Fire Wolf Page 3

  Simple, perfect, beautiful.

  With a smile on her lips, Myah kicked her mare into a run as they came into the open ground between the forest and the outer walls of the city. She avoided wagons and carts coming to and from the main gates. Shouts followed her and her friends in protest of their speed. The Nordlin Guard paced the walkways atop the walls. White banners bearing the crest of the house of Leicht—a red dawning sun—flew at intervals along the length of the fortification. High on the hill, at the heart of the city, stood her family home—Nordlin Castle—its white, gold-capped spires glinting in the sunlight as the clouds moved across the sky with the bitter breeze.

  They rode through the city gates, slowing their pace before they followed the main road. It spiraled upward, taking travelers around the circumference of the hill, and through two more fortification walls and gates before they reached the gardens and orchards that surrounded the castle. Shouts rang as they rode through the orchard, and the gates to the bailey creaked open. She pulled the mare to a halt in the courtyard.

  Myah’s mother, Caitlyn, already descended the steps of the castle—her hands folded in front of her, her posture perfect, her blue wool dress accenting the fine lines of her slender figure. A white cloak, lined with gray animal fur, draped around her form, the fabric barely brushing the stones beneath her boots.

  Everyone always remarked how alike they were: the same red hair, the same blue eyes, the same turned-up nose and high cheekbones, and the same heart-shaped face, thin eyebrows, and sparse eyelashes. The only physical difference outside of age was Myah’s height. She stood at least three inches above her mother.

  However, their many differences lay beneath the surface. Caitlyn preferred the indoors, spending her day embroidering, reading, or socializing with the other women at court, while Myah craved the sky and the wind, the open fields and campfires. She loved to move, to dance, to spin beneath an open sky and feel unbound, unhindered.

  Free.

  “We expected you back this morning,” Caitlyn said, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs. She folded her slender arms across her chest, and the wind tugged her long red hair, making it dance about at her back. Caitlyn’s annoyance radiated from her.

  “Sorry, Mother.” Myah threw herself off the horse in a fluid leap and tossed her leads to a castle groom. Two other grooms secured Cal and Skye’s horses, and the small game they had collected between the river caves and the castle. “Game is a little hard to find this time of year.”

  Myah crossed the courtyard and kissed her mother’s cheek, still warm from the fires of her sitting room.

  “I don’t know why you insist on these little hunting trips. You are the future high lady. You should be studying with your uncle and Master Griffith. Not murdering small animals.”

  They had the same conversation each time Myah returned.

  She sighed and tried to ignore the frown etched on Caitlyn’s face. “It’s food, Mother. Not murder.”

  “Lady Caitlyn,” Skye greeted, taking Caitlyn’s attention off the blooming argument between mother and daughter. Caitlyn offered her hand, and Skye pressed his lips to the gloved backs of her fingers. “We wouldn’t have gotten nearly as much game as we did if not for Myah. Her skill with a bow is superb, and perfect for small game.”

  Lady Caitlyn lifted her chin. “You can’t charm me, Skye Lamar.” She pulled her hand away from him. “I would much rather Myah pursued other activities—like her education and magic studies. Traipsing the wilds of Nordlin, hunting with you two, is hardly dignified.”

  Skye’s smile faltered before he locked it into place again. Normally, he could charm the pants off anyone, but her mother could make the highest born squirm like a worm on a fishing hook with only a glance. Myah had yet to learn that skill.

  “It may not be dignified, but food is a necessity of life. Anything that I can do to help our people, as the future high lady—” She let the words sink in for a moment. “I will. Besides, you’ll be glad of the meat come midwinter.”

  “Hmm,” her mother intoned, her lips pressed further into a frown. “You’re lucky your uncle agrees with you.” She put her hand to Myah’s cheek, patting it. “Come, my darling. It is cold out here, and Edgar is waiting for you.”

