Page 58 of Bounty Hunter

A piece of my heart still feels cracked. That was the moment I realized I didn’t truly belong anywhere. I’m not full fae, and I’m not full human. I’m a Tulip who doesn’t even quite fit in with her own magical kind, and my parents had died. I broke up with Drade on the spot, and ever since, I’ve been on the run. I’m not friends with kings. I don’t date them, and I don’t marry them. I’m a Tulip, and that would never be okay. I donned men’s clothing for protection and gave up on romance. That was years ago now, but I still wish I’d handled the situation better. I know I’d hurt both him and Mama Tina in my rush to leave. While I’ve made things right with Mama Tina, I don’t plan to have that chat with Drade.

When the water cools, I step out and wrap myself in a fluffy robe. It appears that during my bath, a silver tray with three bottles of healing potion was delivered and sits, waiting, on my dresser. I rush toward it, prying open the cork of the first one with my teeth, holding out my arm, and carefullydousing the injury with it. It sizzles and pops, but there’s no pain, merely a fuzzy, warm feeling. It smells like vanilla and warm berries. I sigh in relief as Ikar’s careful stitches are closed and the thread loosened by the liquid until I can pull it away painlessly. I use up the other two bottles to get it completely healed, but when I’m finished, only the smallest hint of a thin scar remains. I press my lips together, not sure how I feel about a permanent reminder of that night. My cheeks warm at the thought of it.

I pull the robe sleeve down my arm to cover it and head to a tall wardrobe that sits in the corner of the room, opening the long doors which swing out to either side and revealing several evening gowns. Along the bottom, beneath the dresses, is a large drawer. I pull it open, and my eyes track across the unique assortment of items I’ve gathered to stock the shelves of the shop I hope to open. This is only a portion, the rest stored in a room here in Mama Tina’s house. I frown, thinking of the beautiful comb nestled safely inside my pack. The pack that is currently lost somewhere in the shift forest, along with my only weapons. I sigh. No clothes, no pack, and no weapons. My stomach turns, thinking of asking Mama Tina for a loan. I groan, almost shoving the drawer shut, but my eyes catch on my mother’s journal and the book that she used to read to me set inside a couple of nested fancy painted bowls at the bottom of the drawer. I grab the books, then close the drawer and turn to sit on the wood floor with the wardrobe against my back.

Rupi flutters from her perch by the window and hops into the folds of my robe as I open the journal to a page in the middle where a bookmark of pressed flowers is still where my mother left it and smile. She was known for her green thumb. Around our home, the plants grew lush and abundant, the trees wide and tall, nearly engulfing our small house. I wonder whatshe would tell me about Ikar. Would I find advice about how to manage wayward feelings in these pages? I read small parts here and there, some about plants, some about healing. Most of which she had already taught me. It’s all very practical, nothing about feelings or dating or what to do when you find yourself crushing on a criminal. I sigh and flip to the beginning where she’d written the stories that she’d told me at night.

One was a powerful story of Lucentia, the goddess of lucent magic. It was the kind of story that every young girl loves to hear. Lucentia was a revered woman, said to be the embodiment of magic. The image on the left side of the page catches my eye. Lucentia, the woman the Black Tulips are named for. At least, that’s the way my mother portrayed her in an intricate sketch, using the description that was passed down through the ages. A woman in a beautiful black dress faces the side of the page, her golden hair tumbling down a shoulder to reveal the black tulip mark at the base of her neck. Black tulips and the whitest of small, fluffy birds fill the rest of the page around her, a woven crown of black tulips around her head and a white lucent orb in her hand.

Rupi hops onto the page and attempts to gently peck at the woman. She’s always loved this story. I trace a finger over one of the birds. They look so similar to Rupi, but I’ve never seen another one like her with my own eyes. My gaze then moves to the woman’s profile. I tilt my head in thought. It seems I have nothing in common with this legend. The woman in this picture appears elegant, the set of her shoulders sure and confident. I practically feel her power emanate from the page. I twist my lips to the side, feeling small. Definitely not how I’d describe myself.

Lucentia made a deal with the kings, but no details were ever written in this book, and I wonder what they could havebeen. Nothing good, I assume, since Tulips are now a hated bunch. We are the pigeons among doves. Whatever she’d done must have been horrible.

