The Duke of Olympus hosted the county's annual autumn fox hunt. Nico was not much of a hunter but being His Grace's guest meant he was obligated to attend.
On the morning of the hunt, Nico went down to breakfast and found the rest of the castle's inmates listening to Lord Skye read from the newspaper. Miss Chase gasped and let go off the small, silver spoon she was using to mix cream into her coffee with such force that her cup tipped over and spilt hot, brown liquid onto the table cloth.
Nico took a seat and listened to what Lord Skye was reading.
Marie Antoinette, former queen of France, was the latest high profile victim of Madame la Guillotine. Nico knew her as a vain, frivolous woman who had spent France into ruin with her ostentatious gowns and wigs and her gambling addiction, and who gorged herself on cake and pastries while her subjects starved. At best, oblivious to their plight; at worst, uncaring. Whatever sins Antoinette may have committed in her life, she had paid for them now. She watched her husband, the well-meaning but bumbling and woefully ineffectual Louis XVI, be dragged off to his execution and their children ripped from her arms. The newspaper described her final days in a lonely cell in the Conciergerie prison and her tragic and pitiful but dignified death. She appeared at the guillotine as a wraith like figure with pale, bloodless skin and prematurely ashen hair and looked like a haggard old crone, through she was only seven-and-thirty. The once haughty and elegant Austrian beauty died having lost everyone she loved and knowing that her whole life had been in vain.

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Miss McLean dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Her poor children," she said. "I wonder what will become of them."
One of the footmen took a beefsteak and a pigeon breast out of a splendid meat pie which was that morning's breakfast and placed them on His Grace's plate- he had already eaten two servings.
His Grace raised a glass of port, his fourth drink in a row. His previous helpings of pigeon and beefsteak had been washed down with champagne, claret, and Moselle.
"My children," he said. "To the end of an era."

Nico had been given a skittish and bad tempered gelding named Mephistopheles to ride in the hunt. They quickly established a mutual dislike of each of other.
Mephistopheles was startled by the barking of the hounds, which could be heard from the roads leading into Skye-on-Styx. He started to rear and Nico had to lightly tap the horse's neck with his crop.
"Settle down, you worthless nag," Nico said, kicking Mephistopheles's flank.
Hazel road up alongside Nico. Her rapport with horses always amazed him. She handled Arion as if he were an extension of her.
"Morning, Hazel," Nico said to her. "How are you?"
"I've been having the nightmares again," she replied. 
Nico knew that the nightmares were memories from Hazel's life before she came to live in England, when she was a slave in Louisiana. He imagined that she had seen things which no one should have to, especially not such a young child.
"When I have nightmares, it usually helps if I write about it. When you bring them out into the light of day, they aren't so frightening."
Miss Chase came trotting down the lane alongside Lord Skye. The two of them were discussing, of all things, Homer's The Odyssey.
"Truly, My Lord," Miss Chase said. "You must admit that Odysseus's infidelities with Circe and Calypso are more forgivable when you take note that they are powerful sorceresses. They subdued him with enchantments and the threat of mischief towards his men. Odysseus cries himself to sleep every night while on Calypso's island. That does not sound like a man enjoying a love affair to me. I acknowledge that my sex is just as capable of cruelty towards your sex as you are towards us."
"I hope you won't scare away the foxes with all your blue stocking-ish prattle, Miss Chase," Lieutenant Jackson cut in.
He overtook them on his fine, black stallion.
"It's a wonder you even bother to open your mouth, Lieutenant Jackson. No one cares what you have to say."
"Come, Grace," he called to Lord Skye. "Let's leave this troublesome female behind. She makes me weary of her entire sex."
"Then womankind should rejoice," Miss Chase replied. "That they are no longer troubled by you."
She spurred her elegant, white mare and galloped down the lane, kicking up dust as she went.
"That harpy brings mischief wherever she goes," Lieutenant Jackson said. "Dear God, I would rather hear a thousand Barbary canons than listen to her voice. No pasha in all of Tripoli could vex me more."