  Myah wrapped her arm through her mother’s, leaning into her warmth, as they walked up the stone stairs into the castle. Caitlyn pressed a kiss to the side of Myah’s head as they climbed the steps, and Myah leaned a bit more into her mother.

  It felt good to be home, to be where she felt loved.

  ~*~

  Myah wandered into the castle library—after she had had a chance to clean up and change—in search of her uncle. The room, easily two stories, held volumes from throughout the four kingdoms. Different colored spines filled each of the shelves that rose up to the rafters. The Leicht family had always prided itself on knowledge, which was why she usually could find her uncle among the stacks, referencing old censuses and almanacs. History guided the present, he always said, and thus these books had been her constant companions since childhood. She loved to read them, at least until she grew too restless to stay indoors.

  She pressed the door closed and searched the room. Save the crackling of the fireplace, the room was quiet. She crossed the room and tapped lightly on the pocket doors that led to a nook before sliding them open to peer inside.

  Edgar stood, hunching his tall, thin frame over one of the tables, as he pored over a volume. Rolled parchment and letters pressed flat, their multicolored wax seals sliced neatly in two, littered the table around him.

  “Hello, uncle. Mother said you wanted to see me,” Myah stated before slipping into Edgar’s hideaway. He had a formal study, where he conducted official business, but when it came to day-to-day ruminations, he always took shelter in this corner of the library.

  He glanced up and a smile lit his pale, freckled face. The lines about his eyes deepened, giving away his age, but the gentleness of his features left him with a rather boyish appearance when first meeting him. Edgar, too, had the Leicht family’s signature red hair, fair skin, and blue eyes.

  Edgar rounded the table and pulled her into a hug. Her face pressed against his chest as he patted her back. He smelled of spice—cinnamon or cardamom maybe; she couldn’t tell which one over the hints of tobacco from his pipe layering with the spice.

  He withdrew and kissed her cheek. “I’m glad you’re home. It is never the same when you are out on your adventures.”

  “Thank you for letting me go,” she offered. Edgar’s sway kept Caitlyn from stamping out her trips entirely. His warm hand squeezed her elbow. “I’ve already had an earful from Mother.”

  Edgar chuckled. “Don’t take her fussing to heart. She loves you dearly. She just struggles with letting you go.”

  “She would chain me to the earth if she thought it would keep me from flying away from her.”

  Edgar sighed and shook his head. “My sister has never been one to let go of the things she loves. Your Aunt Aenor had to constantly distract her when we were kids so that your grandmother could cull the dresses that no longer fit Caitlyn. There was one she loved so much that she wore it even when the seams were popping and the sleeves barely came past her elbows.” His full mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. “I believe a burn mark had also blackened the skirt near her rear.”

  Myah choked back a laugh; the sheer force of the laugh almost made her snort. She couldn’t picture her mother—refined, immaculate, beautiful—traipsing around the castle in a gown that barely fit her with burn marks on her backside. “I’m guessing she was four?”

  “Close. Three, but my point is the same.” He gestured to one of the chairs, upholstered in navy blue fabric with an embroidered starburst. “Please have a seat.”

  Myah relaxed into the chair, stretching out her legs beneath the gray woolen dress she wore. Riding the past few days had left her hips, knees, and ankles stiff and achy.

  Returning to the opposite side of the table, E
dgar searched the papers scattered about. “I’m sorry I was not available before you left on your hunting trip. I have been trying to figure out a solution, but I keep coming back to the same conclusion. I would like to know your thoughts before I meet with the council in a few days.” He stopped his search, pausing to read one of the pages. His eyes squinted and he pulled the parchment close to his face. “Ah, here it is.” He held the page out to her.

  She reached out and took it. Flattening the paper with both hands, she read the cursive scrawl that crossed the page. Her heart started to pound, and with a shaky hand, she handed the letter back to Edgar. “And what do you conclude?”

  “I have two options, Myah. First, I open the wards and let the refugees into Nordlin. Based on the Osten troop movements, those people have little time.”

