Page 5 of Bounty Hunter

The people crowd around my guards, attempting to give their thanks to myself and Nadiette as we enter the High Kingdom, to get closer to the powerful couple, ‘the couple who will save the nation,’ they shout. Nadiette rides beside me, graceful and calm on her white steed. She gives a serene smile and nods to the people surrounding us. The people practically beg me for the wedding. Traditional wedding flowers are tossed around us, and I realize the story is more than a hero and heroine, it has also become one of love. The people love Nadiette. They love the symbol of our power and the hope it instills. At least I can offer that… for now.

Amidst the crowd and their chanting, their begging, their honors and well-wishes, my mind flashes back to the battle. My body hot with magic, my hand blistering around the handle of my sword. I pulled more magic than I ever have in my life, and it was barely enough to beat the beast. I think of how close I was to overexertion—maybe even death. I can’t stop thinking about the fight.

It didn’t used to be that difficult to beat ashard beast, and this time it killed ten of my men and almost cost me my life. Never before has one had to heat a sword to almost melting point to defeat gloam creatures. The only one who is capable of that is me. What will happen when evenIcannot defeat them? Either the dark creatures are getting stronger, or we are getting weaker. From the state of my mark, probably both. I nudge my horse forward, done with the crowds and the hope they so badly want from me. I feel as if I am an imposter, acting the hero when I am in the process of utterly failing my people.

Later that evening, I inspect my mark before a tall mirror in my room, wondering when more will turn black. An intricate, scrolling mark begins at the top of my shoulder, trailing down half my left bicep, down my collarbone, across one quarter of my chest, and a quarter of the way down my back. It is the mark of the High King, given by Lucentia, the goddess of lucent magic. Every king since it was given has been born with his own added portion, his lasting mark upon the kingdom carried on with each heir. The earliest parts of the mark are light, like the lucent magic we use. But the later parts, the generations just before me, are the coal-black of gloam.

When I was born, and even as a young boy, the small portion I added to the mark was light, shimmering like gold, and I hoped I would be a worthy king, such as those earlier ones who saved our kingdom and helped it prosper. As I grew, the burning began. I wasn’t yet eighteen before the first parts of my mark began to blacken like soot and ash. The excruciating burning caught me off guard that first time—my shouts had healers rushing to my side, and rumors flying in just days. I was full of shame and embarrassment for months. People’s pityinglooks and whispers behind my back were torture. I never allowed that to happen again. In the ten years since, it has only grown more black, though, and through sheer discipline, I show no reaction to the pain. No one needs know how unworthy I truly am, or I’ll have mutiny on my hands on top of the other problems I face. I think of the King’s Council I must attend in four months’ time. The weight of their stares and silent judgements. I can almost tangibly feel the unrest between the low kings, kings that should be united under my leadership. Still more failure on my part.Unworthy.

My gaze catches once more on my portion of the mark and the black that fills the uppermost lines. Then I pull a loose shirt from my wardrobe and toss it over my head, eager to cover the mark and all the ugly truth it holds.

Chapter 3

Vera

Four months later…

I’m bumped and jostled as people press closer to the street, cheering and shouting. Rupi fluffs her feathers in irritation at the movements as she attempts to barricade herself between my long hair and the warmth of my neck. I wait for a tiny prick from the ends of her feathers, they turn quill-like when she’s agitated, but gratefully, she settles in as I back further into the shadows of a shop entrance that’s closed for the night. I’m grateful these celebrations always occur beneath a dark sky—it’s a lot easier to hide.

I pull the hood of my over-large cloak a little lower until it covers my face in black shadow and watch carefully for anyone who might recognize me. If they see me, they’ll wonder why I’m not also dressed in white garb fit for royalty and adding to the show of light and power soon to come. The conversation would be an awkward one if I were to tell them I don’t actually belong.

Heads turn as the first sign of the Originators appear. A white glow surrounds the group who’ve formed a parade, like they carry literal sunlight. It grows brighter the closer theycome until we see the first of the group of Originators appear a ways down the street. Small orbs of magic hover above some of their hands, others send great arcs of light in shapes of dragons, shooting stars, suns with sparkling rays, and magnificent shimmering sprinkles over the crowds, lighting the street ahead of them. The people go wild, reaching out their hands with tearythank yousas they walk by, others cheer and shout to the Originators, our kingdom’s heroes. And of course, everyone soaks up as much of the free raw magic being thrown about as they can. It’s as if they scatter breadcrumbs to starving people. And in a way, they are. In a world being slowly starved of lucent magic, these people need any extra they can get. But despite the nearly tangible joy expressed around me, I despise the entire situation.

