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Authors: Sophie Masson

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BOOK: Hunter's Moon
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Six

It took me a long time to go to sleep that night. I kept turning over all the scenes from the ball in my mind. The night had been such a momentous, magical thing: it had brought me a new friend and a new dream. The future stretched before me, bright and promising. I hadn't realised before how discontented I'd been, how lonely and cramped I'd felt. It made me feel a little ashamed, to realise just how far and how deep that feeling went. After all, I had little to complain about. I had a comfortable, peaceful life. I wanted for nothing and my father and stepmother loved me.

But the feeling was still there: what I had was not enough and I knew that now, both in my heart and my mind. I had missed sharing confidences with a friend. And I had craved for something surprising and wonderful to happen. Those things had come into my life, now, and I realised my longing for them had been so deep that it had been hidden from even myself. It was as if, in discovering
what I had been missing, I had found my true self. It was as if before, I'd been a statue. An image from the fashion show – of the Belladonna dummy cracking open and the real Belladonna stepping out from the hollow shell – suddenly came into my mind. Yes, that was it. That was what I had been. A shop dummy – stiff, hollow, trying to be what I wasn't. Now the real me could step out at last.

Things would be different now, and I couldn't help making all kinds of plans. When at last I dropped off to sleep, it was into a deep, restful sleep and I woke late, feeling refreshed and happier than I'd ever been. I was ready to start the first day of my new life.

I came into the breakfast room in a cheerful mood. There was a delicious cold spread out on the sideboard, and no-one but I was there to enjoy it. Belladonna must either have breakfasted early, or still be sleeping in. I was just finishing a tasty plate of smoked salmon, boiled eggs and cheese washed down with cherry juice, when Belladonna's maid Siggy came in. She looked as if she'd been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

‘Oh, Miss Bianca, there you are! You are to go and see my lady at once. Something … Something bad has happened.'

I started up from the chair. ‘What is it, Siggy? Is it Belladonna? Is she sick?'

‘No, it's not my lady, Miss. It's your father. It's Sir Anton. My lady's just received a telegram.' She gulped. ‘He's … He's been taken ill. You must go up to my lady. Quickly, now.'

I did not wait to be told twice but set off at a sprint through the room, into the hall and up the stairs, holding
up my skirts so that I was able to take them two at a time. Reaching Belladonna's room on the second floor, the maid panting after me, I knocked on the door and, without even waiting for an answer, burst in.

My stepmother was sitting at her dressing table. She was still in her nightclothes – a white silk dressing-gown over a pale pink lace nightgown, with satin slippers to match – and her long blonde hair was hanging loose down her back.

She turned to look at me. I saw she was holding a telegram, and that her eyes were as red-rimmed as Siggy's.

‘Bianca, my dear …' she said. ‘Oh, my dear …'

I fell to my knees beside her. ‘Please, dearest Lady Mother … Please tell me … Is Father … Is he …'

I could not say the word, but she saw it in my eyes.

‘No, sweet,' she said, stroking my hair, ‘he's not dead. Thank God he is not gone from us. But he is …' She swallowed, then went on more strongly. ‘He is very ill.'

‘But where … Where is he? What's wrong … What …' My voice kept getting louder and louder. I was shouting, I knew that, but I could not help it.

‘He's in Aurisola, still.'

‘But how … What …'

Without answering, she handed me the telegram.

Sir Anton taken gravely ill last night. Delirious, in great pain. Asking for his daughter to come. Doctors doing best but fear worst.

HR

HR. That was Hans Reinart, Father's assistant, who'd travelled with him.

‘I must go there!' I said, jumping up. ‘I must go there at once!'

I was gasping for breath and tears were running down my cheeks. Utter terror filled me at the thought of losing my father. He was a loving, kind, warm man and I could not bear the thought he might be taken from me.

‘Belladonna, I must get a train to Aurisola at once!'

‘Of course you must go, but not by train,' she said, ‘for that will take too long – three days at the least, for there is no direct line there. You'll have to go by the fastest and most direct route and that is by steamer. You'll have to go to Mormest and take the steamer from there. It's only an overnight journey, then.'

‘But Mormest is a long way by coach!'

‘It is, and so what I'm suggesting is you go there on horseback. Drago knows a shortcut through the forest. You will ride with him – he knows the forest path and he's well armed. You'll be at Mormest in less than two hours if you take the fastest horses.' She was very pale and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I … I would come with you, but your father … He did not ask for me.'