  Edgar grabbed the rolled parchment and unfurled the paper on the table. He weighted the corners with three books and a candelabra, alight with three dripping candles. The wax dribbled on the edge of the scroll with a plop.

  “This is a map of their movements. The red marks are the first reports I received when they invaded Namir two years ago, and the blue marks are the current army movements.”

  “And the black dots?”

  “The villages and towns that have been burned.”

  So, her uncle had already received those reports.

  “The Osten army is sweeping north, toward our border with Namir, as if driving the people to us. I suspect they are trying to trap them to make them easier to slaughter.”

  “Will you open the wards?” she wondered aloud.

  “The Ostens have been leaving no one alive on this latest campaign. The master of the guard—a Garrett something—is … brutal.”

  Brutal, perhaps, was her uncle’s way of being polite. Allen had given them more details before leaving the caves. Owl’s contacts in Namir had found bodies of the men, hung upside down, staked to logs in an X formation. Their stomachs had been cut open, their eyes gouged out. Fire, set while they were still alive, had destroyed the flesh. The women and children had fared no better. They had all been cut down by swords, their bodies piled together in a mound of rotting corpses. Anything of value had been stripped from the remains. Owl’s source could not be sure, but he was certain they had slaughtered the women and children and forced the few remaining men to watch before they tortured them and set them on fire.

  The Ostens knew only cruelty.

  “We could open the wards for a short time,” Myah suggested. “Like we did when Namir was first attacked. With Master Griffith’s help, you could maintain the ward while he creates a doorway. We might not save everyone, but at least we wouldn’t be leaving them to die.”

  With a sigh, Edgar slumped into the chair behind him. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the auburn red lengths. “Griffith, no doubt, would be willing, but if I let them in, Myah, then we are not just risking attack from the Ostens. We are also risking condemning everyone in Nordlin to starvation, the refugees included.”

  “I thought our grain stores were high enough to get us through the end of next summer as long as we rationed it.” She remembered reviewing those documents with her uncle after the harvest.

  “We did, initially, but there was a leak in the grain silos. The fall rains got in, and all of the grain stored in one was ruined and we lost much of the grain in the second as well—although they were able to salvage some. There is not enough food left to last the winter now, not for everyone.”

  A cold chill slithered down her spine. Not even her raids could bring enough food for everyone—even if she had been able to bring back all the supplies they had found that morning.

  “There must be something we can do. Can’t we send to the Stone Isles for aid? They have always been eager to trade food for coal and timber. Or I could take some men north, into the Nordlin Mountains. The game is rich, even in winter, near Glacier Edge.”

  Edgar held up a hand to silence her. She bit her lip, understanding his frustration, because she felt it too. “I’ve already sent word to the Stone Isles. They are willing to help us, but as they would have to cross Namir … Their king did not feel it was worth the risk to his people to cross territory held by the Ostens, and as for you going hunting, you do that anyway. It is helpful to have the extra meat, but we have an entire kingdom to feed. And yes, many of the villages and farmers keep a community store, but even accounting for their rations …”

  “You can’t make the math work to ensure we make it through the winter,” Myah finished for him. “And the council will be against you opening the wards because of the shortage … and the risks.”

  “Yes, that’s why I’ve postponed discussing it with them. I think most would be willing to take the chance against the army, if it was the only risk, but they will not risk starvation. It is an unpleasant way to die.”

  “And that is also your conclusion? That we will let the Namirrians die.”

  “So that our people may live,” Edgar whispered. “Yet, it sickens me to make either sacrifice.”

  Myah toyed with the end of her fishtail braid and the stray pieces of her red hair that had escaped the end. Remembering her strategy lessons, she knew her uncle was making the sensible choice, but the trade disgusted her as much as it did him. Could they call themselves decent people if they did not come to the aid of those in need? But could she ever hope to call herself a competent leader if she did not think of her people first? It was unfortunate that the Stone Isles’ ships were not cutters, so they could make it to Nordlin’s coastal port on the northern sea.

