Fire Wolf Page 10

  He turned, catching sight of Garrett. “Master Garrett?”

  “What is it?” Garrett narrowed his eyes at the soldier, assessing him as nonthreatening in the time most people blinked.

  “I have a message for you from Turris.”

  Oh, lords, he thought, what could it be now? More orders, more commands spurred by the greed of the house courtiers supporting Queen Elysia. He grew tired of the Osten court.

  The boy withdrew a rolled piece of parchment from a messenger bag tucked to his side and extended his arm to offer it to him. Garrett caught sight of the crest pressed into the wax immediately—a Whispering Ash tree. He swore inside but took the proffered parchment.

  “Thank you,” he offered, then waved the messenger off.

  He ducked inside his tent, out of the wind and cold, and settled on his cot before he broke the wax seal with a pop.

  There, in perfect, swirling cursive was her handwriting.

  Return to Turris at once. ~ E

  Only the ancients knew what that woman wanted now. He crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it to the floor. He grew tired of the endless game of chess when he couldn’t see all the pieces. But for the first time in eight years, he now had a piece of his own, a prize that could turn the game in his favor. A prize that could free him.

  And it was on the other side of that ward.

  ~ELEVEN~

  Warmth.

  The sensation cocooned her.

  Myah was wrapped in warmth, she realized, even before her eyes fluttered open. A streak of sunlight refracted through the panes of the window, making her head ache. She shut her eyes again, rolling away from the source of her agony. Only then did she crack her eyes again.

  The flames in the hearth crackled and sparked. Myah watched its dance for a moment before scanning her room. Clothes spilled out of her wardrobe. Her vanity table was just as disorganized as that last time she had sat there, patiently waiting while a maid wove her thick hair into a braid. Only, the bedding was different, and then she realized multiple quilts had been piled atop the down-stuffed patchwork that her mother had made her when she was a child.

  Her body trembling, Myah shifted into a sitting position, leaning her back against the headboard. Her head felt light and achy. Every muscle in her body felt as though she had fought a battle. She could feel every bruise, every sore muscle, every minor ache, and … a flush of magic?

  She closed her eyes and concentrated.

  It was not her magic, but it mingled in harmony with it, like a tenor to a soprano.

  “Master Griffith healed you.”

  Myah started, jerking her sore body at the sound of the voice. Skye lifted his head from her bed, scrubbing at his black-rimmed eyes with his fists. He pushed himself up into a sitting position on the stool set next to her bed. His shirt was wrinkled and untucked. His hair stuck out in multiple directions, but his pained expression made her breath catch.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, reaching for him. He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m unharmed,” he replied, “but are you all right?”

  “Well enough.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You weren’t fine when we found you, My.” His lips curved downward. She couldn’t tell by the set of his mouth whether he was angry with her or merely upset with the situation. She had always been able to read him, but this expression was new. “I thought you were going to die in my arms.”

  Die.

  She had almost died in the woods.

  Myah took in a shuddering breath as her body trembled. Her head bowed as she closed her eyes and fought to purge the memory. The Osten soldier could have killed her, but he hadn’t. And she had survived, because of Skye. Because he and Cal had searched for her. Because they had found her and brought her home.

  The thoughts behind his expression clicked. Fear. He had been afraid for her.

  She had never seen him this afraid before.

  “It doesn’t feel like he healed me,” Myah said.

  “You were half-frozen.”

  “I fell in a creek,” she replied absently. “Several times, if I recall.”

  Skye moved from his stool to the edge of her bed, never relinquishing her hand. “What happened, My? When I led those men away, I thought for sure you’d be the first through the wards.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. Agitation radiated off him in tangible waves; his control of his emotions had slipped. This was not the Skye she was used to.

  “I got caught.”

  “What?”

  Myah startled at his shout. “Skye,” she protested. “I don’t really want the entire castle to hear this conversation.”

  “Sorry,” he whispered, brushing the hair from her forehead, and he seemed a bit calmer, although the manic energy radiating from him made her feel like a doe desperately trying to flee a hunter.

  “One of the soldiers followed me into the woods. I tried to get away from him, but the harder I ran … He just kept pursuing me.”

  “But you eluded him.”

  “That’s the strange part.” Every second passed through her mind’s eye in rapid succession, and she shivered. Her bruises throbbed with pain, and once more, fear threatened to drown her in its suffocating waves. Her head throbbed, and she pressed her fingers to her temple to ease the ache. “He had me. He was going to kill me, and then …” Her hand fell away from her head, and she looked up at Skye.

  “And then?” he pressed.

  Myah opened her mouth to continue and then closed it. There was no way she was going to tell him about the wolves that had appeared. It had been so strange, so surreal that now she felt as if she had lived a waking dream.

  “And then he let me go,” she breathed.

  “Did he see your face?” Skye asked.

  Myah lifted her gaze to meet his. His expression was hard, serious. They worked hard to hide any connection to Nordlin. Her uncle could not know what they were doing, and the last thing she wanted was for the Ostens to turn their sights northward. She always kept her scarf up, her hair and face hidden.

