For the Wolf

by Hannah Whitten

  “Fife.” Lyra’s tone was warning, though worry lived in the downward curve of her mouth. Her eyes flickered to Red’s. “I can take you as far as the border. Make sure you don’t get lost.”

  “Give me a moment.” Red hurried up the stairs. “I forgot something.”

  When she reached their room, Red was out of breath. Her bridal cloak spread across the floor where she’d slept beneath it, the same colors as the fire in the grate. The embroidery glinted as she picked it up.

  A pen lay on the desk, next to a haphazard stack of papers and books in languages she couldn’t read. She tested the sharp end with her finger before dipping it in the inkwell.

  Three days, she scrawled. And then I want the bed back.

  Eammon’s eyes slipped cursorily over the cloak when she came back down the stairs, settling on her face. He said nothing. Red pressed her lips together, hitched her bag on her shoulder.

  Lyra glanced quickly between them before turning to the door. “At the gate, when you’re ready.”

  Fife’s mouth opened, but he closed it on silence. Lifting one hand in an awkward wave, he passed through the broken arch into the dining room.

  Then she and the Wolf were alone.

  Eammon was silent. He still half believed this would be forever— she could see it in the way his hands tightened on his arms, the work of his swallowing throat.

  So many words caught between them, and goodbye was the only one he would say.

  She didn’t let him. “Three days.” Red turned, pulled up her scarlet hood, and slipped through the door, leaving the Wolf in the shadows.

  The tor glinted on Lyra’s back like a sickle moon. She wove deftly through the Wilderwood, Red following close behind.

  They walked a few minutes in silence before Red heard it. A slight but unmistakable boom, reverberating through the forest.

  Another breach, opening.

  “Shit.” Lyra unsheathed her tor, pulled a vial of blood from the bag at her waist with a practiced motion. “We’ll keep moving, but keep a close eye on the ground.”

  Red nodded, hands curled to claws. The thread of magic in her chest spiraled, ready for use.

  They crept forward. Finally, the dark edge of a hole where a sentinel should have been stretched from a pool of fog.

  At the edge of the pit, a tiny cyclone of leaves and twigs swirled. Lyra unstoppered the vial of blood and poured it out over the twisting column. With a whine, it broke apart, leaves fluttering to the ground only slightly touched with shadow on the edges.

  “Got to it quick enough.” But she still didn’t sheath her tor. “Eammon will have to—”

  The next one cobbled itself together quickly, like it’d learned a lesson from its slow-moving counterpart. A whirl of dead twigs and leaves and pulled-up bones, not bothering to make a humanoid shape, bursting up from the ground and hurtling toward them.

  They both acted on instinct. Red curled her fingers, pulling at magic, sending vines whipping out from the underbrush. They passed through the half-formed shadow-creature enough to break it apart, slow it down, but it hurled itself back together in their wake.

  Lyra was ready. Another unstoppered vial, poured along the edge of her blade in a graceful arc, then she launched herself at the shadow-creature.

  The curved shine of the tor bit through the dim light, spinning blood and sap. The sword was an extension of Lyra herself, the curve of it like a dancer’s arm as she twirled in the gloom. Red’s vines kept whipping through the thing, breaking it into pieces, and Lyra went after each bit, slicing with her bloodied blade so the parts that made it fell uselessly to the forest floor. It took only seconds, then the shadow-creature was gone, nothing but a mess of rotting, dark-touched detritus on the ground.

  They both stood still for a moment, breathing hard. Red straightened her hands, and vines slithered back into the underbrush. She swallowed the taste of dirt as her veins ran from green to blue again. It was the most successful wielding of Wilderwood magic she’d managed since helping Eammon fight off the worm-like beast on the way back from the Edge, but it didn’t feel like much of an accomplishment. They couldn’t close the breach, and as long as it stayed open, any victory was temporary.

  A moment of silence, both of them waiting to see if the breach would birth something else. Then Lyra sheathed her tor, not bothering to wipe it clean. “This breach is small. The shadow-creature won’t have time to reanimate before Eammon can get to it. Hopefully.” She turned, heading back through the forest again. “I would bloody it up, but I don’t want to waste what I have. It wouldn’t make a difference, anyway.”

  Red lingered a moment longer, staring at the pit of shadow, dark and rotten on the ground. Cursing softly, she spun to follow Lyra.

