“How is the king’s son special, then?”
“He’s called a beodahn, which means he’s the prince of princes.”
“So just a fancy title, no increased power like Quade’s that’s inherent in his line?”
Jon nodded.
“Okay, so you’re telling me that right now there are all these princes from all these different fains, plus the king’s son, staying at the château.”
“Yep.”
“And Linus doesn’t know why they’re here, even though he’s a deer himself?”
“Nope.”
“And what did they say when he asked them?”
“Well, since none of them would even speak to Linus because, from what I could tell, they’re conceited pieces of crap, we had to wait until Quade got back from his overnight to Phoenix. They wouldn’t speak to anyone but the alpha.”
“So once they talked to Quade, what was the deal?”
He shook his head.
“I thought you said they talked to Quade.”
“They did, but it’s a bit murky.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “They’re here for the hringr.”
“And what is that?”
“The claiming.”
I squinted at him. “Are you trying to make me dig?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s it. They were called here. You know how birds are compelled to migrate in the winter, like it’s engrained, built in, instinctive? That’s apparently what this felt like to them.”
“So you’re saying you guys are drowning in deer princes because they all showed up to claim something.”
“Someone,” he corrected me. “It’s not a thing, it’s a person.”
“A mate.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“Which begs the question, what mate?”
“Right.”
I cleared my throat. “Is there a new deer shifter on L’Ange?”
“Not that we know of. None other than Linus.”
“And you’re sure it’s not Linus? I mean, he’s special. He turns into a cern, and apparently white deer are rare.”
“Yeah, but why now? And one of the reasons Linus can turn into a cern, the reason it was initially triggered, was because he found his true mate.”
“Then what?”
“We have no idea. None of us. We’re all trying to figure out what the hell’s going on, and we reached out to the wolves because they’re the only ones besides the deer with detailed historical records, but they’re just as clueless.”
“Have you considered that maybe whoever is coming isn’t here yet, and that’s the issue?”
“Sure, but then, when are they coming? And how long are we going to be putting up asshat princes in the château?”
I couldn’t contain my chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“C’mon, man, this kinda shit only happens here.”
And he smiled then too, because God, it was true.
That afternoon, I was nearly run down by a moose. I was about to take the last step off the back porch, but then turned to check the door, unsure if I’d locked it. If I had gone forward, I would have been injured. Again. But instead, the animal ran by, throwing snow up in a flurry, and kept going. Moments later there were five or six deer, then a bobcat, of all things, and finally some rabbits.
“That’s it!” I yelled, feeling like a Disney princess when the animals stopped in mid-flight to stare at me. “I’m going to look for myself,” I shouted at them.
The area was empty in seconds.
I was down to only one crutch now, so I limped over to the small shed beside the cabin, where the snowmobile was stored. It was there for me to use in case of an emergency and I needed to get to the château in a hurry.
I climbed on, started it, and backed it out, then headed toward the tree line, not intending to go too deep into the forest. I didn’t have a flashlight, didn’t know the area well, didn’t feel like freezing to death, and wasn’t keen on the idea of getting lost. But I saw, pretty quickly, there was a well-worn path that others likely used when they went hiking in the spring, summer, and fall. Following it, I drove deeper and deeper in, until the path came to a dead end at a small iced-over pond.
It was a couple of hundred feet wide, surrounded by rocks, and I was guessing that in warmer months there would be a waterfall that splashed over those rocks and filled the cistern below, which then joined with the river that crossed the lower lands of L’Ange and filled the man-made canal, and then rejoined the stream that ran down the hill to the ocean. It would be fun, someday, when I was in top health, to follow the stream to the source.
Climbing the rocks took longer than I thought it would, even factoring in my bad ankle. As I neared the top, I stopped to look around but still couldn’t see much of anything, so I climbed higher. When I finally reached the summit, I tried to plant my foot, but it sank into the powdery snow and connected with the slippery surface of the ice beneath. That was when my feet seemed to decide to go in opposite directions, and I ended up doing the splits while screaming in an entirely undignified manner, windmilling my arms for a moment before falling onto my back.
I was sure I was going to impale myself on some rocks or crush my skull, but instead I discovered a cave behind where the waterfall would have been, as I toppled down into it. I hit the incline hard, certain I was going to break my back, but the impact only winded me. Down, down I descended on a huge ice-covered slide, unable to stop because there was nothing to grab on to. It was just me, in my parka and jeans, whooshing through a fissure in the rock, probably carved by thousands of years of water flow. When I finally flew out the end, I saw blue sky and the treetops, and then I was free-falling down through snow-covered branches, thin and bare, until I hit a thick one and stopped.
“Fuck,” I groaned, not moving as I caught my breath, then twisting carefully to check how far from the ground I was.
It wasn’t bad. I was maybe fifteen feet up an ancient oak tree, thankful I hadn’t hit a pine. I would have been skewered alive.
Suddenly, below me, a herd of deer bolted by, trampling the snow as they ran around the base of the tree and then were gone. The mountain lion—I hardly ever saw those—ran by next, followed by three cubs. The elk were a surprise, as was the one bringing up the rear. He wasn’t brown like the others, black instead, with a huge rack of antlers, like ridiculously big from where I was looking down at them, and I got the idea, based on the way he moved and then stood still, listening, scenting his surroundings, that perhaps he was lost.
“You need to keep up with the rest of them, buddy.”
He jolted, but instead of running, he stood his ground, lowering his massive head, waiting for the threat.
“I’m not even a ninja and I’ve got you all twisted up, huh.”
Slowly, he backed up until he could look up at the tree.
“Hi,” I greeted him.
He opened his mouth and took in great gulps of air, and I took that moment to move so I was hanging down, legs dangling, holding on to the thick branch. It was only then that my brain kicked in, and I wondered how I was going to fall from fifteen feet and not break my other ankle.