Wicked Hunt

Chapter Nine, Part I

Rafe: Watched

The smoke remained long after the wedding ceremonies and dances were done. It blackened everything with a thick film that even the most vigorous of baths could not suppress. The air had changed. The cold freshness the trees usually brought was gone. The scent of charred wood continued to linger, choking out the damp, earthy smells Rafe craved.

The monotonous routine of rising early and simply pacing the length of the keep no longer appealed to him. He felt cramped and restless, being in one place for too long. Relief overwhelmed him when he was finally summoned to the king's chamber to obtain orders for his patrol. Their short stay had felt like six years.

The stone room that housed Clive's throne was cool and empty except for the king himself and the aging Maddox, who always seemed glued to his side. Rafe slowed his gait as he came closer. Deep, purpled circles enveloped Clive's blue eyes. Years and worry made the wrinkles at the corners of them stand out starkly. Yet, at this moment, the king looked quite pleased with himself.

"Commander Walsh." Clive shifted in his chair. His eyes lit up like blue flames in a glass lantern. "The deed has been done." He clasped his long fingers together on his chest. "I've married King Dominic's sister, and now he will send me an army."

He waited for Rafe to say something. Quickly, the Commander inclined his head to the king. "Your conquest begins, Your Grace," he responded obediently. He hoped the king would be pleased with what he'd said. Clive's mouth quirked at the corner like he wanted to smile. He rarely revealed those sharp, white teeth. Rafe waited.

"Yes, but not in the way you think," Clive revealed. Beside him, Maddox shifted his weight anxiously. Rafe raised his brows, a question forming on his lips. He held his tongue though. It was not his place to question the king.

"I see," he replied when Clive remained silent. The king blinked, leaned forward, and rubbed his eyes. "Forgive me, Your Grace," Rafe continued. He hated the hesitancy his words carried, but he did not know what the king wanted from him. He had sat in on his councils before but was never an active part of them. "I thought this meeting was to discuss the patrol."

"Perry Gritt and Donal Boron are..." Clive sat back, tapping his chin. Grey stubble had formed there, the remnants of the harsh kingdom he ruled. Severity and suspicion were Clive's old friends; Rafe merely the tool used to keep them at bay.

"The Western lords have long been under suspicion," Rafe offered and Maddox nodded.

"New developments have been set into motion," the old man said. Rafe glanced his way curiously.

"The army I've obtained from Rodantha will not be used to go after the witches and Gritt and Boron," Clive cut in, drawing Rafe's attention back to him. That strange smile slowly spread across his face. He steepled his fingers in front of him. Instead of looking gleeful, his face morphed into a look of crazed exhilaration. His eye widened, revealing the deepest depths of their dark blue hue. He stared off in front of him instead of at Rafe or Maddox.

"They've been dormant for so long, I doubt they'd be a true threat," Clive continued. "If they were going to try something, they'd have done it by now. I gleaned no suspicions from them at the wedding." His eyes turned sharply to Rafe. "You spoke with them?" Rafe nodded tightly.

"I did." He thought back to the cryptic words he had exchanged with Perry Gritt and Donal Boron. No real threats but no declaration of unyielding fealty to the crown either. It had been a dance of sorts with no true gleanings. But, Rafe was not good at that sort of thing. He could not say if his unease was accurate; brought about his disappointing mistake upon his first meeting with Princess Halle or his anxiety over seeing Mira and Saydee. Had his qualms toward Gritt and Boron been warranted?

"And you garnered no misgivings." Clive's words were not a question. The king waved his large hand away. Rafe wanted to protest for some reason, but he kept his mouth shut. "Therefore, I have a better use for the army. A conquest, yes." His eyes bore into Rafe's, willing him to counter or object. Rafe pressed his lips together in a firm line.

Always before Clive's orders never deviated from the same cruel line. Defend his throne from the inner rebellion that always seemed on the periphery. Use fear to keep those who would revolt in line. It was Rafe's job to make it so. Now, that Clive had revealed he was no longer suspicious of a rebellion, where did that leave Rafe? What purpose did he now serve?

"I have been thinking about this for a long long time," Clive stated matter of factly. Something heavy churned in Rafe's gut. Guilt. He had not even noticed. Was there some great change in this king he had served for so long? He could not tell. "I've grow restless with the tedium of Verlic." Rafe thought of the wicked woods, the dark shifting mountains, the air of misfortune that seemed to cling to every surface.

He does not know Verlic like I do.

He did not voice these concerns. He merely waited. Maddox furrowed his thick black brows, glancing at Rafe when he thought he wasn't looking.

"Maddox has advised me against it, but I cannot pass up the opportunity. In the coming months, King Dominic will send the army, and I'll have more than ten thousand men at my command." Excitement shone in Clive's eyes. "This is it. This is the chance I've been waiting for."

"What is it you mean to do?" Rafe asked carefully.

"The Trinity Islands will be mine."