Queen Snow White leaned against the back of her chair with a sigh as she felt the guilt deep within her son’s last sentence. “You’re right. She could have completely changed the tide of this war. I let her go, but I do not regret my decision.”
Sampson scoffed. “I don’t care if you regret your decision!” He pulled himself away from his mother, trying to regain any shred of his feeble composure.
“You may not regret your decision,” he stated carefully. “But I regret mine. I regret not standing against you. I regret that I willingly played along with what you said just so neither of us would look bad. I regret that I helped you ban her from remaining within our kingdom.”
Snow White considered her son carefully, her chin coming to rest in her hands as she looked up at him. She sighed, leaning against her high-backed chair. “What is it that you are trying to get me to do?” she asked quietly.
Prince Sampson’s eyes lit up as he saw his mother truly consider what he was saying. He never expected to get that far. He honestly thought that his mother was going to force the guards to drag him out of her office—kicking and screaming the whole way.
“Make an executive order saying that she escaped from our guards… Bring her back.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“You’re the queen. Make it easy!”
“As king, you will learn that there are almost no decisions that you can reverse,” Snow White scolded. She rose from her chair, her hard stare boring into her son. “It is already too late to reverse my decision. And that is final.”
“You’re just going to let her wander through Cathal?” Sampson countered. He dropped his head, his eyes growing dark as he remembered what Red had done to the six city guards. “You’re just going to let her create more chaos? Take more innocent lives? How do you even know that she’s gone?”
“I don’t,” Queen Snow White conceded. She looked at her son, at the desperation in his eyes. The queen rubbed at her temples, trying to work the early morning ache out of them so she could focus more clearly. “She could still be running rampant through Peragon’s streets for all we know. But I know that she heard my message. She’d be a fool to remain in our kingdom.”
Sampson rubbed his own temples, the motion so similar to the queen’s that Snow White realized how much he had inherited from her instead of the late King Ashton.
“What could you have possibly said to force her to stay away from Airaldan?” Sampson inquired. Doubt leaked from his voice with every added question.
“I accidentally acquired a life debt many years ago,” Snow White admitted bashfully. “I was young and naive, and this was the only opportunity for me to repay that debt. She was the only thing...”
“She was the only thing you could use as payment,” Prince Sampson finished, his disappointed eyes raising to reach his mother’s sad stare.
Queen Snow White swallowed hard, her head nodding in agreement.
Prince Sampson crossed his arms over his chest, still not happy with the situation, but realizing that there was not much left for him to argue with. Sampson closed his eyes, but he directed another question toward his mother. “There's really nothing we can do? What are we going to do when it's discovered that we put the wrong person to death?”
Snow White stepped out from behind her desk, gracefully gliding over the polished floors until she stood before her son. She tenderly reached out to touch her son’s cheek, gently lifting his face until his sorrowful eyes met hers.
"We will get ahead of the rumors and make a royal proclamation that we caught an imposter, and we will warn our people to remain vigilant. But Red Riding Hood has taken her place in this world,” Queen Snow White stated quietly. She let her hand fall away as Sampson tore his eyes away from her steady gaze. “She has chosen her path”—the queen looked out toward the windows, toward the rest of her kingdom beyond her view—“and I pray to the Maker that she does not return.”
Chapter 8
Red choked. Vomiting up silty water, she dragged herself onto dryer land. She had been swept miles away by the Pricker River’s rushing current—her limp body pushed along in one great stroke. Sparks of lightning danced across her vision, her ears ringing as she tried to gulp air into her lungs before sputtering and coughing up more water.
That morsel of dark magic must have been on her side for once; for Red could not comprehend how she had survived the surge of the Pricker River, tossed around helplessly with floating debris.
She had been betrayed. Left for dead in the only place that would never give up her body. Red was furious.
Her head pounded with her anger as she dragged herself further from the river’s water still soaking into her boots. Every time she retched up more water, Red’s vision crackled around the edges with hot rage.
As her body finally emptied itself of any remaining water, Red managed to push her legs underneath her. The world swayed, the images around her going foggy before she slammed her hands onto the ground, steadying herself. Her muscles shuddered as she put in all of her energy to raise her head to sneak a look at her unfamiliar surroundings.
Red knew that she was no longer located in the vast farmlands of Airaldan. But the trees did not belong to Britton’s endless oak forests. She turned back toward the north, hoping to find a river outpost, but all she could see were thousands of small streams flowing into a delta of black soil.
Red looked down at the sand, the consistency of soot, clinging to her soaked clothes. She reached out, surprised to find that even the dirt she sat on was dry to the touch. She sprinkled the ashy sand over an outstretched hand, marveling at how it slowly floated in the air before coming to rest on her palm.
When she was no longer amazed with the peculiar earth, Red looked around the rest of the small clearing. Trees of the darkest obsidian stretched out in every direction. Leafless branches reached upwards in vain, for there was no sun to stimulate any life within them.
Every inch of ground not covered by trees or sharp rocks was shrouded in pewter fog. The mist floated through the air like the sand Red had picked up.
Slowly. As if it were suspended there, trapped forever.