In my terror, I had not thought of that. How it must hurt, that a husband should ask for his daughter but not his wife!

‘I'm … I'm sorry …' I whispered.

‘It's all right. It is only natural. You are his daughter, flesh of his flesh. And he needs me more here. For I'm sure that … that he will recover.' Her lips trembled. ‘The doctors – in Aurisola – they are the very best. They are, Bianca. The best in the world. Really.'

Impulsively, I flung my arms around her.

‘It is only because he is delirious. He must be delirious. Otherwise he would want you there. I know it. You have been the best, most loving wife. The kindest mother. I'm so, so grateful to have you as a mother.'

She turned her head away but not before I saw the shine of tears on her cheek.

‘Thank you, Bianca,' she said, softly. ‘I hoped … I really hoped that …' She didn't finish her sentence but, taking a deep breath, began to speak of preparations for my journey. ‘We must get you ready. Siggy, go and tell Drago he is to saddle our two fastest horses at once. Then come back and help Lady Bianca pack.'

Siggy nodded and set off at a trot.

Belladonna stood up. ‘I'll get word to our banker to come at once. You'll need a good amount of money for the journey.'

‘Thank you,' I said, through a lump in my throat. ‘I … I just don't know what I'd do if …'

‘Don't. We must be strong. Go and start your packing, Bianca,' she said, touching my shoulder gently.

As I left the room, a crumpled magazine that had been lying on the floor near the dressing table caught my eye. It was the
Mirror
, and I could just make out the beginning of the headline: ‘Fairest Lady makes her entrance.' Usually I enjoyed gazing at the beautiful photo of Belladonna and the tribute article the
Mirror
published but today I didn't even bother to look twice. The ball felt like a distant, irrelevant memory.

Drago and I set out less than fifteen minutes later. I had taken only a small light bag as I did not want to burden the horses and make them run slowly and besides,
Belladonna had given me more than enough money to buy whatever I might need when I got to Aurisola.

As we left the city outskirts far behind and took the forest path, I was grateful for the fact that Drago wasn't a talker even at the best of times. At the worst of times, like now, his silence was much more welcome than any ham-fisted attempt at comfort. I did not want him to speak aloud, even in comfort, and mention the terrible fear that gripped my mind like an iron band: the fear that we would be too late and that I would never see my father again in this life. I knew Belladonna had sent a telegram to Aurisola just as we left, so that Father would know I was on my way. I hoped – oh, I hoped and prayed so much – that the message that I was on my way would help him hang on. What really scared me was that Father was a fit and healthy man who'd hardly ever had a day's sickness in his life. Whatever illness it was that had struck him down so suddenly had to be something very bad. Would that mean that it would carry him off quickly, too?

We entered the forest. It was very quiet under the trees, but not a sinister quiet. Riding with Drago, I felt completely safe. It was peaceful, with the light filtering green-gold through the spring leaves. There were stories of wild beasts of the forest – bears and wolves and lynx – but Drago had been a huntsman in his youth and although in our peaceful, safe city there'd not been much call on his skills, I knew that in other places he'd saved Belladonna from more than one dangerous situation.

The horses had to go a little slower as we rode deeper into the forest but we were still making good time when suddenly Drago halted and said, ‘My lady, this is where we
leave the path, for the shortcut to the steamer port takes us this way,' and he pointed into the trees. I nodded and turned my horse to follow Drago's.

At first the way was clear. But soon it grew more difficult. The trees grew closer together and prickly thorn bushes spread in every direction. We had to pick our way much more slowly and I began to be seriously concerned.

‘Drago,' I asked, ‘how much further is it?'

‘Not too far, my lady,' he replied. ‘And the way will clear soon. You'll see.'

But it did not. On and on we went for what seemed like forever, further and further into a tangle of wilderness with seemingly no beginning and no end. And the weather was changing – the sunny day turning overcast – so that in the thickness of the forest, it felt later than it really was.

I was getting more and more anxious. How long would it be before we got to Mormest? Would I arrive in time to catch the steamer? Would I arrive too late and have to stay overnight? Would my father not wait for me?

We came to a small clearing. Drago halted. He turned his head to look at me. ‘We'll have to stop a moment. I need to take our bearings.'

‘Are we lost?' I cried.

