Fire Wolf Page 5

  “I don’t understand Skye!” Myah finally said. “These are his people seeking our aid, and both he and his father acted like we were bringing down the kingdom, starting with them.” She threw up her hands and shifted her weight off the table. “We all want an end to this war, to make that woman pay.”

  She paced to the window and peered through the glass. Master Griffith’s tower was the highest point of the castle—a place of honor, although not always the most convenient to get to. She could see for miles on a clear day from this window. The three tiers of the city, its streets running like spokes down the hillsides and its walls dividing the city into its six districts; the fields that led to the forest; the great river with its cascading falls; the mountains, capped year-round in white; and the shimmering blue-green magic of the wards protecting the kingdom miles in the distance—her beautiful, peaceful home.

  A warm hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned her head. She had not even heard her teacher come to her, but his face was as gentle as anyone blessed with a gift of healing. “Do not be so harsh. After all, you have never seen what Skye has seen. You have never been forced to flee your home under the cover of night, to listen to your people scream … to watch your sister die.”

  Myah closed her eyes, pondering his words. Skye’s sister, Gwen, had not made it to Nordlin, although Myah was not sure how she had perished. He never spoke of it, and Cal was equally tight-lipped.

  “But I have lost family. My aunt and uncle, my cousins, and their loss is like having a piece of my heart cleaved away, even though I did not witness their murders. And these refugees are Namirrians. Skye’s people.” Myah opened her eyes as she rested a hand on top of Griffith’s. “Where is their compassion? I just do not understand their anger.”

  “Fear.”

  “Fear?” Myah asked.

  “Yes, fear can take even the kindest person and make them hard. Fear whispers lies, turns hearts dark, makes humankind less that it should be. Perhaps Skye and his family are merely afraid that Nordlin will be next if your uncle opens the wards. Perhaps he fears reminder of what he and his family have lost.”

  She turned back to the window, watching over her beloved home. Snow dusted everything, leaving it white and splendid. He was right. She had never seen the fields razed by fire, homes burned, or people murdered. Even when she helped Owl, Skye and Cal had kept her on the fringes—covering them with her arrows and sheltering her from the worst of things—and they made sure she stayed safe. Always.

  More importantly, Myah understood fear and the powerlessness that came when she felt like she could do nothing. Fear had haunted her nightmares for years. She had just never let it control her decisions. It didn’t mean everyone had the power to overcome the obstacle, though.

  “How do you conquer fear, when it’s such a powerful motivator?”

  “Simple,” he said. “With practice. And with patience. And in time, like magic, you’ll have it mastered.”

  Myah let out a laugh and then clamped her mouth shut. Leave it to Griffith to bring it right back to the reason she was in his workspace.

  “So, I should get back to practicing my magic?”

  He dropped his chin. “Of course.” He stepped backward, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll teach you one of the techniques my masters taught me. It might help you in manifesting your magic outside your body without the stone.”

  Myah followed him back to the center of the room and sat down, legs crossed, in the middle of the rug. “You couldn’t have shown me this to begin with?”

  “It’s a mental trick,” he said, as he settled in front of her, and took her hands in his, holding her hands palm up. “Now, close your eyes, and imagine that your magic is water.”

  Myah closed her eyes and focused on the current of magic within her. She imagined it flowed like water.

  “Do you feel it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, coax it to your fingertips.”

  The current grew in her chest and then flowed down her arm until it nestled in her fingers. She could feel it—alive, joyful, eager to please. The feeling made her smile.

  “Do you have it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, keeping her mind focused on the energy amassing in her right hand.

  “Now, raise your hand, palm facing away from your body. Focus on the magic pouring from your fingers. Your fingers are the cliff, and your magic is the waterfall. Now, let it flow until it fills the space between us.”

  She did as he instructed. Inhaled, exhaled. On the exhale, she imagined the magic leaving her body, filling the space before them like flowing water. The energy drifted away from her body, but she still felt connected to it. It was her and she was it.

