growls as I stuff it into the envelope and seal it with a somewhat messy blob of wax and my personal stamp. I slide it back across the desk and turn before I do something irrational, like snatch it back and head to the nearest tavern to spend it on a month’s worth of hot meals. But a sated belly would be exchanged for the loss of anonymity that would come from my bracelet lapsing due to lack of payment. Can’t have that.

Lillath busies herself writing something, so I step away to find a seat. Even though I try to step lightly, my boots make loud squishing noises as I cross the dull, wood floor. And unfortunately, as Lillath so happily stated, I’m early. I slump into a seat and try not to care about the puddle of water that is slowly forming beneath my boots as each drip seems to echo across the silent, empty room. I habitually hug the sleeves of the overlarge coat I wear down over my palms and grasp it with my fingers as I cross my arms and wait.

It’s not long before a tall woman in a beautiful sea green gown just a shade lighter than the moody green of the walls around us enters the room, pushing a dainty cart full of tiny, feminine pastries, teacups, and a kettle. A large vase of fake, silky-looking black tulips adorns its center. Another Tulip in a gown just as fine walks beside her. Rupi’s feathers begin to turn quill-like, scratching at my neck.

“Avenera,” Tatania greets me with a smile.

It’s strange to hear my given name—the only ones who use it are those who attend this meeting and Mr. Eddieren, the odd fae who’s a master at potion making that will take my help whenever I offer. I sit up a little straighter in my chair, smile, and give an awkward half-wave. I never know how to be around these people. The woman beside her, Maven, smiles in a friendly way.

The two women wheel the cart to the middle of the semi circle as the rest of the Tulips begin to trickle in at random intervals. Each seals an envelope with the dues and gives it Lillath, as I did on arrival. I watch as Nova, another noble-born Tulip with a willowy frame, hair of spun gold, and clothed in a silky-looking day dress, takes a seat. Nessa, a mild-mannered woman with pale skin that contrasts starkly against her dark brown hair, sits beside her, and they dive into a conversation.Those two have been close since I began attending the Tulip meetings as a young girl. One after another, two more enter, children of wealthy merchants and traders, Fina and Petra. Petra has a flawless, tawny-brown complexion and dresses in the latest fashions. Today is a sage green day dress that evenImight wear.

Fina steps into the room with a look to die for. Her dark brown hair is separated into three, thick, intricate braids, and she flashes me a radiant white smile. Her tan skin glows with healthy, sun-kissed color. Leather, form fitting pants hug her long legs, encased in tall boots, and completed with a shirt that blouses out of a cinched waist piece, and which effortlessly emphasizes her bustjustenough. I refuse to think of my worn trousers, soggy boots, and man’s shirt that neither clings nor emphasizes anything in a complimentary way. In fact, I’ve been mistaken for a teenage boy on three occasions.

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