Why do Tulips join Originators if they’re the ones who hunted us down and murdered us all those years ago? Simply put, because our magic most closely matches theirs. We silently joined the Originators, and that is the faction most of us are known by, but if anyone did any digging, they’d know it’s a lie the Black Tulips tell so we can live some semblance of a normal life. Originators are similar to us in many ways, but none of them have the magnitude of power necessary to bridge with a king and balance magic for entire kingdoms. Don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what I’ve always been told. I’ve also been told none of us current Tulips are powerful enough to do so. Instead, lucent magic is dying, disappearing, however you want to describe it. That means that pulling magic takes more energy to use, and every single day it gets worse. Some people are no longer strong enough to use any magic at all. And that’s where the Tulips come in. Similar to other Originators, some of us work with healers, some of us work with those of the Maker faction—people who craft and enchant weapons, faepotion makers, and builders, among others—and others work with hunters. We are their power source for assistance in pulling magic since it’s so taxing and dangerous to do it on their own.

Rupi shuffles within the confines of my hood, getting antsy as the light show continues. I look down to find a skinny cat with ratty fur curling between my feet. I’m used to it. Animals love Tulips. When I travel through the forest, it’s common to have small animals trailing behind me. That’s how I adopted Rupi.

We are also natural healers, though that aspect is one we steer clear of. Healers of the Healing faction can heal even the most serious of wounds—if they have enough lucent—but I’ve heard it hurts like the sting of a thousand wasps for a bad injury. Tulips can heal others without pain, so none of us are allowed to act as Healers—it would give us away and bring attention to our abilities again. Not only that, bloody wounds disgust me. Funny, since my mother was a Healer and loved her work.

I had to choose which faction I would make my way in since advertising that I’m a Tulip is practically a death sentence. Most Tulips choose to join the Originators for practical reasons, but there are still risks. The biggest one? The fact that—as is being so brightly shared before us—Originators’ lucent magic has a yellow-orange tint to it, and its temperature matches, like the warmth of the rays of the suns setting. Tulip magic, on the other hand, is cool and bright white. We’ve learned that if we’re very careful in how much we share at a time, no one notices. Which is why no one will ever spot a Tulip in a parade such as this.

The Originators begin to pass by, the night sky no longer visible beyond the brightness of the lucent magic theycarelessly display. They are dressed in varying styles of white, some with flowing dresses, some with brilliant white armor, some with fancy, pure-white, three-piece suits. I can see the design of their mark, a half-sun with straight lines shooting out of a half-circle shape, dots trailing outward to create additional rays between each line, cut out of their clothing and light magic shining through to light it up. All of it adds to the magnificent shining glow that surrounds them as they pass by. The people around me practically worship them, the only ones who have been able to beat back the darkness and maintain our world against dark magic for the past two hundred years. They continue to pull magic as they pass and put on a show of light strikes, bright sparks and patterned flashes, pleasing the crowds with their power while the people continue to pull it desperately.

A particularly bright streak of magic shoots over the crowd and light showers down like warm rain at sunset, meanwhile, I get a sharp poke in the tender skin of my neck as Rupi shifts up and down the ridge of my shoulder, once again aggravated. The people cheer, and Rupi chirps irritably, still shuffling around inside my hood and tickling my ear with her anxious movements. I begin to cringe away, knowing that her currently soft feathers will quill into the painful weapons they turn to when she feels threatened. Still, I reach up a calming hand to rest over her small body while I shrink back a little further. I can’t wait for it to end, seems as if Rupi can’t either. Every year, this celebration serves as a reminder that I don’t belong, that these people, who so readily and easily love the Originators, will hate me if they ever know what I am. And I hate that I am considered one of them. I can’t wait until I’ve saved enough money to never have to call myself an Originator again.

The celebration will last late into the night with dancing,food, and copious amounts of drink. The Originators will continue to share raw magic, which usually costs so much that only the rich can afford to hire one. Sometimes, even kings will make their presence known at these celebratory events. Even more reason for me to skedaddle as soon as possible—wouldn’t want to chance that. I shiver, imagining the cold, hard planes of the face of an older man sitting on a throne, his heavy, ornate crown atop his long hair, powerful with dreadfully hot magic.