Adrenaline coursed through Red’s body. She forced herself to stand, the ground wobbling beneath her. Her feet shuffled across the dirt, scattering the dry, dead sand into the stream.
She reached for a tree. Her body slammed into the dark trunk, labored breaths catching in her throat. When she swiped a hand over her sweating brow, Red was horrified to see the same ashy coating from the beach coming off of the trunk to stain her fingers again.
“The Forbidden Wastes,” Red breathed out. She fumbled with the ties on her belt to unlatch her knives, her hands grappling for the slick handles. She did not know whether to remain where she was or to circle the clearing she had ended up in.
Red wished she was back in the Pricker River—drowning peacefully with hopes that the Destroyer would whisk her away into the afterlife with the Maker.
The cursed forest smelled of death. The winds promised just that as they swept by, stirring up Red’s damp hair. Fear floated along those winds. There was no sign of life, but anything could be lurking beyond the shadows.
Red swore that she could hear the growls of the creatures that were kept within the tree-like bars of their prison. She could feel the eyes of countless evil beings boring into her. Even Red could smell her own fear as she just stood there—a helpless doe daring her hunter to strike.
Avoiding the evil that lurked within the Forbidden Wastes was considered an act of basic common sense among Cathal’s vastly different citizens. Hiking through the deadly woods was an act of insanity. Those who did make their way through the depths of evil never returned the same as when they ventured in.
No good soul roamed willingly into the cursed lands, and no bad soul looked to venture in more than once.
As Red drew back to the river, she remembered more horror stories from gaudy taverns along with the bedtime stories meant to keep ch
ildren out of trouble. She prayed that most of those stories were falsified and dramatized. But just by looking into the damned forest, Red realized that most of those tales were at least partially true.
Red sent up prayer after measly prayer to the Maker as she stumbled toward the delta. She would do anything just to be in the safety of the nearest kingdom’s slums.
She even bargained with the Destroyer. Promising that she would not complain while she rotted away in his dark realm for eternity if he would just strike her down.
Whispers rang through the clearing, bouncing off the trees, shaking branches as they wove their way to Red’s ears. Every sound was a threat, but Red could not find their true location. Her heart raced. Every step sent new bursts of fear through her body. She could feel the creatures moving in on her, ready to fight each other over their easy meal.
“Show yourself,” Red stated loudly, sending her words across the open clearing. The nearest tree shook from the echo of her own voice, startling Red.
There was no breath, not even a whisper of sound, as the quiet settled over the clearing again.
Red tugged at the ties around her waist, her hand falling short as she tried to reach for Alpha, the sword still tucked into her pack. Her eyes strained to see into the surrounding shadows. Her legs trembled as she carefully made her way toward the edges of the Pricker River. Her magic bucked and pulled within her veins, trying to reach toward the ever-growing darkness.
Red would not go down without a fight. She just hoped that she would be able to hold out against whatever lurked within the forest.
“Such bold words coming from such a small being,” a beastly voice laughed in the shadows. The voice grumbled through the trees, the dead wood trembling the echo and power of the speaker.
Gooseflesh ran across every inch of Red’s body. A cold sweat soaked into her damp skin as her panic at what lay beyond resurfaced. Trying to build up her bravery, Red challenged, “Who are you to speak about boldness when you hide behind trees and rocks?”
An answering growl rang through the trees, echoing off every shrub and bush, distorting into a truly fearsome roar. Silence fell over the forest as every creature held their breath for what was about to ensue.
The thump of large feet shook the branches of the trees surrounding Red. Dirt scattered across the ground at every vibration that brought the creator of the growl closer. Creatures fled in every direction, the weak trying to avoid the crushing weight of feet, the strong struggling to stay out of sight from the larger predator.
Red held her ground, heart racing as she slid her feet into a ready crouch. Her right hand gripped both daggers as her left tried to reach around toward Alpha’s handle. Her clammy hand slid across the cool metal, her fingers stretching out to grasp as much of the handle as she could manage without taking her pack off.
If she had to run, Red wanted every supply still with her, because the only place she could go was into the cursed woods.
When her hand finally managed to slide the sword from its sheath, a hideous troll stepped out of the tree line. Red’s arm stuck in place as she took in her opponent, a creature three times her size even with his hunched back.
The troll’s warty, gray skin was clothed in poisonous moss, his skin dyed green where the plant rested. A bulbous nose protruded from his ugly face, permanently set in a frown. Broken, decaying teeth stuck out of the troll’s underbite. Each dagger-sharp tooth dripped with yellow saliva, the drool rolling down the troll’s chin. Gnarled hands grasped a tree trunk, the thick roots coated with the same moss that fell across the creature’s broad shoulders.
The troll stopped before Red, licking his cracked lips as he looked her over with twitching, yellow eyes. The stench of rotting sulfur washed over Red, making her head ache and stomach turn again. She turned her focus on the flies that circled the troll’s head like a crown, trying to think of anything to distract from the stench.
Before she could try to make amends with her much more powerful opponent, the troll bellowed, “I am Mulgan, leader of the Oxoid trolls. Who are you to trespass on my territory?”