  She thought through the day. The fight, the ambush, the pursuit. Had the solider seen her face? She remembered being hot, tired, her breaths coming in gasps, and then … she had taken her scarf off.

  He had not seen her face until the end, but he had seen her.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Yes.” Panic seized her. Her lungs felt tight, the room too hot. “Oh, Skye, what if he recognized me?”

  “If he’d recognized you, he would have kept you for ransom,” he said. He shifted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’d be the perfect leverage over your family.” She felt his hand on her shoulder. When she peered up at him, the muscles in his jaw flexed, and his lips were pressed into a fine line. “But even if he did recognize you, the wards are up. The Ostens have no way into Nordlin now. He has no way to get to you.”

  The comment didn’t make her feel any safer. The enemy—who killed without mercy, who destroyed at the queen’s pleasure, who had murdered members of her family and countless others in the years since the war started—surrounded her kingdom.

  Tears welled in her eyes; fear swam through her.

  “It’s all right, My.” Skye wrapped his arms around her. “You’re safe. I’m here,” he whispered, repeating the words like a mantra. His cheek rested against the side of her head.

  She latched on to his words, grasped them like a dying man searching for a lifeline. But she knew it was too late. The memories were marked upon her soul now.

  “Did everyone make it back?” she asked, still pressed against his chest.

  He sighed and leaned back. “We can talk about that later. When you’re feeling better.”

  She already knew the answer. “How bad, Skye?”

  He stood from the bed. “Bad. Cal and I just barely made it through before your uncle closed the wards.”

  “How many?” she demanded.
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  “We lost everyone, Myah. Allen was hurt badly. We sent him back with the refugees while we searched for you. He’s at the caves now. Owl’s looking after him.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him to Master Griffith?”

  “Because he’s beyond a spellweaver’s help.”

  Skye sat back down on the stool beside her bed. “There’s more.” She turned her head sharply toward him. What could be worse than losing almost fifty men and almost dying? And losing Allen? “I’m pretty certain Master Griffith told your mother and uncle that I did that to you.” He gestured to the exposed bruises on her arms.

  She covered them with her hand, trying to hide the black marks. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because your uncle told me I wasn’t to come near you. Master Griffith is working with Edgar in the library. I had to sneak in.”

  Myah stared at him. “I’ll tell my uncle that he’s mistaken.”

  “And who will you blame, My? Cal?”

  “We could—”

  “Nothing you say will make sense. Not unless you want to tell Edgar what really happened. And besides, I’m at least a nobleman’s son. Edgar won’t punish me without my father intervening. And it’s better if he thinks it was me because you know he’d banish Cal.”

  Myah covered her face with her hands. Everything had gone horribly wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Skye, for everything. This is my fault.”

  “No,” Skye said firmly, tugging her hands away from her face. “No, that was a carefully laid trap.” He kissed her cheek. “Rest. Heal. In the meantime, I’m going to have a strongly worded conversation with Owl. His sources gave him that information. He should have known. He should have seen it coming.”

  “We all should have seen it coming.” She brushed her hand against his, taking hold of his fingers.

  “If you had died, Myah—” His voice broke.

  “I know, Skye.”

  She felt the same way.

  ~*~

  By the time Master Griffith pronounced her in the clear two days later, Myah felt exhausted. Bed rest was only restful when she was allowed to rest, and her mother had hovered endlessly. She called it “seeing to my daughter’s needs.” Myah called it “management,” especially when Caitlyn laid out the details of Myah’s new weekly schedule.

  Studying with Master Griffith, fine. Lessons with her tutor in history, mathematics, sciences, etc., fine. Council sessions, great. Those were not out of the ordinary. But the daily teas with the court ladies, cards in the evening after supper, piano lessons—Myah was still pondering her escape from this—assisting her uncle with paperwork and letters, and a gown fitting were her mother’s way of leaving her absolutely no time to even think about seeing her friends.

  The one time she mentioned going riding with Skye and Cal, her mother had curtly responded with, “You already know how to kill a deer with a bow while riding. It’s high time you learn to navigate the social politics of court.” Caitlyn then had shifted into a conversation about what colors of fabrics would look best on Myah, ending any further discussion.

  That had been five days ago.

  Five days of tedium.

  Today alone, Myah had been forced into a walk through the gardens with Lady Caitlyn and several of the other women, including Lady Alexia Lamar, Skye’s mother, who disliked Myah only slightly more than she disliked Caitlyn. Although, Lady Lamar hid her malcontent by raving over everything Caitlyn said. More than likely, she was trying to get Skye back into the Leichts’ good graces, and Myah at least could support that, but Myah found maintaining even a measure of pretense exhausting with these women. The topics were mind-numbing to someone who preferred math, science, and literature and the outdoors over dresses and menial small talk about the weather or gossip about a scandalous faux pas like wearing the wrong color to a traditional celebration.

  Myah couldn’t grasp how any of it was relevant, and when she complained to her uncle at the midday meal, Edgar reminded her that “traditional feminine ideology” was important to Caitlyn. Frankly, Myah thought perhaps the ideology was better suited to the Dark Times before the formation of the four kingdoms.

