Huntress: The Bane of Supernaturals

Avery Smith hadn’t planned on taking in Henry’s baby. She hadn’t even wanted to, as far as anyone should be concerned. Gods above, Avery wasn’t even certain why she’d done it. Why she’d done something that was going to cause such a huge feud between the werewolves and vampires, who were already at each other's throats because of Marina McCann. Yes, all because of that woman. Marina Anastasia Mackenzie McCann, the former Queen of Werewolves, and King Henry Arthur’s late wife. And the woman Henry had favored over her. Had left her for. And here she was, being the pathetic woman she had sworn she wouldn’t be, by saving her child. Hers and Henry Arthur’s. The baby in her arms was limp weight against her. Sleepy sluggishness made her idle, but she knew it wasn’t only that. The baby was weak. Had been born that way. She remembered the way Marina had screamed in pain as this small baby had tried to push out of her in its hurry to come into the world, tearing up its mother on the way. Marina’s agony was still raw in her ears, even after six months. As was the devastation in Henry’s eyes when he realized his daughter was alive but motherless, as he had been ever since he was six years old and had lost his mother in a vampire attack. “Please,” he’d begged of her, mere hours after he’d laid his wife to rest at the Royal cemetery alongside his mother and father, “The Vampire King will not be satisfied at anything less than war. Nothing less than the complete and utter destruction of my line. And I have to answer it. That means I can’t be the father this child needs right now. Whether if I survive this war or not, she is the sole hope of my kingdom. This little child. And if this child is to survive, she has to do this without me. I’m going away, Avery, to the border. Take this child with you and leave for the Witch's territory. Please, Avery, do me this favour. Save my child.” The hopelessness in his eyes had been clear, as had been the faith that Avery would do it. That she would do him this last service as his Head Witch. And she had. Foolishly, childishly and recklessly, she had run away with the hours-old heir of Werewolf Kingdom napping in her arms and had made it to Kartyas fort, when she’d heard it. Kol had invaded the border. Abass was under attack, and the King was leading the Werewolves. She’d stayed in Kartyas. The baby couldn’t travel more than this at once. She was going to wait for a few more days until the baby was well enough to travel to Creceedae, where the Royal Palace of Werewolves was located. But a few days had turned into a month, and the baby was still not healthy, only worsening with each day. The fear that this child might not make it made it hard for her to breathe. She’d asked the people residing in Kartyas fort to keep silence about the baby’s health and the only person who’d dealt with her was the old healer, Theresa, and Theresa’s opinion hadn’t been very hopeful. The baby had arrived earlier than normal, Theresa had explained. And a huge journey will only seal the truth no one wants to seal, especially now that Kol and Henry have finally led their nations to war. Avery had followed her direction and stayed behind, but now, she was anxious. No news had reached them so far. She knew Henry couldn’t spare anyone at the moment to send news, but she still felt that heavy weight in her stomach that she had been since early morning. It almost felt like an omen. But she didn’t let herself think about that. Henry would survive, as would the child. And before long, they would be in Creceedae, celebrating the birth of Henry’s girl. At least, that’s what she told herself when she couldn’t help but imagine the thought of Henry being free again. No, she wouldn’t let Henry drown his sorrows in her bosom. She’d done enough of that already. But she too, had a limit. And letting a newly widowed man use her to cure his grief was just way beyond that line. She paced the little nursery that the residents put up for their Princess. It wasn’t much. A dimly lit room with long windows and plain lavender curtains. A cot lay at the side for her to rest. And a cradle was standing in the middle of the room with red blankets ruffled from the baby’s terrible sleep. Avery pressed the child, who was whining softly to her bosom to warm her. She would have fed her. But the baby had vomited everything she’d eaten during the day. The baby-gods, she was talking as if the baby had no name. It had. Henry had named her. Amanda. The wind bellowed outside, and the curtains jerked in response. But Avery couldn’t concentrate enough to look out. She couldn’t bear to. She was too afraid to see a messenger. And if the messenger didn’t bring in the news of victory, he would bring news of death, death, and loss, and she didn’t want that. Just as she was coaxing the child to drink her milk from a bowl, the door burst open. She raised her hand on instinct, a spell ready at the tip of her tongue and the child clutched to her bosom. But it wasn’t an invader. It was far worse than that. It was Brian Lanchester. Henry’s general and his best friend. Brian didn’t look like any general with his clothes stained in blood and torn, revealing injuries healing. His blond hair was tangled and covered in dirt. His face was ashen and his hands clenched at his sides in fierce determination. It was the look in his eyes that told her. His beautiful hazel eyes, which reminded Avery of the fall in Kartyas on the best days and fermenting wine on the worst, were lined with grief. And she knew. She just knew. The werewolves had lost. “Henry?” she asked, her voice small and scared. Brian’s jaw clenched, and his eyes filled with angry tears in the blood-shot depths. “Gone.” His voice was a ghost when he said it. Avery clutched the baby to her chest. “Now, what?” “I’ve surrendered,” he said, “No use fighting a lost war. We can avenge our death some other time; our living families must be saved. Kol is satisfied with Abass and demands that Kartyas become a neutral territory. The werewolves can retain the Creceedae.” “Why did you agree to this?” Avery demanded, red-hot anger filling her veins. “Kartyas is our everything. Creceedae is the Capital but it's barren. Wolves can’t lose Kartyas-” “Don’t you think I know that?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I bargained for Kartyas to be open to all but remaining with us.” “You can’t give up-" “You will not tell me what I can and what I can’t, Avery,” Brian said, his eyes flashing. “I have just come back from seeing my brother die at Kol’s hands and have just managed to save this much for the humiliation that makes me want to continue this war. "But I can’t,” he added roughly, “The werewolves will be slaves or extinct if we continue. We have to stop or the vampires will tear us down, every last one of us.” Brian’s eyes had taken a closed-off look as he took a step and entered the nursery. His eyes were cold and calculating as he eyed the baby girl. It seemed as though he knew what Avery had been trying so hard to keep a secret. But then Brian was the only one besides Henry, Avery, and Marina’s ladies-in-waiting to have seen or held the baby. Her godfather. “So?” Brian asked, crossing his arms behind his back, a very blank look crossing his face and dissolving the grief that Avery had marked just moments before. “No,” Avery said with surety she hadn’t felt in years. “This child will not live.” Brian huffed. “I could have said so myself. “We’re leaving for Abass,” he said. “It will take us three months to return. If the child lives, she will accompany us to Creceedae. And if not,” Brian looked at her, and in his eyes, she saw something she’d never seen before. The promise of aggression. “If she doesn’t live for three months longer,” Brian said, “You will take this child and bury it in the Royal Palace alongside Henry and then you will tell the world that the child has died because of the war.” “What? No-” “You will,” Brian pressed. “If news got out that Marina’s daughter-born at six months, died just like that. They will turn against the royalty.” “There is no royalty anymore!” she spat. “As long as wolves live, the royalty does,” Brian said neutrally. “The wolves will give up if they realize that the King’s heir was a weak child. If they lose heart, we’ll be overrun.” Avery froze at his voice. It was cold, of course. But his eyes had flickered with helplessness. In her head, she knew he was right. If the wolves thought the child had been born on the verge of death, they would not stop for explanations. They will tear their own homes down and become slaves under Kol’s toe. She sighed, feeling her resistance melt away. “Fine,” she agreed. He nodded at her. “Smart move. I would have hated to have you banished.” “Now, what?” Avery asked. “Now, we move on.”