“I am Red Riding Hood, assassin for the Kingdom Rogues.”
“The Kingdom Rogues have no place in this forest,” Mulgan barked. He pounded his club into his gnarled fist. The boom echoed off the trees. Mulgan then pointed that deadly club at Red. “You have no place in this forest.”
“I was unaware that these were your lands,” Red stated, holding her breath as she tried not to gag. “I have never traveled through here before. How was I to know what ground belongs to whom? I am not at fault for being here with the fact that”—she waved her hands toward the forest behind Mulgan—“there are no signs that indicate that I am trespassing through your borders.”
“Signs or no, you are still an intruder, and you will be punished as such,” Mulgan thundered. The trees behind him shook from his yells, and Red was once again faced with a churning stomach that would not easily be put to rest.
Red’s arm began to tingle from remaining in her awkward reaching position for so long, but her hands managed to grasp Alpha, pulling the sword free as she readied herself to fight.
A chorus of howls sounded through the trees, and pairs of glowing green and yellow eyes appeared within the shadows. The creatures looked between Red and the shadows, their curious gazes no longer focused on her and Mulgan, who backed away from the open clearing. More howls echoed through the woods, sending crows scattering from the trees.
“How did you come by that blade, girl?” a new voice questioned from the tree line, a pair of glowing eyes the only indication that someone was there. The newcomer sniffed and panted in their concealing shadow, but the eyes never strayed from Red.
“Who are you?” Red demanded. Placing her daggers back on her belt, she angled her sword toward the forest. A laugh sounded from the tree line, but when she tried to focus on where the sound came from, Red found that the glowing eyes were no longer hidden in the shadows.
A wet breath snaked its way down the back of her neck, the heavy air hot against her clammy skin. Red willed herself still as she watched Mulgan make a full retreat into the safety of the shadows, terror lining the troll’s ugly features.
“You are wise for not attacking me,” the man’s voice purred behind Red. Growls of agreement sounded. The glowing eyes spread throughout the shadows narrowed as they focused on Red and what she assumed to be their leader behind her.
“Wh-who are you?” Red repeated, a tremble making its way through her body. She closed her eyes as she felt the large man behind her move. Red could not hear a single step. Not even a single speck of dirt rustled under her captor’s steady feet. The only telling sign that her captor was about to show himself was through the breath against her cheek and the tickle of thick hair against the tip of her ears.
When the heavy breath stopped before her, Red opened her eyes, nose to nose with her new target. Red shuffled back, surprised by the lie that her senses had told her and the proximity of the glowing eyes that bore into her own.
“I am Canis, the alpha male of the Phantom Wolf Pack,” the magnificent werewolf stated, finally answering Red’s burning, yet unasked, question.
Chartreuse eyes stood out against the wolf’s sleek raven black fur. His size was comparable to that of the great polar bears roaming throughout Weznik’s frozen tundra. Thick muscles rippled under his coat as he moved to make up the distance that Red had created between them. Canis opened his large snout in a doggish smile, revealing deadly canines larger than Red’s hands.
With the space between them reduced, Red once again receded from the alpha male. She could feel the splash of the Pricker River as she stepped into one of the delta’s many streams, but she ignored the urge to look down. Her hands gripped the handle of her sword, her muscles aching as they were willed into stilled submission.
“If you are planning on eating me can you make it fast?” Red quipped. Her feet took another step away from the wolf, but his paws were alread
y taking a step forward as she tried to keep them apart.
Canis let out a low chuckle. “If I was planning to eat you, Red Riding Hood, you would have already been eaten.”
“Then why are you here?” Red barked.
“Your sword.”
“My sword?”
Canis nodded, shifting his gaze toward Red’s hands as they gripped her sword’s handle tighter. “If I am not mistaken, the blade is called ‘Alpha’.”
Canis’s gaze parted once again to peer at Red, his eyes sparkling as she gave a small nod of confirmation. “The Alpha was created by the ancestors of my pack centuries ago. The blade was forged with a string from the first werewolf’s heart at its center. With the werewolf heartstring in the blade, we are called toward the wielder by the scent that it gives off. A scent only detectable by werewolves.
“Alpha can never be broken, and no rust or damage will come to it. Nothing compares to its craftsmanship. And it is one of a kind.”
“If you are called to its scent”—Red sniffed the air as if she were trying to detect the smell coming from her sword—“then what happens when you find the wielder?” Red questioned, praying that the answer would not result in her inevitable destruction.
Canis tipped his head to the side in a puppy-like manner before plainly stating, “Werewolf legend states that if a man wields the Alpha, the pack that finds him can do whatever they want. We can eat him, leave him be, it all depends. It is quite rare that a man wields this blade, however. The sizing suits very few of their large hands. If a woman wields this blade, however, we are forbidden to cause her harm. It has also been told that some wolf packs have helped the woman that wielded said blade.”
At his last words, Canis blinked at Red as if he was as surprised by the old legends as she was.
“Why are you not allowed to harm the woman?” Red inquired.
Cloak of Darkness (The Destroyer-Blessed Saga Book 1) Page 12