  Caitlyn must have caught her rolling her eyes because, by late afternoon, Myah had been released from her social obligations for the rest of the day, although she still needed to meet her uncle before the evening meal.

  It didn’t leave her much time, but enough, and she knew precisely how she was going to spend her free moments.

  Myah walked through the gardens on the hunt for Skye. The air smelled crisp, the way it always did just before a snowfall, but the blue sky above her, marked by only wisps of gray, contradicted her theories on the weather. No one could possibly predict the weather.

  She maneuvered the maze of tall shrubs and emerged at the fountain, where a group of girls her age, clothed in thick cloaks and hand muffs, huddled on a bench. Their shrill laughter made her raw nerves tighten. They looked up at her, whispered, and then erupted into another fit of laughter.

  These girls were why she preferred Skye and Cal’s friendship; they didn’t gossip and scheme like spoiled children. They were blunt and honest and driven to action. If the four kingdoms could progress far enough that a woman could hold positions of power and was entitled to the same civil rights as a man, why couldn’t the women of Nordlin move beyond fabric colors and cosmetics? Myah hoped that it was just a confluence of like women and not a reflection of the further downfall of the society of the four kingdoms. Her aunt and uncle would roll in their graves.

  “Good day, Lady Alena,” Myah greeted the girl at the heart of the group, whose disdainful disposition and pinched, mousey features made her nothing short of ugly.

  Alena Bell wasn’t technically a member of the lord houses, except that her mother was a Marc of Morgensol. She had eloped and married a merchant, and upon Alena’s parents’ deaths, her uncle had taken Alena in. Myah had not met Lord Marc, and could never remember his given name, but she knew Alena well. She walked around Nordlin Castle as if she were the queen, despite only having one noble bloodline, and made it her mission to stir up trouble. Since the ill-fated venture a week ago, most of Alena’s tales included Myah.

  Alena stood. “Hello, Lady Myah,” she said friendly enough, but the batting of her eyes was a sure giveaway of ensuing drama. “What can I do for you?”

  “I am looking for Skye.”

  Alena threw a knowing look at the other girls and smirked before giving Myah her attention again. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him.”

  The girls around Alena bubbled in agreement.

  Myah curtsied. “Thank you,” she said politely and gathered her skirt, the fabric folding easily into her gloved hands. She turned to head down one of the other pathways.

  “Oh, Myah.” Alena half-spoke, half-laughed her name.

  Myah paused and turned back to the group.

  “Just between us ladies,” Alena continued sweetly, “perhaps you should stop following him around like a puppy.” The girls behind Alena giggled. “It really is disgraceful, throwing yourself at him so pathetically.”

  Myah’s blood turned to acid in her veins. Her magic instinctively swirled in her chest, ready should she call it. She lifted her chin, enough that she could look down her nose at Lady Alena even though they were the same height. “Then it must gall you that he would still rather spend time with me than with a gutter witch like you.”

  Alena shrieked, and her hand flew to her heart as if Myah had shoved a dagger there. Her friends erupted into a gaggle of shocked commentary, and Myah grinned. After a week of biting her tongue, it felt divine to finally say exactly what coursed through her mind.

  “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, ladies,” she said. She curtsied again and walked away with a profound sense of satisfaction.

  She took the first pathway away from the fountain and back into the maze. It was then she heard his low chuckle. The sound smoothed over her like poured cream.

  “Gutter witch? Really,
My?” Skye leaned against a tree. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his body shook from soft laughter. He was dressed in his riding clothes—worn brown trousers, his calf-high boots of flexible black leather and a golden leather doublet. The buckles at his sides were fastened, but still allowed a peek of the white linen shirt beneath. A dark green cloak, the color of the grass in the summertime, draped around his body. “Do you even know what that means?”

  She bit back her laughter. Her cheeks warmed. “Vaguely. I’ve never heard it in a positive context, so I was sure it was fitting for Alena.”

  He pushed away from the tree. “It was what they used to call the spellweavers—mostly women—who misused magic ages ago. The backlash from the dark magic rotted their bodies.”

  “Ew,” Myah said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t imagine they were an attractive sort.” He let out another laugh before he stepped closer to her and leaned in. “How are you?” he whispered in her ear.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She turned her head enough to feel the warmth of his cheek as he lingered near her. “Better. My mother and uncle are still angry. You weren’t punished?”

  “No.” He brushed his lips on her cheek and stepped away. They were forever stealing touches when no one was looking. “Your uncle spoke to my father and left my punishment to him.”

  “But he did nothing?”

  He shrugged. “I told my father it was an accident. Cal told him the same.”

  “I’m sorry they blamed you. I’ve tried to tell my mother she is wrong, but she changes the subject when I bring it up.” She lifted her hand to massage the sore juncture between her shoulder and her neck. She closed her eyes as she rubbed.

  “Are you all right? I know I keep asking … but you still seem tired and …” She felt Skye touch her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.