Annotation: Although I had intended this to be a one-shot, I decided to continue forward with a second chapter, based on Frost's perspective but written in third-person. I'm tantalising adding a third, final chapter from Miranda's perspective, so keep an eye out.
As far as Frost was concerned, Raythor was a braying jackass. He was always going on about honour, bloody honour, as though the world would collapse, like an unstable mine, if the oh-so precious pillar of honour were removed. Honestly, it made Frost sick to his stomach; and besides, what made that damned fool think that his version of honour were the correct one?
Frost could give a flying Tartoogan's rear about honour. He was a hunter, after all, and being a hunter meant one had to be sneaky, although he preferred the word stealthy. They meant the same thing, he knew, but 'sneaky' conjured the image of some Passling, stealing some merchant's gold and whisking it off to the highest bidder. 'Stealthy' sounded a bit more tactical, more dangerous. No matter what one called it, though, being sneaky—or stealthy—wasn't exactly honourable; you know, concealing yourself to give you an edge over your quarry or enemy. If Raythor had it his way, they'd be out in the open, not hiding like 'cowards.'
Then again, they'd be a lot deader, too. Fie on his nebulous honour!
Take Miranda, for example. She was a shifty, little shape-shifter, but being sneaky gave her an edge. She could be real nice and quiet before pouncing, just like a successful hunter was—stealthy. Likewise, she could play the pretty, little, well-behaved girl: with her pretty, silk skirts, her regal slippers, her well-groomed hair, and her darling, little porcelain face. She fooled every eye that saw her the first time, cozying up to her victims, flashing her sweet, little smile—yeah, you could always tell when she was up to know good when she smiled.
Smart man though he was, Prince Phobos made one foolish mistake when he gave her a noble title. That shifter was no lady. Ladies knew about honour and protected it with their lives, but Miranda? She wouldn't know honour if it got caught in one of her webs.
After Raythor had gone to sleep, Frost made himself comfortable, beneath the niche in which Miranda had settled.
"So, what'd you tell 'im?" asked Frost.
The shifter opened her eyes languorously and smiled. She replied, "I told him to mind his own business."
Frost stifled a snort.
"Don't you know?" he began. "Raythor is Nerissa's precious Captain. If he wants to nose around and tattle on the rest of the children, then he'll do it."
Miranda rolled her eyes.
"Why do you insist on comparing us to children?" she asked.
Frost harrumphed. Oh, gods! Seemed that he tripped a sensitive wire... Though she didn't go on about being older than she looked (not like Raythor on honour), she didn't care for blokes calling her 'girly' and 'child' or 'brat.'
" 'cause that's how Nerissa treats us," he said. "Every time we come back with our tails between our legs, that old hag chides us like brats that got caught eating sweets. It's more humiliating than getting stripped starkers and receiving thirty stripes."
Miranda lifted her head and raised an eyebrow. "You actually want to be beaten?"
"Well, it's that or get that angry nan stare," he said. Then he crossed his arms and said, "Prince Phobos knew how to punish people, and even when he didn't lift a finger or give you over to Lord Cedric, he certainly put the fear of the Infernal Realm in you. Now, that doesn't mean I liked triflin' with him—hell, no! But you still felt like a man... or a woman, even when you got ass kicked."
After all, he remembered, Prince Phobos punished people equally, regardless of what they had between their legs or not.
Miranda hummed thoughtfully and fell quiet for a moment. The two watched the campfire crackle in the distance before she spoke:
"Maybe that makes the punishment perfect."
"Huh?" What'd she mean 'perfect'? Nerissa's approach was so damned infantile.
As Frost peered into the niche, Miranda looked down at him and continued:
"Punishing people is about making them feel inferior. You know, humiliation, degradation. You'd rather get whipped than nagged like a child? Perfect!" And Miranda clapped her hands for emphasis. "That's how she'll punish you."
The Galhot hunter scratched his goatee. Made sense, at least, the way she told it. Hell, it made sense to him as a hunter. If you wanted to keep your quarry firmly under your control, you looked at what really weakened it, and different types of prey had different weaknesses. A poison that worked for one might not work on another; so, it made sense that no single type of punishment fit every lad... or lass.
"She do that to you?"
"Hmm?"
Frost looked her straight in her eyes and said, "You know, when she isn't scolding all of us together?"
Miranda frowned and averted her gaze. She pouted, and her nose curled.
"It's not my fault that my human body is... off!" she growled.
"I never said it was," said Frost.
"You know, I look my age in my true form!" she snapped, eyes glowing.
Frost lifted his hands defensively and retorted, "Okay! Okay, I believe you. Didn't mean to trip you—just stay calm."
The glow in her eyes subsided, and she slowly relaxed. He doubted that in her current condition she could do him harm, but he wasn't going to take that chance.
Clearing his throat, Frost decided to switch topics. "Sooo... You, uh... You got some strong legs."
Miranda gazed flatly at him. Honestly? she was probably thinking. What'd that have to do with anything?
"I noticed when I helped you... ya know... get your stockings on."
The shifter smiled and nestled into her niche again.
"Oh, really?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "I was gonna say, you're probably gonna heal up in no time with fine legs like those."
Perhaps he should have gotten a bit concerned when she flashed her pearly teeth. Shifters were always up to no-good when they flashed their teeth like that.
"Funny, I could have told you that," she said. Then she pulled some of her behind one ear and continued: "In fact, I did."
"Yeah, well..." All this small talk? Frost didn't converse—it wasn't in his nature. But anything to keep old tarantula fangs calm, even if he'd go out of his comfort zone. "I mean, what I meant to say was 'Hey! You're right. You got a good pair o' legs—I mean, a strong set of legs. You really will be all right.'"