‘We could be. Best if you dismount too, my lady. Tie your horse to that stump a moment while I have a look.'

I did as I was told and waited anxiously as he took a compass out of his pocket and looked at it, squinted up into the sky, then looked at me. By his expression I knew that what I'd feared was true. We'd gone the wrong way.

‘What are we going to do, Drago?'

He didn't reply. He just kept looking at me and all of a sudden I grew nervous.

‘What is it, Drago?'

‘I'm sorry, my lady,' he said, and in a flash there was a knife in his hand. It was a big hunting knife with a wickedly sharp blade and I knew at once what it was for.

He moved towards me. For a moment all I could do was stare at death coming for me. My body was rooted to the spot, my mind blocked, my pulse not so much racing as almost still. It was as though I was encased in a sheet of ice, incapable of thought, feeling or action.

It was only for a moment, though it felt like an eternity. In the next moment, I flung myself down on my knees in front of him, pleading for my life.

‘Anything,' I wept. ‘You can have anything! Money, jewels, anything you like – everything you want! My father will give you anything …'

He gave me a hard glance and his mouth twisted. ‘I do not answer to your father.'

At first I could not take in his meaning. And then I understood. He was not doing this for himself. He was doing this for …

‘I am truly sorry, Lady Bianca,' he said, almost gently, ‘but you must die. And Lady Belladonna Dalmatin wants your heart as proof that you are dead.'

Black horror rose in my throat like toxic smoke. Numbly, I whispered, ‘But why, Drago? Why? What have I ever done to deserve this?'

Something flickered in Drago's eyes, something I could not read. He pulled me roughly to my feet, the knife in
his other hand, and I thought my last breath had come. But instead of striking me he pushed me away, growling, ‘Go. Go now. Never come back. I will kill a deer and take its heart to my lady in place of yours.'

When I did not move – for I stood still in shock and confusion – he shouted, ‘Go now, before I change my mind!'

I did not wait to be told a third time. I ran blindly into the trees, away from Drago, tripping over vines, getting scratched by thorns, with my breath whistling in my throat, my head and heart pounding. I took no notice of where I was going. I knew only that I wanted to get as far away from the clearing as possible.

Seven

I crashed through the woods till I could run no more and had to stop to draw breath. There was a deep ache in my side and my feet hurt badly, for the soft-soled cream boots I'd been wearing were not meant for a race across rough ground. Looking down at them, I saw that the cream leather was stained with red, and I knew that my feet must be bleeding inside the tightly fitting shoes.

The sight of the blood made my gorge rise and I was sick under a tree, the violent spasms tearing through me like the repeated stab of a knife. When at last the spasms stopped, I sat huddled and trembling on the ground, waves of dizziness washing over me as the horror and terror of what had happened sank in deeper and deeper. I could hardly believe what had happened. My mind fluttered wildly. Could Drago have been lying? But why would he? He was Belladonna's most trusted, most loyal servant.

Belladonna had sent me into the woods to die. If Drago had not inexplicably spared me, I would be lying dead in the
clearing right now, my heart cut out. I put a hand over my mouth as the sick threatened to rise up again. Why would she do such a thing? Never had she shown any sign that she hated me. Yet only if you hated someone could you plan to do something so terrible, so cold. All this time, she must have been pretending to love me. All this time, when I thought she wanted the best for me, she must have only thought of the moment when she would be rid of me. But why? And why had Drago spared me? My mind fluttered like a frightened bird in a cage as I tried to make sense of it. But I could not. I was too numb. Too shaky. Too struck to the heart.

After a few moments, I stumbled to my feet. I had to keep going. I had to find shelter before it fell dark and the wild beasts came out. The one thing I did know by then was that Drago had not led us along a shortcut through to Mormest at all, but into some remote part of the forest where there would be few people. Surely, though, no place is truly completely abandoned. Surely I would find someone. Something. A woodcutter's hut. A charcoal burner's camp. A cave. A hollow tree. Anything would do.

I walked and walked, still not feeling my blistered and bleeding feet as the thin soles of my boots wore through even further, not caring that the hem of my skirt was getting ripped and torn and filthy from being pulled through so many brambles and being dragged along the earth as I stumbled and fell.

But as the grey cloudy light began to fade and the shadows thickened and darkened, I still had not found a place in which to hide and when, distantly, from somewhere far behind me, I heard the howl of wolves, I knew I had to stop or risk being hunted down by a hungry pack
which would be drawn to me by the sweat of fear and the scent of blood.

