21. Felix

21

FELIX

I cross my arms, watching the exchange with mild amusement. All the recruits assume Cat's going to be soft. They think she's delicate—fragile even. And then they barely survive their first week.

Cyril is no different. He gazes at her pretty face and slender build and sees a porcelain doll instead of a hunter.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, shaking his head.

Her lips twitch, her expression becoming feline. All the recruits have seen that smile. It strikes terror in my heart even now. The last time I was on the receiving end of it, I ran a hundred laps around the guildhall.

"You won't," she assures him.

He looks at me, unsure.

"Go ahead," I prod him.

"All right…" He ducks his chin to his chest, hunches over, and runs toward Cat. I'm not sure what his strategy is, as he's not large enough to win with brute strength, but it doesn't matter because Cat merely sidesteps his attack, and he stumbles into a bush.

Embarrassed, he untangles himself from the serviceberry and turns back. He rushes her again, using the same tactic. (As it worked so well the first time.) He opens his arms wide, hoping to catch her around the shoulders. Cat waits until he's close, and then she drops low, hiking up her skirt to get it out of her way, and whirls in an elegant circle and takes him out at the knees with one extended leg. He lands on his back, his eyes bulging when he realizes she's knocked the air from his lungs.

"I hate it when she does that," I say to Greg, who watches with impartial interest.

Cat's up in an instant, standing over the shaken young man, her boot pressed to his throat. "I hope you're better with a weapon because that was an appalling show."

" I thought she'd torment him a bit longer, " Greg says, disappointed.

Cyril extends his hands in surrender, gasping when she releases him. Rubbing his throat, he sits up. "I'm good with a crossbow," he wheezes. "Give me another chance."

"Go to Valette for next year's recruitment if you're serious," she says, bored. "This wasn't an audition."

"Then what was it?"

Her eyes flick back to him. "A lesson."

He gulps, properly leery of her now.

"Go home." She jerks her head toward the trail. "And don't follow us again—or reveal our identities."

"Let's not be too hasty," I interrupt. "We might have a use for him."

Cyril frowns. "Why should I help when you won't take me to the capital?"

"I could put in a good word for you for next year."

"Like an apprentice has any sort of sway." He rolls his eyes, looking rather sulky.

"This one does," Cat says.

"Why?"

"He's the guild president's son."

I offer Cyril a smug smile when he gapes at me. "Show me you're GHOST material."

"How?"

"I want you to keep an eye on a few people—and don't get caught."

"I won't," he says eagerly. "Who am I following?"

"The Abendroth sisters' father," Cat says.

"Annika's fiancé, Luther," I add.

Cat nods. "And Jane Williams."

"The schoolteacher ?"

"Johann, too." I flash Cat a look.

"Johann from the general store?" Cyril asks, surprised.

"He arrived just after the first few attacks," Cat says.

Cyril frowns, thoughtful.

"And Frida," I say. "I'd like you to monitor her."

"Frida is harmless," Cyril argues. "If the villagers think I'm stalking her, they'll hang me by my ankles in the main square and leave me for the werewolf."

Cat frowns. "She has some kind of connection with the redcaps. It's not natural or normal for them to run from her like they did. At best, she's a witch. At worst, she's our wolf."

Cyril looks visibly shaken. "Say she is a witch…can they summon werewolves?"

"No, they're far too willful," Cat says. "The highest creature I've ever seen a witch summon is an imp. But they do connect themselves with the shadow realm and are, therefore, unstable and potentially dangerous."

"Just remember," Felix says, "while you're watching the villagers, Greg will watch you ."

Cyril looks at the dragon, unsure. Greg huffs out a burst of fire to spook the young man, satisfied when he earns a startled yip.

"How will I contact you?" Cyril asks. "People will grow suspicious if I visit your shop. I'm not close to anyone."

"We'll meet here next week," Cat says. "If you need us sooner, leave a note under the shop door."

"All right." He looks at me. "And you swear you'll put in a good word for me with your father?"

"Only if you do a good job."

He nods resolutely. "I will."

" It doesn't seem my services are needed at present, so I'm going to return to my rock." Greg extends his wings and lifts himself into the air, gracefully landing on his new favorite perch and circling like a dog trying to find the perfect position before he plops down.

We begin the trek back with Cyril at our side. He asks dozens of questions about GHOST, hunting, and growing up as princely Arthur Cunningham's son.

"Do dragons molt?" he asks when we're nearing the forest's edge. "Like snakes?"

"No," I answer, growing tired of the questions. Though I would consider myself a patient man, I didn't get enough sleep last night to deal with his exuberance.

"So, they never lose their scales?"

"Greg loses them, but they don't fall off all at once," Cat answers.

"How much do you think a dragon hide would go for?" When we both turn on him, Cyril holds up his hands like he did when Cat pinned him to the ground. "It's a purely theoretical question."

"And if you say something like that again, I will theoretically give Greg permission to eat you," Cat snaps.

He clears his throat, his hand twitching at his side. "Sorry."

For a quiet loner, he's certainly chatty. It makes me think his solitude wasn't chosen but forced upon him.

"How old were you when your parents died in the fire?" I ask him, continuing down the rocky path.

"You've heard about that?" he asks sullenly.

"News travels fast in small villages."

