Page 9 of The Hunter's Mate

Nyrik does that weird laugh again, a low sound in his throat. “As I asked, have you used a crossbow?”

“Once or twice, but I wouldn’t describe myself as an expert,” I say.

“In that case, you should practice on some targets,” he says. He points with one clawed finger to a log in the distance. “Do you see that?”

I nod.

“Aim for the knot at the center,” he says.

I do as he says, then his hand comes up to wrap delicately around my fingers. He takes my pointer finger and middle finger in hand, then bends them to touch my palm.

The weapon fires a bolt of silver, the point embedding itself in the target.

“Wow,” I breathe.

“A surprisingly powerful weapon for so small a package, isn’t it?” he says. “Much like yourself.”

I can’t help the blush that spreads over my cheeks; I just have to hope he can’t see it in the dark.

“And that’s all there is to it?” I ask. “It doesn’t need to be reloaded?”

“It can only be fired a certain number of times before it needs to be recharged,” he says. “If you look at the holo-screen on your wrist, you will see how many bolts you have left before the weapon goes idle. It recharges over time without prompting, though; you do not need any special battery.”

“Perfect,” I say.

7

Nyrik

I know I could lose my position in the Hunt—and even my life—by helping my quarry…yet I admire her will to survive.

Fawn spends the evening questioning me on methods for killing the zimya, wolfing down whatever food I offer. I have never met a human hunter, and her tenacity and hunger for the kill shocks me. I did not expect to find a kindred spirit here on this primitive planet, but Fawn knows me on a level that I could not have anticipated.

And there is something else that appeals to me about her…something I cannot fully understand or place.

“Tell me about your planet,” she says. “I want to know everything.”

I peer out the open hatch at the swamp beyond, where glowing lights float over the water. It reminds me in many ways of home—the vast marshes of Alamancia, with the low glass rooftops of the Consularium floating on stilts. I was born in the capital city, but I’ve spent most of my life on a lonely satellite, my order exiled from our planet after a civil war in my youth.

“Alamancia is much like this place,” I murmur. “On the fringes of the Merati Kingdom, past the home systems and near to the Serpentine Void. My planet circles close to the void in the cold season, which plays tricks with the color of our atmosphere in a vivid display of gold and green light.”

“It sounds amazing,” she says.

“It is,” I reply. “I long to return there one day.”

Fawn frowns. “You don’t go back often?”

“There was a war that split my order off from the rest of our people,” I say. “My progenitors were part of the rebel faction that sided with the Hyperborean Empire; we were thus exiled, with no hope of redemption.”

It’s one of the reasons why I’ve always been so loyal to the Empire, though I’m unsure of their supposed position on the moral high ground. The Hyperboreans offer our only avenue to retaking Alamancia. I don’t mention this to Fawn, but she catches on anyway.

“Are the Hyperboreans the ones claiming to be angels?” she asks.

I shouldn’t tell her these things, but I can’t seem to resist her. The truth comes tumbling out a moment later, her eyes sharp as she processes my words.

“In a way, they are angels,” I say. “On many planets, they are a boon to the downtrodden, providing aid to those who cannot help themselves. They help rebels with their cause more often than not.”

“But their help comes at a price,” she says.

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