Knowing that wolves can't climb, I decided to climb a tree. Though I'd be done for if any bears or lynx came hunting, too, I could only think of one danger at a time. I looked around and saw a tree with low branches that I could get into. I saw that my heavy serge skirt would get in the way, so I took it off and bundled it into a swag. Clad in my petticoat and long johns with my coat over the top, I climbed the tree, grateful that as a child I had climbed lots of trees with Rafiel and Margy. Rafiel had been the best at it, but I came a close second.

The thought of my long-lost friends and those long-ago happy days made my eyes swim with tears so that I nearly lost my grip on the branch. I could not allow my mind to wander. If I were to survive this night, I had to keep my mind clear and focused and not allow myself to be distracted by anything.

It was easier said than done. After I found a fork between two branches, which would serve as a resting place for the night, and wedged myself as comfortably as I could within it, the bundled skirt acting as a cushion, I could not prevent my thoughts from skittering around like terrified mice. I could not stop the waves of nausea that threatened to surge up out of my throat, or the pounding at my temples and the throbbing of my injured feet. I did not dare to take off my boots in case it made the smell of blood stronger, and as the evening advanced and turned into night, I grew colder and colder, stiffer and stiffer, and less and less capable of thinking clearly. Instead, hideous images filled my mind: Belladonna laughing as she held a torn and bloody heart in
her hand; Drago staring at me with stony eyes; Belladonna again, stepping out of the dummy on the stage at the Ladies' Fair spring show, but this time with her face and clawed hands covered in blood. Why? Why? I wept, but there was no answer in the air or in my heart or in my foggy thoughts.

Father … Father … Oh, Father … What had happened to him? Was he really sick, far away in Aurisola, or had Belladonna lied about that, too? Could it be possible that she had …? No, I told myself. No. He was lying far away, sick but waiting for me. That must be true. She would not have killed my father – I knew that Belladonna really did love him. I remembered her pale, set face as she pointed out that Father had asked for me – for me, not for her. Was that why she hated me? Because my father wanted me by his side, not her? Was she jealous of his love for me? Did she want him all to herself?

My thoughts jumped. How would Belladonna explain away the fact that I had disappeared? And then I realised that she wouldn't need to. I had gone on a journey to Aurisola to see Father. As far as anyone knew, that's where I was. Drago would go back with the horses and he would tell anyone who asked that he'd accompanied me to the steamer at Mormest. As far as anyone was concerned, I was safely on my way to Aurisola. But journeys are dangerous. Anything can happen. A steamer accident. An attack by bandits. Anything. In due course, Belladonna would ‘discover' that I was missing, presumed dead. No-one but Belladonna, with a deer's heart in her hands, and Drago, who let me live, would know the truth.

I was alone, completely alone. And even if I somehow found my way out of this forest alive, where was I to go? I couldn't go home. I'd have to try to get a message to my
father. If he lived. Stop it, I told myself. He will live! He must! And so must I. Clasping my hands together, I prayed desperately for his safety, for mine, for all this to be just a terrible nightmare from which I'd awake in my own bed.

The night wore on. The waxing moon rose, silver-white above the trees. It was the time we call ‘hunter's moon' in Noricia, the time just before full moon. It was the best time to go on hunting trips, for it was said there was a special magic at this time that gave hunters extra luck. Hunter's moon … And I was the prey on which it shone, deep in the dark heart of the forest.

Despite my cramped position and my whirling thoughts, the shock of what had happened had made me exhausted and I was beginning to feel drowsy, my limbs feeling heavier and heavier. I fought against sleep, but my eyes kept drooping. Every time they did, horrible images rose up from under my eyelids and I forced them open again. I do not know how long I continued in this cycle of jagged, nightmare-haunted sleep, my visions of creatures prowling around the tree being interrupted when I jerked awake upon hearing the night sounds of the forest – rustlings and callings and faint howls and snarls. Eventually, I could fight sleep no longer. I fell into a deep black unconscious where neither nightmare nor night rustlings could wake me. I did not wake when my grip loosened and I slid sideways out of my precarious shelter and fell. I did not even wake when I hit the ground, for I fell on a soft deep carpet of dead leaves. I slept and slept and slept.

I slept the sleep of the dead, for to all intents and purposes, that's what I was. My world had ended, and with it the life I had known.

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