"Thirteen," he answers. "It's been six years now."

"You've lived alone since you were thirteen?" Cat asks, appalled at the idea.

He shrugs. "I managed."

"Did you kill them?" The question is blunt, and I watch him closely. The hurt that flashes across his face—a combination of buried pain, indignation, and anger—tells me what I need to know.

"I didn't," he says sullenly, and I believe him.

"Why do people think you did?"

"My father and I argued that day. I slept in the tanning barn that night, refusing to stay in the house, and I accidentally knocked over a lantern. It caught the hay, then the rest of the barn. I woke up to smoke and flames.

"I was trying to get our old donkey out, but he fought me. I didn't think about the fire leaping to the house, and when I realized it had, it was too late. It happened so fast—faster than you'd think would be possible. Before I got there, the second floor caved in."

"Why did people assume you started the fire on purpose?" Cat asks.

"Because I wasn't in the house," he answers. "And it wasn't a secret that my father and I didn't have a good relationship."

"But you weren't convicted of the crime," I say, remembering what Arnold said.

"The judge in Hellenford ruled it an accident. No one here believed it—they shunned me. I didn't care, though."

"You didn't?" Cat asks, her tone gentle but skeptical.

"I deserve it, accident or not," he says soberly. "I knocked over the lantern and started the fire. It doesn't matter if I meant to kill them. I still did."

I think about it, imagining what it would have been like to have a fight with Father and wake up to that. To be alone at thirteen, hating myself. It almost makes me want to make things right with the impossible old man. Almost.

We reach the edge of the forest and pause.

"You two go ahead," Cyril says. "I'll take another route back to my property so we're not spotted together."

"You rebuilt after the fire?" I ask. "By yourself?"

"All I have is a shack, but it's served me all right."

Cat frowns at him, looking like she wants to say something, but she ends up nodding. "We'll be in touch."

She and I continue down the path, into the rolling meadow, and Cyril remains in the trees, watching us go. When I look back, he's gone.

"Do you think it was a good idea to include him in this?" Cat asks.

"I guess we're going to find out."

She yawns, exhausted after staying up half the night. "I'm getting soft."

"Judging from how quickly you took down Cyril, you aren't." I chuckle, remembering the horrified surprise on the young man's face.

"They're always the same in the beginning. Do you think your father will take him?"

"Probably."

"What about the enrollment fee?"

"Those things have a way of working themselves out."

She gives me one of her rare, soft smiles. "You're going to pay it, aren't you?"

"I haven't decided yet. We'll see how he does with the task we've given him."

"You threw a dagger and pinned him to a tree, not even catching his flesh."

The statement is random, but I expected her to mention it eventually. Casually, I say, "Maybe I was aiming for his chest?"

She turns to face me, the breeze blowing her sunlit hair. "You weren't."

"You wouldn't have been so sure of that a month ago."

"A month ago, you were hiding yourself from me."

I study her, my eyes catching on her warm brown ones.

She contemplates me, her expression solemn. "It was one of the most attractive things I've ever witnessed."

I'm startled both by the praise and the blatant confession. Sliding my hands into my pockets, I take a leisurely step closer. "I made your heart dance?"

Her eyes search mine. "When will you tell me about hunting draugrs in Galbreah?"

My eyebrows fly up. "Did I say I hunted them?"

"Greg mentioned it. So don't pretend it didn't happen."

Smiling to myself, I continue toward the village. "There's not much to tell. I attempted to run away from monsters, and different monsters found me. Hunting must be in my blood, whether I like it or not."

"Felix," she asks softly.

I turn back to look at her.

"You're a hunter, aren't you?" she whispers.

"I said I was."

"An actual one? Trained, apprenticed, certified ?"

"My only certification is my scars. Shall I show them to you, bluebird?"

"You fled to Galbreah only to become a monster hunter? To train with a Galbrean guild instead of your own father?"

"Not intentionally. Like I said, I stumbled into it. They needed hunters, and there I was. Their training is a bit different from ours, however. We coddle our hunters for a good two years. I was initiated by fire."

"Draugrs travel in numbers, like armies. They threw you into a war?"

"More like a few battles and a couple dozen skirmishes."

"And you lived?"

"I'm standing in front of you, aren't I?"

Thinking hard about something, she presses her hand to her chest, averting her eyes as she looks at the distant orchards.

"What is it?"

"I'm imagining you in that cold, icy wilderness, fighting ancient monsters. Strong. Capable. A hero ." She turns her eyes on me and scowls. "And then you came back and pretended to be a failure."

I cross my arms, giving her a crooked smile. "You'll never forgive me, will you?"

She sighs, looking vexed, and continues down the path.

I peer at her as we walk. "Tell me what you're thinking about so solemnly."

She shakes her head.

I bump her shoulder with mine. "I'm your husband, Cat. What could be on your mind that you cannot share with me?"

"You're not my husband." She turns to look at me. "You're my apprentice. And I cannot tell you what I'm thinking because it's inappropriate."

I let that go until we reach the village, letting her brood in silence. But I flip the lock after we enter our shop, ensuring there will be no interruptions, and follow her up the stairs. Just as she's opening the top door, I reach around her and pull it closed, trapping her between the solid wood and my body.

Startled, she turns, her eyes widening when she sees me standing so close.