The hunters met in the courtyard of The Vesta's Hearth Inn. They greeted each other with "good morning" and "fine weather weather we have today" and remarked upon each other's mounts, while large quantities of bread, colds meats, and cider were distributed among them. Behind a wooden gate, the hounds barked and pawed, eager to be released.
Mephistopheles was startled by the flock of geese that wandered freely in the inn's courtyard.
"My Dear Annabeth," Miss McLean gasped when her friend dismounted her horse. She looked down at the ground, where Miss Chase's stocking had come loose.
"Judas!" Miss Chase said. "I must have lost my garter during the ride here."
"Excuse me, madam," said a tall, blond man with a scar across his cheek, who was dressed in an officer's uniform. "This must belong to you then."
The tall officer held a white silk ribbon embroidered with the initials "A.C." in silver thread.
"Captain Castellan, you are ever so gallant."
She pulled up her azure colored hosiery with white clocks and secured it with the reclaimed garter.

Lieutenant Jackson stood at the refreshment table where he was being offered cold tongue.
"Lieutenant Jackson was right then," Miss Chase said. "I am a blue stocking."
"On second thought," Lieutenant Jackson replied. "I'm not in the mood for tongue."
He took a big gulp from his mug of cider and walked off with his bread and cheese.
"I see there's no love lost between you and Jackson," Captain Castellan said.
"I lent him my love awhile," Miss Chase responded. "But it was misplaced."
Nico had heard from Hazel that there seemed to be an intrigue between Miss Chase and Captain Castellan, dating at least from that evening at the theater when they were seen together, alone in the Grace family box. Castellan used every contrivance to meet with her, since he was forbidden from Skye Castle.
"She better be careful," Hazel said as Nico helped her into her side-saddle. "I've heard things about him which don't bare repeating in polite company." 
Nico was aware of the gossip: that he had toyed with the affections of Miss McLean's half-sister, Miss Beauregard; that he had attempted to elope with Lady Thalia; that Kelli and Tammy, two of the serving maids at the Vesta's Hearth Inn, were with-child by him.
"Miss Chase is a pert, headstrong miss," Nico said, adjusting the leading strap on the saddle. "I doubt she'll listen to reason."
Hazel's side-saddle featured two pommels: the fixed pommel and the leaping pommel. Her right leg wrapped around the fixed pommel while the left leg went under the leaping pommel, its foot resting in the stirrup.

Riding side-saddle in a hunt took great skill, which Hazel possessed.
"Huntsman, release the hounds," His Grace shouted.
The gate holding the hounds back was opened and the beasts went running out of the courtyard, their tails wagging with delight. His Grace lead the hunters out of the inn yard with his duchess at his side. Her Grace wore a grayish brown velvet redingote with silver buttons over a white petticoat and lace fichu. A large black hat adorned with bows and feathers was perched atop her head.

She looked more vivacious and alert than usual, as if the prospect of chasing and killing small animals were what was needed to shake her out of her opium induced fog.
Nico road with the hunters into the fields and woods outside of the village. The hounds caught the scent of a fox and followed it into a patch of bushes outside. The head huntsman blew his horn and the hunters gave chase, yelping as they galloped after the hounds.

Excitement rushed through Nico's stomach as Mephistopheles carried him across the fields which bordered the Skye Castle estate. Some of the more enthusiastic riders leapt over hedges and ditches and continued at breakneck speeds after the fox.

Their horses were whipped and spurred until they started bleeding. A few fed-up mounts tossed their riders from their backs.

The fox dashed into the woods near Skye Castle. Dona Reyna galloped to the front of the pack. She and Scipio seemed to have a bond like that of Hazel and Arion. All she needed to do was give the horse a gentle tap with her black riding boot clad foot and he took off like a bullet.

His Grace cheered her on as she grew closer to the fox.
"After him, sweetheart!" he said. "After him! After him!"
The huntsmen thrashed at the underbrush to scare the fox out of hiding. A flash of red fur darted out from under a gooseberry bush and was overtaken and torn a part by the hounds. When the fox was dead, His Grace dismounted his horse and held up its bleeding carcass in front of the cheering crowd.
The gory spectacle frightened Mephistopheles, who let out a frightened whinny and dashed out of the woods towards Skye Castle. Nico did all he could to hold onto the reins and stay on Mephistopheles's back.
A figure in a pale yellow coat came out of the woods and chased after him. As the figure caught up to them, Nico realized that it was Solace. The hermit appeared to be as swift-footed as Achilles and quickly overtook Mephistopheles, grabbing the horse by the reins.
"Take my hand," he said to Nico.
Nico reached over to grab the hermit's extended arm. Solace pulled him off the horse's back. They landed on the ground with a thud, Solace on top of him. Nico heard a crunching sound and felt a sharp pain in his left arm.