  “Good,” he said softly.

  She opened her eyes. A shimmering veil of pink and purple glimmered in the space between them. She laughed in her excitement. As the sound escaped her lips, the shield blinked. Her magic, once as fluid and alive as an ocean tide, rushed from her grasp. “Wait! No!” she cried, but it was too late. She had lost her hold on the current.

  The shield disappeared entirely, as though it had never existed.

  “Very good,” Master Griffith offered. His voice so even and calm it maddened her.

  “Good? I couldn’t hold it.” Her lips pressed into a frown. She would never be able to handle ward magic, not without a weaver stone.

  “Stop,” Master Griffith ordered. “I know that face. Whatever you are thinking, whatever negative words you are assailing yourself with—stop.”

  “You saw what happened,” she said.

  “Yes, you succeeded. It took your uncle years of practice without a weaver stone to be able to create a shield like that for even a few seconds. He can now create the strongest shields and wards in the four kingdoms, but he did not reach his mastery through self-doubt.” He arched one of his bushy eyebrows, the color as gray as his long hair. “That was a good first attempt. The next time, you will hold it longer. The time after that, even longer. You will learn to create wards when you are calm and at peace; you will learn to create them when you are afraid and despairing. And all of it will make your magic stronger.”

  Myah opened her mouth to speak, but she could not think of a response to counter his wisdom. Instead, she sighed, and said, “Again?”

  “Again.”

  Myah chased away her frustration with a deep breath, closed her eyes, and called her magic.

  Again and again.

  ~*~

  The sun dipped low in the sky when Myah finally descended the tower. Her footsteps shuffled off the spiral stone staircase. Years of use had worn down the stone in places, making the descent tricky, but not a hazard if she watched her footing. Her fingertips glided along the smooth stone, keeping her oriented in the stairwell.

  She was almost to the bottom, close to the tower exit to the main gardens, when a warm hand wrapped around her upper arm. She yelled as it yanked her into one of the storage rooms off the staircase, and a moment later, she found herself pressed against the plaster wall, her heart skittering in her chest and her breaths heavy. She caught the scent of pine, and then she was looking into the brown eyes of her assailant.

  Skye leaned over her, one hand supporting his weight on the wall by her head. A hint of a smile twisted the corner of his mouth, shaping fine lines in his cheek. “Please don’t be angry with me, My,” he whispered. The hand not supporting his weight gingerly smoothed the end of her braid hanging over her shoulder.

  The gentleness in his eyes softened her annoyance, but a part of her still wanted to make him squirm for that wretched display at council yesterday. “Why not?” she asked. “You were awful. Attacking my uncle, attacking me.”

  “It’s a bad idea. Opening the wards will invite trouble.”

  “Perhaps you can live with murder on your conscience, but I can’t.”

  “It wouldn’t be murder,” he countered.

  “It would be if we could do something to stop it and didn’t. I agree
with my uncle. You can’t dissuade me.”

  Skye leaned closer. Myah stiffened and bit her lip. He made it hard for her to think whenever he drew too near, his scent, his presence, his being filled the world around her. Her stomach flipped, making her breath hitch, at the same time she felt the thrumming of her heart in her ears. It was maddening when he did this to her, made it hard to think or voice a coherent thought.

  “Skye,” she whispered. Her tongue slid out, wetting her lips.

  His eyes darted to her mouth, then he leaned even closer, placing his lips a breadth away from her earlobe. “The logistics of your plan have too many maybes and no sure things.” He said the words directly into her ear. The warmth of his breath made gooseflesh pucker across her skin, and she shivered in delight. “Minimal resources, leaving the kingdom vulnerable, inadequate shelter for the refugees … Cal and I have seen battle—real battle.”

