Besotted (The Fairest Maidens #3) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,1

in me, except when they needed something from me.

“Where shall we fish?” Slinging my sack over my shoulder, I startled at a red squirrel darting out from underneath a cluster of tall ferns and scurrying up a fine mature oak free of scars and rot, one that in a few years would be ready for cutting.

Though we’d witnessed no signs of any basilisks in the area, we could not help but be wary of every movement of every creature nonetheless.

Jorg draped his sack over his shoulder and followed me. “We had good fortune the last time we fished along the ravine. Do you want to return there?”

It was a distance of several leagues from our woodcutting domain, the section of the forest Walter Matthews had assigned to us when we applied for our woodcutter’s licenses. We would waste precious work time traveling to and from the river. But I didn’t know how we would last the day without more sustenance than the berries and roots we scavenged.

“Yes, the fish there are plentiful, and we shall catch enough to last us a few days.” I changed my course to the northwest, having grown accustomed to the forest paths nearly invisible to the untrained eye. I’d also learned to be ever alert for the basilisks, watching for the telltale signs of their presence, namely the patches of barren, blackened, and scorched land surrounding their burrows.

Growing up, I’d heard tales of the deadly king serpent with a finlike crest upon its head, glistening scales covering its body, and a sharp, pointed tail. But I hadn’t believed the miniature dragon-like creature existed any more than I believed in the large fire-breathing dragons of legends.

However, Jorg and I had lived in the woodland only a day before we nearly stumbled upon one. Thankfully, we’d been traveling with another young woodcutter who noticed the barren area and warned us to cover our mouths and noses so we didn’t breathe in the basilisk’s poisonous vapors.

We glimpsed the basilisk at the base of a hollowed-out stump, standing on its two spindly legs, hissing at us and spewing its venom into the air. Not only did the vapors have the power to wither and scorch vegetation, but they had the power to dull the mind and cause prey to fall unconscious, allowing the basilisk to creep up and strike with a poisonous bite.

Our companion also instructed us not to look the basilisk in the eyes lest we become victims of its lethal gaze. We heeded him and attempted to put a safe distance between ourselves and the serpent.

Now, after many weeks, we’d grown adept at staving off basilisks and learning where those in the vicinity made their homes. However, traveling any distance was never without risk, including for hunting or fishing.

Jorg was indeed correct that we should have hunted yesterday on our day of rest. Instead, we’d lingered in the hamlet of Birchwood after delivering our quota to Walter and receiving our compensation.

As warden of the eastern region of the forest, Walter divided up the deliveries of deadwood and white fuel amongst the peasants and tradesmen. He was also tasked with ensuring only licensed woodcutters labored under his supervision, swiftly punishing poachers.

From the start, Walter had taken a liking to me. And when he invited us to stay after our deliveries, I always had a hard time saying no, especially because his daughters provided us a meal and were amusing company. I expected Walter hoped we might take an interest in his pretty girls, as they were of marriageable age. But little did he know marriage was the last thing on our minds.

Even so, we usually lingered in Birchwood well into the evening. And by the time we left, we’d lost valuable hours to secure game that could last us through the week. Part of me argued that we deserved one day of pleasure after being exposed to such toil and peril all week long.

Furthermore, Jorg never complained. He seemed to have a merry time right along with me, so much so I sometimes forgot he was my scribe sent along by the Lagting to record my daily activities and give them a firsthand account of everything I said and did during my Testing.

Jorg was but a few years older than my twenty-one years. We’d become fast friends, and I no longer thought about the fact I was royalty and he wasn’t. It was easy to forget since we were both living in such wretched poverty together. In addition,