  She sucked in a breath. “Uncle, they won’t cross Osten-held territory to trade, but would they allow us to send our ships to the Stone Isles? Don’t we have cutters that traverse Frost Bay? Then, the land crossing would be entirely in Nordlin territory.”

  “It’s the long way and not hospitable this time of year, but I could send a message to the king and see if that would be sufficient. The council may disagree with me opening the wards if we do not already have the supplies on hand. Anything could go wrong in the weeks it would take to get the shipment.”

  “We could not tell the council about the food shortage,” Myah offered.

  “Yes, we could withhold that information, but if something should happen and we don’t get aid from the Stone Isles? It would weaken Nordlin significantly.”

  Myah leaned back in the chair. “I still think it’s the best answer, for everyone.”

  “Agreed.” He moved the books and the candelabra from the map and let it curl back up. “I would like you to do something for me, though.”

  “Of course, name it.”

  “I want you to practice creating shields and wards with Master Griffith.”

  Myah stiffened. She was nowhere near strong enough for that type of magic. It had taken her uncle years to be able to master wards strong enough to protect the entire kingdom, and now, maintaining the magic was as effortless as breathing. Myah had only been studying spellweaving for a few months—when her magic had finally manifested. She could handle a few healing spells, the type that bolstered the natural healing processes, and she could enhance her senses for a short time, her vision and hearing mostly. It had also enhanced her ability to see Edgar’s magic and find the entrances through the wards around the kingdom. But creating them?

  “My abilities are nowhere near—”

  “I know you are still new to spellweaving, but you will have to learn the ward magic eventually. I would like you to start now. If something should happen to me—”

  Fear shot through her; her heartbeat pounded against her breastbone and her palms felt sweaty. Losing her uncle—it was unfathomable. “Don’t even say that, Uncle Edgar,” she said in a rush. “Nothing will happen to you. You still have many years ahead of you as high lord.”

  “I don’t doubt it, my beautiful girl. It is just a precaution.”

  Myah nodded, not daring to further voice the gnawing beast tearing at her insides. For as long as she could r
emember, she had had nightmares about losing her family. Sometimes in the dreams, a fire would consume them. Other times, a shadow cut them down before her as they clung to each other, begging for their lives. Their lifeless bodies would topple onto the stone floor; their blood would pool beneath their unmoving corpses. And Myah could only stand there, unable to move, unable to save them.

  A few years had passed since her last nightmare, but the effects had stayed with her.

  She cleared her throat, afraid of her own voice and what she would hear when she spoke. Would her uncle hear her fear? She couldn’t bear the idea that he would. Edgar had so much faith in her.

  “How long do we have before we need to open the wards?”

  “Four or five days, a week, at most. I should receive another update by morning.”

  Myah rose, although she felt unsteady after all they had discussed. “I will see you at supper tonight, then.” She rounded the table and kissed his cheek. Her hand rested softly on his arm. “You know you always have my full support? No matter what you decide.”

  He laid his hand over hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “I know, My. The council is another matter.”

  “You could just ignore them,” she offered.

  He patted her hand. “I could, but …”

  “A good leader always listens to the wisdom of his or her advisors,” Myah finished.

  He smiled. “Precisely.”

  ~FOUR~

  Every muscle in Garrett’s body remained taut. He did not dare flinch; he did not dare move when under the scrutiny of the Osten queen, Elysia. Malcolm stood beside him, chin raised in defiance, but equally as silent. They had both seen the queen’s horrors often enough that today’s display wasn’t unusual, but it still created a raw ache within Garrett’s chest, a wish to set the whole of Turris, the Osten capital, ablaze and watch it burn to cinders.

  There was something poetic about imagining the house of Ashen, Ost’s ruling family, destroyed by fire; their house signet was a Whispering Ash tree adorned in flame.