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He used his good arm to push Solace off of him and help himself to a sitting position. Several yards away, Mephistopheles was innocently grazing.
I hope they chop you up and feed you to the dogs, Nico thought.
"Are you alright?" Solace said.
Nico winced and cradled his injured arm.
"Give me your arm?"
"Why?"
"So I can feel if it's broken."
The area that hurt looked swollen and tender. A bruise was forming near the elbow.
"Can you move it?"
Nico tried to move the joint but it was too painful. He whimpered in agony.
"Just as I thought, it's broken."
The rest of the hunters caught up with them. Two huntsmen brought over a stretcher to carry Nico back to the Vesta's Hearth.

They laid Nico out on a table on the inn's main room. A plump cushion was put under his arm. Hazel held a cup to his lips and urged him to drink from it. Nico took a sip: it had the bitter taste of laudanum.
Solace bossed around the serving maids, ordering them to fetch what was needed to put together a splint for Nico's arm. A thin, flexible piece of wood was put on either side of the elbow. The two wooden planks were held in place with tightly wrapped linen bandages.
"How do know how to treat broken bones?" Nico said to the hermit as he wound strips of linen around his arm.
"I studied medicine in Edinburgh for a while," Solace replied.
"Before you became a hermit?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you a hermit instead of a surgeon or a physician?"
"Life got in the way."
A million different reasons as to why Solace had to leave Edinburgh ran through Nico's mind: Was he in debt? Did he have an affair with someone's wife? Was he involved with a gang of  resurrectionists?

A/N Edinburgh, The capital of Scotland, was perhaps the best place in Great Britain to study medicine during the late 18th and early 19th centuries because it was at the forefront of medical research. This medical research needed a lot of dead bodies for dissection. Anatomists were only allowed to dissect the bodies of condemned criminals and those who died in the workhouses. But this did not fulfill the great and constant need for cadavers. Nefarious figures known as body snatchers or resurrectionists, such as the fictional Gerry Cruncher from Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities, dug up bodies and sold them to anatomists. Serial killers Burke and Hare went so far as to kill the bodies themselves.

Dona Reyna entered the main room of the inn. She had attached the tail of the dead fox to her hat. It swung back and forth as she approached.

"The dead remains of your enemies look quite fetching on you," Nico said to her.
"I'm thinking of having the rest of the pelt turned into a muff," she replied.
Being the one who overtook the fox first, she was given the right to keep its corps as a trophy.
"I'm done with the splint," Solace said. "Now I have to put your arm in a sling."
Solace wrapped a long piece of cloth
around Nico's arm and tied it behind his neck.
"Poor Miss McLean," Dona Reyna said. "Imagine what our audience will think when she's acting Hermia opposite a Lysander with his arm all trussed up."
"I don't envy her," Nico replied.
"There," Solace cut in. "Your arm is all set. We'll see where you are in about six weeks.

A carriage was sent to bring Nico back to Skye Castle. The housemaids fussed over him as if he were a baby and tucked him up into bed. After all the opium laced wine he had been made to drink, Nico fell right asleep.
He woke up in time to go down for supper: a comparatively simple meal of roast pork chops, mashed potatoes, and applesauce.

The Duchess was wearing a girlish new blue silk gown trimmed with white lace ruffles. A white turban with expensive ostrich  feathers adorned her pretty head.

Nico wondered if the fabric for the gown or the feathers were an apology gift from her husband, The Duke, after his latest affair.
He could not understand why people even bothered to get married if they were just going to end up betraying each other.
"Mr. Di Angelo," The Duchess said. "How are you feeling? I heard you got into an accident today."
"Much better," Nico replied. "Your servants have been taking good care of me."
"His horse took fright during the hunt," Hazel added. "It dashed off and your hermit, Mr. Solace, rescued him and put his broken arm in a splint and sling."
Hazel forgot to mention Nico wouldn't have broken his arm if Solace hadn't pulled him off the horse. But he was thankful that Solace had tended to his injury.
"To our gallant hermit," Dona Reyna said.
She raised a glass of the dessert wine which was brought in along with the oeufs à la neige.

"To our gallant hermit," the other guests joined in with their glasses raised.

Nico fell back asleep thinking about Solace. The man always unsettled him whenever they met but today's humiliating incident was unimaginably worse. When Solace had touched his arm, Nico's heart fluttered as if it were about to burst out of his chest and he broke into a sweat. He could not tell if he had been sick and delirious from the pain or if Solace's presence had driven him mad.