Miranda hummed and began to play with her skirts. Gods help him... It was nice having Miranda around and all to balance out the serious lack of a young, feminine touch, but gar! Frost always thought of her as off limits. Besides, he preferred plump woman, especially boisterous ones serving mugs of grog.
Clearing his throat a little more loudly this time, Frost stood and said, "I best go check on Crimson. I think he might have eaten something earlier that just didn't set right with him, and, well, you know how quick these poor rhinos can turn for the worst."
"Oh?" she groaned. "Poor thing! If it isn't too much trouble, while you're out, could you get me a little something?"
By the gods' mercy, what could she possibly want of him now?
"Umm... Sure. What?"
"I thought I saw a Scittery hole nearby. I'd be ever-so grateful if you hunted a big, fat, juicy one for me."
Scitteries were almost easy hunting. They looked like Scuttlers but were about the same size as and had the same diet as rabbits. They also were about as speedy as the hopping devils, so if he wanted to catch one, he'd need to make a trap or he'd need to try shooting one with an arrow, and he was a rusty archer.
"Sure," he said, "no problem."
She probably didn't know it, but her little assignment just gave him an excuse to stay out longer. Of course, Crimson was fine; a little grumpy after eating a head of Ridoss cabbage that had turned sour, but other than that, the beast had a strong stomach. Frost wanted to get away from that shifter for as long as he could.
As Frost led the spotted rhinoceros from camp, he wondered if Miranda was trying to get him in trouble on purpose. Willing though she was, he wasn't going to get caught with his sarong down, messing around with her. By the gods' mercy, he could already envision Raythor's face alone, the bastard, simultaneously disgusted by the scene but somehow satisfied that the hunter finally did something that warranted an arse-kicking.
He wouldn't blame folks for being upset. Again, he preferred well-nourished cows to dainty calves and wondered how sick a man must be to think otherwise. And he had met a few blokes like that while serving Prince Phobos. Of course, the Prince never knew about them because despite all the harsh things that happened under the Prince, he never tolerated folks with an appetite for veal and dealt with them swiftly when he found out.
And you know what, Frost, old boy? he thought. The way that arsehole Raythor goes on and on about honour—well! The fact you don't wanna get fresh with Miranda makes you an honourable man.
"Yeah. Yeah!" he affirmed himself. It wasn't like he was some dirty, old Galhot, sneaking peeks up her skirts and what-not. That old bastard Raythor—he had no right to call him a mindless brute. He was certainly using his head, now, to stay out of trouble, and he wasn't jumping her bones like some brute.
Well, to hell with Raythor! He needed to mind his own business.
After the hunter managed to catch one Scittery juvenile, he headed back to camp. Hopefully, the old hag hadn't gotten back before he did, so he wouldn't get an earful of her nagging. Honestly, everything he had told Miranda—he felt one hundred percent: Nerissa was up to something. She may not have been as powerful as Queen Elyon, but Frost knew that there were different kinds of magic in the world. A subtle spell could do someone in just as badly as an energy blast that punched a hole through someone's chest; and the way he figured it, Nerissa worked with subtle magic, pulling strings nice and quiet-like, biding her time and weaving her hexes with care.
Just why she needed them was a puzzle still. About the only people she talked to were Raythor and Miranda, and Miranda was even more tight-lipped than the captain. She still hadn't told anyone how the hag had recruited her, for example.
Before he could dwell on the thought any further, he arrived at camp. And what a surprise! Nerissa hadn't made it back yet. The crone was probably sneaking around Meridian again, snatching up more than just hairs that had fallen from Elyon's head. The thought of it just about made him nauseous. Forget Frost creeping on Miranda; who knew what that nasty hag was up to?
Tossing the carcass up to Miranda, he said, "Here you go. Not exactly a feast but a little something to whet your appetite."
Miranda's eyes widened. She caught the Scittery and gazed at it, as though for a moment, she had become one of those uptight ladies who shrieked at the sight of insects.
"You... You actually brought me something?"
Kindness was a rarity among Prince Phobos's servants, sure, but it didn't warrant being so stunned.
"Yeah, well..." Frost crossed his arms and glanced away. "I mean, you gotta eat, right? Keep up your strength? You won't heal if you don't get some protein in you."
Miranda smiled, but it wasn't that mischievous smile she was almost always flashing. It was a little more... off, like doll's smile, her brows knitted together and her eyes all soft and cervine. It was unnatural—for a shape-shifter, that is.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Frost threw his hands up dismissively. Then he sat upon a stone nearby, listening to the shape-shifter crack the carapace and slurp up the Scittery's juices.
Yup, she definitely wasn't a lady—not like the hoity-toity ladies he had heard about in the old tales that his mother and aunties used to tell about the former Queen and her court. Whereas they seemed delicate, proper, and squeamish, Miranda was fierce, gritty, and fearless. Sure, she got her arse kicked often by the Guardians, but she was tenacious, a true Knight of Vengeance.
Frost heard the Scittery's remains hit the distance with a whomp. A soft belch followed and after that a satisfied sigh. He stood and walked to the niche, finding that Miranda had tucked herself deeper inside for the rest of the night.
"Sleep tight, ya shifty shifter," he said.
Miranda's smile shone as brightly as her glowing blue eyes.
"Good night, you handsome beast," she said. "Perhaps I can reward you for the meal, once I get my strength back."
Frost's heart skipped a beat. Gods help him... She wasn't going to give up. Of course, she was right about him being handsome; how could any woman resist his charms? And after all, she was giving off all the mating signals, so why not in the least consider her offer?
"I look forward to it."