I wait until Rupi hops away from the page and shut the journal, then pick up the bound book that I’d been given as a Black Tulip. I open to the middle of the book, and my chest tightens at the black and white picture. A terrifyingly beautiful woman with a black tulip proudly displayed on her neck is depicted with her foot atop her king’s head as a numberless crowd of his people bow to her. At her side is a tall figure cloaked in black and smoky wisps and clouds of magic waft around their forms. It really is creepy. Rupi pecks aggressively at the page, ripping a corner away.

“We don’t peck books, Rupi,” I scold. She knows better, so I frown at her for good measure.

I scoop her up and set her on the floor. I’d read the story before and chose not to revisit it. That’s the story the Originators used to turn the kings against us. The vision the supposed seer saw. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it’s generally accepted as such. I flip to another page. This one has a picture of a frail looking Black Tulip engulfed in a plant prison, her face gaunt and hollow, a symbolic bridge of flowers connecting her and the king, who turns a key in a lock, sucking the life from her. Rupi chirps angrily and flaps her wings until she’s back on my lap and pecks again at the page, making small indentations even with her stubby beak, then her feathers burst into sharp quills, sticking into the page. When she won’t stop, I finally lift it away and slam it shut.

“Fine. I won’t read it.”

Her feathers return to normal, and she takes a moment to fluff them indignantly, then she flies back to herperch to shuffle across the gold bar and stare at herself in the mirror. I shake my head at her antics. Moody, like I said.

I move to my knees and place the books back in the trunk and close the latch. But though I shut the books and put them away, the reminder is still there. I climb into bed and pull the covers up to my chin. This is why we don’t trust kings and why I can’t wait until I don’t call myself an Originator any longer.

Chapter 40

Vera

Ispend the next afternoon chatting with Mama Tina and Renna. We sit in a beautiful, circular sitting room with windows lining the entire back to look out into the deep woods. It’s cozy and comfortable, and I never want to leave—it’s my favorite room in the house. Rupi has joined us, perched on a tall, elegant bird stand Mama Tina had custom made just for her. She rings the gold bell with the tap of her tiny beak, and a maid slips in to place a small pile of cut fruit and chopped nuts in her tray. This is exactly why Rupilovesto be at Mama Tina’s. I smile a little as she dives into her feast.

I sip a cup of hot tea with honey and a hint of lavender and fiddle with pieces of my squeaky clean hair as I listen to Mama Tina update me on the current fae happenings and gossip. She makes sure to add in a large piece about Drade and his success, which I promptly ignore. I’m relieved when she moves on to other topics, but the one we settle on has me tense once again.

“So, Ikar.” Mama Tina tips her cup and takes a delicate sip as she stares at me over the rim of her fragile cup. I know thatstare. Rupi stops crunching the tiniest piece of chopped nut I’ve ever seen and looks up, too.

“What about him?” I frown, feeling my defenses rise. There’s no way I can keep my feelings a secret if Mama Tina decides she wants to pry.

“You like him.”

Renna chimes in, too. “Yep.”

I swallow in a strangled sort of way and look down at the blanket that I’ve curled up beneath. I twist a loose thread around one of my fingers. I could go off about how he’s my bounty, simply a criminal I’ll promptly be dropping off to officials as soon as we get to Moneyre. But I know if I choose that route, it’ll just drag the conversation on longer.

“A little.” I don’t look up, but I hear a contented, short trill of song from Rupi. “It can’t work, though. If he’s truly not a criminal, he’s a soldier, which is worse. Too close to a king,” I almost whisper. Saying it out loud hurts and makes me face reality. I finally look up and see understanding on their faces. Mama Tina is the only non-Tulip, besides Lillath, who knows what Renna and I are. And suddenly, I want to share more.

“He offered me a contract.” I laugh like it’s ridiculous, but Mama Tina’s next words cut it off.

“Why not take it?”

“He’s likely a criminal. That should bother you,” I say with accusatory eyes.

“His heart is good. I sense it.” She glances at Rupi on her golden perch where she pauses her cracking once more at the attention. “And so does Rupi.”

She chirps in the affirmative.

I simply stare at her, frowning. Then I look at Renna, and she simply shrugs as if saying,“Why not?”

I drain the rest of my cup, unsure what to do with MamaTina, Renna, my feelings, Rupi, or my criminal. How did life get so complicated?

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