  Myah turned her face, brushing her cheek against his. His skin felt smooth against hers, and she realized then that the pine smell was from the soap the castle staff made. “Every raid we go on is a risk,” she countered directly in his ear, her lips brushed his earlobe, her breath on his skin. A smile twisted her lips when he shuddered. “As the heir, my presence jeopardizes Nordlin’s future. Yet, I go, because I must do something.”

  “My.” He said her name as if it were a kiss, something wholly otherworldly. It warmed her to the tips of her toes. “It’s one thing to steal food and supplies; it’s another thing to grant the Osten army access.” He pulled back just enough to look at her; his fingertips traced the curve of her ear.

  “Master Griffith will assist my uncle; we’re only bringing down a section of the ward. We’ve worked out all the variables, which you would know if you hadn’t stomped out of the council chambers.”

  Skye stood upright, pulling away from her entirely. The warmth of his body left only chill in its wake. He had been too close to allow her to think straight, and it was hard to be angry with him if she could not think.

  “I didn’t stomp,” he insisted.

  “Stomped, flew … pranced.” She practically sang the last word.

  “Pranced?” His blond eyebrows arched upward. “Now I prance?” He gestured to himself, placing a hand to his chest as if she had mortally wounded him.

  “Like a pampered, prized stallion indignant over not getting his choice of apples,” she shot.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” she insisted, trying to keep from laughing. A moment later, she was back against the wall, laughter bubbling out of her, and wrapped in Skye’s arms. His amusement slipped away as she quieted.

  “I was only trying to voice my concerns. The thought of something happening to Nordlin … to you …” Myah bit her lower lip as his voice trailed off.

  “All will be well, Skye. You will see. The Nordlin Guard will be on full alert, regiments will assist my uncle at the boundary in getting everyone through safely. And it’s not the first time my uncle has done this.”

  He brushed her hair back from her face. “I do trust you. It’s the Ostens that make me leery.”

  Myah leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Her fingers danced through the soft hair at the base of his neck, curling around her fingers as she spun them in small circles. For a moment, they shared a breath, and then she pulled away. “They make us all leery,” she said.

  His hand cupped her cheek, and he moved his thumb so that it traced her lips. “I wish we could hide here.”

  She puckered her lips to kiss his thumb. “We can’t?” It had been an age since they had been alone like this. Of course, there had been brief stolen kisses and gentle touches when no one was around or looking, but it had been a few months since he had held her like this.

  Skye shook his head. “No. Owl sent word. He’s received information on another supply shipment.” He stepped backward, leaving her cold in his absence. “He wants to see us as soon as possible.”

  “Duty calls, I suppose,” she said with a sigh. She extended one arm, gesturing toward the door. “You better go first. I’ll follow and meet you in the stables.”

  He chuckled. “Sure. Would not want to shock the entire court by being caught in a closet with you. What would your mother say?”

  “She’d recommend dismemberment,” she teased.

  “Ouch. A little harsh for kissing you.”

  “Harsh, but not unfitting.” She winked. “All joking aside, Skye, you know she already has a hard time that my uncle allows us to go hunting together—unsupervised. I’m fairly certain she would prefer I never spoke to a man until I’m married, and she’s already annoyed by all the gossip about us.”

  “She worries for you. Any good mother would. You should appreciate that.”

  “I do.” She and Caitlyn did not often agree, but of one thing Myah was certain. Her mother loved her immeasurably. She shooed him with her hand. “Go. I’ll see you soon.”

  Skye kissed her cheek before he slipped out of the closet. Myah waited until she heard the echo of his boots on the stone disappear entirely before she ventured out. She would have to change for riding if they were going to the caves, and while she was doing that, she would have to think of an excuse to give her mother.

  Hunting again, no doubt.

  ~SIX~

  When they reached the caves at dusk, not a soul within was still. Myah, Skye, and Cal dodged groups of men as they searched for Owl in the low light of the fires and oil lamps.

  “There,” Skye said, pointing off to the right of the main cavern.