I’ve never met a king in person, or seen one for that matter. That’s how wide I steer clear. And I do a good job avoiding them apparently—a skill I intend to keep sharp. I touch the bracelet, reminding myself that the Tulips are safe from detection, our magic disguised by the charmed bracelet around our wrists. No need to worry. Normally, kings and Tulips are drawn to each other. It’s instinctive and strong. It’s a nightmarish thought, and I wonder why magic ever would have created something this way. Why would someone with magic as cold as mine ever want to bridge theirs with the warmer, even hot, magic of a king? Sounds like a lukewarm disaster waiting to happen. I’ll never remove the protection of the bracelet. But if I ever meet Lucentia, the goddess of magic, in person, I’ll definitely be putting in a complaint.

More-so than their love for the Originators, though, the need for raw magic is the true reason the crowds grow so large. But as soon as they pass, my obligation is complete. I quickly slip along the back of the crowds and hurry home. I leave the glow of their lucent magic behind, and soon, I can see the night sky again. I breathe in relief and feel Rupi relax the further away we get.

What does it say about me that I prefer the coolness of the dark sky over their warm light? My lips quirk in a self-deprecating smile.

The twinkling stars and the three moons glowing softly above are a blessed reprieve from the blinding Originators. I leave the upkept, clean area of town and make my way deep into the rundown, dirty, and dangerous side where I pay monthly for a small space with Renna. Spending my last teen years with Mama Tina, my wealthy fae adoptive aunt, made this part of town feel especially scary at first. But when Drade, my boyfriend at the time, suddenly became low king, I knew I had to leave. I had to make a life of my own, and here I am. A set of rickety wood stairs, the paint so faded I don’t know what the original color was, wrap around the building and up to the fourth story, which is where we live. I ignore the slight sway as I climb up. They haven’t collapsed yet, so I simply assume they won’t today. But I make sure not to use the rail to avoid splinters. I insert the old key and give the door the usual solid kick as I turn the knob, and it swings open like a charm.

No light comes from inside, so I assume Renna is still out. I pass through the small apartment and head to my bedroom to ready for bed. Once I walk through the door Rupi immediately flaps her tiny wings a few times and coasts gently to the rough-hewn perch that stands beside my bed where she promptly ruffles up her fluff before settling herself and cleaning her feathers with her stubby beak. She appears as relieved as I to be home. I follow her over and pour a bit of birdseed in the tray nearby.

I remove my cloak and boots, but before I extinguish the orb of light I’ve held in my palm, too lazy to light candles, I lift my bedding and uncover a roughly-stitched seam of my lumpy mattress. I pull the string out, reach inside, and fumble around until I find the money I’ve stashed. I sit cross-legged on the rough wood floor, and my heart picks up its pace as I count it. I set the last coin down with a breathy exhale. I have two morejobs lined up, then I’ll have enough. Enough to buy a little space for a shop where I can sell odd trinkets and never have to use my magic or care about what faction I’m in. It won’t matter that I’m lower class. I’ll live simply. My shop, my bracelet, and Rupi. Even Renna, if she wants to join me. But I’ll never have to call myself an Originator again.

Chapter 4

Ikar

Isettle my large frame carefully into the ancient, half-fossilized wood chair, cringing as it ominously creaks beneath my weight. The others, the four low kings, have already taken their seats, but I prolong the discomfort of the hard chairs as long as possible, knowing this will be lengthy. I lean back, putting on a relaxed air even though it feels as if I am in a den of snakes. These annual meetings of the kings are a tradition not easily broken, nor do I think they should be, but their length is absolutely criminal. It is a facade of unity and friendship between the low kings when in reality, each wants the best for his own kingdom without care for any other. And I think, beneath the surface, they’d all like to do away with the High King all together. Which is where I, the High King, come in.

“Welcome to the 1,712thsemi-annual meeting of the kings,” I begin, and the conversations immediately halt. “We’ll begin with the oath. Everyone, rise.”

We all stand, except for King Adrian Farlow, who’s chinhas just met his chest in sleep. Odd, rumbling snores already sound from his nose. He’s the oldest of us by far, crowned when my grandfather was still High King. For that reason, he remains undisturbed. I feel mildly jealous that he can get away with napping the entire council away as we continue with the oath and seat ourselves, and I proceed to listen for the next several hours. My mouth quirks as King Waylon Orlet’s eyes fixate for the eighth time on the aged, sleeping king and frowns. It’s amusing how much it bothers him. He always does enjoy the stuffy, ceremonial parts of the council.

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