  Both Owl and Allen kneeled on the rock, and Owl scratched with a stick in the dirt. The soft murmur of their voices mixed was like a trickle of water above the noise of voices and movement around them.

  It was not until they came up behind Allen that Myah caught a glimpse of the series of swirls and Xs Owl had marked in the dirt.

  “Oh, good. Good.” Owl waved them to his side. “I’m glad you’re here. We don’t have much time.”

  Myah took the position between Owl and Allen, forming an obtuse triangle with their positions. Her friends hovered behind, peering over her shoulder. Allen moved the lamp higher, expanding the sphere of yellow-orange light.

  “Skye said you had a lead on some supplies.” Myah brushed the edge of her cloak behind her back from where it had fallen as she leaned forward, trying to decipher the crude sketch Owl had crafted.

  “Not just any lead,” Owl said. His eyes appeared abnormally large behind his glasses, but she could see the excited glint. The energy came off him in infectious waves, making her smile. “This one is big.”

  “How big?” Skye asked.

  She peered over her shoulder. Skye’s face was a mix of shadows and muted light from the fires, which darkened his blond hair to a warm gold. The set of his jaw belied his focus, how serious he took this. She turned back to Owl.

  “It’s the supply shipment that serves the Osten army,” Allen’s deep voice rumbled.

  Cal whistled from behind her. His fingers lightly squeezed her shoulder, pulling her attention to him. When she glanced back at him, he said, “That’s a lot of Ostens to punch,” just loud enough for her to hear, and then, he winked at her.

  Myah covered her mouth, stifling a giggle, and shook her head. She cut him a look to save the jokes, but he shrugged with a slight toss of his head.

  “How many soldiers?” Skye asked. If he heard Cal’s attempt at humor, he ignored it completely.

  “Don’t have an exact count,” Owl said. “However, if we time everything right, we should be able to take the entire haul without too much hassle.”

  “What’s the plan?” Myah asked. She leaned forward more, her long, red braid falling over her shoulder, swinging like a pendulum over the drawing. One of the lines almost looked like a section of the river that formed part of the borders of Ost, Nordlin, and Namir. She turned her head, changing the orientation of the drawing within her view. It could be any number of places along the border, she realized, depend
ing on how she viewed Owl’s map.

  Owl poked his stick in the dirt and drew another X. “The refugees from Namir are gathering here, at the Namirrian border with Nordlin.” The tip of the stick drew arrows. “My last reports on the Osten army have them moving in an arc from the south, northwest, like this, to trap the refugees between it and the Nordlin wards.”

  Of course, she thought. Her uncle had shown her a similar map of troop movement four days before when she returned from their last venture into Ost. “They won’t be trapped, though,” Myah offered. “My uncle is dropping the wards to let in the Namirrians.”

  “Oh?” Owl’s gaze shot to Myah.

  She should not have said anything. Outside of council and the heads of the guard, they had opted to keep the plan and its timing as quiet as possible. Just because the Ostens could not cross the borders at will, it did not mean that information, by bird, by magic, or by someone leaving Nordlin, could not be sent back to the Osten queen. They did not need Ostens slipping in disguised as refugees. “The plan was to do it tomorrow at noon. He’s watching the troop movement closely right now so that we get everyone through and get the ward up again before the army arrives.”

  “We might be able to use that to our advantage,” Owl continued. “My source says the supply convoy is following the river road to the east.” He drew a line parallel to the Nordlin border—the river. “They are heading west and will meet up with the army here.” He jabbed the stick at his first X that marked where the refugees were gathering.

  Cal scooted around Myah, keeping his hand on her to steady himself. He pointed at lines in the dirt. “We can take them along the river road here,” Cal suggested. “Us on one side, the river on the other. There are sections of high ground that will allow us to watch them, without them seeing us. They’d be trapped if our men flanked them.”

  “That was my thought, but I have a better place to ambush them,” Owl countered.