  The trees thinned as they grew closer to the border. Thick fog served almost as a wall between the Wilderwood and the outside world, but shards of a blue sky shone through the haze. Valleyda, close enough to touch, and the only emotions Red felt were apprehension and preemptive homesickness.

  Too soon, they’d reached the tree line. “Three days,” Red announced, just as she’d told Eammon, like the Wilderwood could hear her and mark the time as well as he could. “This shouldn’t take longer than three days. Then I’ll be back.”

  The snatches of sunlight between the branches caught copper strands in Lyra’s tight-coiled hair as she nodded. “Three days.” She headed back into the fog, back toward the Keep. Back toward home.

  “Look after him,” Red murmured. “Please.”

  “Always have.” Lyra looked over her shoulder, dark eyes honeyed in the dim. “Remember what I said.”

  Red nodded. Forest magic bloomed in her chest, waiting.

  When Lyra was gone, Red faced the trees she’d slipped through on her twentieth birthday. With a deep breath, she slipped through again.

  Daylight was a physical weight on her shoulders, a knife-shine in her eyes. For a moment she stood there, blinking, a woman in crimson on the edge of the world. Autumn painted the sky a crisp blue, and she caught the scent of bonfire smoke on the wind.

  Behind her, a murmur. Red turned, peering into the shadows of the Wilderwood as it whispered in its strange language of leaf and thorn.

  We will wait for your choice.

  A branch broke away from a trunk, dried and desiccated as it tumbled to the forest floor. A thicket of small bushes withered, curled in like a dying beetle.

  But we’ll have him, if we must.

  Her jaw clenched against the rattle of the words in her bones, the sharp-splinter piece of the Wilderwood’s power she carried speaking into her hollow places. “Fuck you,” she muttered.

  The Wilderwood didn’t respond.

  She hurried down the grassy slope, toward the road and the village beyond. Her lungs buzzed, like the air outside the forest was different from what she’d been breathing, and it made her head too light.

  When Red reached the road, she stopped, squinting. A tall, spindly structure stood at the edge of the village, just close enough to make out. A guard tower.

  Red allowed herself only a moment to puzzle over it, mind overtaken by practical concerns. It was half a day’s ride by carriage to the capital, and she didn’t have money for a horse. Walking would—

  A high, sharp whistle interrupted her thoughts, loud enough to make her wince. Distant shouts rang around the hills, a sound like thundering hoofbeats. A cloud of dust rose near the guard tower.

  Panic dropped her stomach, but it was momentary. The tower must be watching the Wilderwood— there was nothing else to see in this direction. Which meant they’d seen her, which made it pointless to hide.

  Instead Red stood at the turn of the road, chin tilted upward, scarlet cloak on her shoulders. She didn’t cringe away when the band of riders reached her, out of breath, swords drawn.

  One of them pointed his blade in her direction, over bright in daylight she wasn’t used to.

  Red raised her hands in a posture of surrender. “I understand you
r alarm, but—”

  “Don’t come any closer.” The blade shivered, broadcasting his shudder.

  “Hold.” Another guard, with the silver stripe of a commander across his shoulder, held up his hand. He leaned forward, frowning at Red’s face. “I know you.”

  “You should.”

  His gaze followed the folds of her cloak, then widened. “Second Daughter.”

  She wasn’t in a position to be particular. Still, Red’s lips lifted, teeth glinting in unfamiliar sunlight.

  “Lady Wolf,” she corrected.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  S he didn’t protest when they tightened cuffs around her wrists. Red schooled her face into calm as the guards clustered, murmuring, casting worried glances her way.

  “It looks human.”

  “Of course it does. If you think that thing is the Second Daughter, or whatever it called itself, you’re a fool. The Second Daughter is long dead. The Wilderwood holds nothing but monsters.”

  A scoff. “You believe those stories?”

  The first guard jerked a thumb at Red. “I do now.”

  “Calm yourself, Coleman. You sound like a maid at a Harvest campfire.” The commander was roughly handsome, with broad cheekbones and a coppery beard. He stood between Red and the rest of the soldiers, eyeing her contemplatively. “The Queen did warn us to watch for her.”

  “The Queen, Noruscan? She’s half mad—”

  The leader— Noruscan— caught the speaker across the mouth with the back of his hand, the movement nearly nonchalant. “That’s quite enough.”

  The other man made a surprised noise as blood trickled from his lip. He shot a venomous glance at Red, as if it was her fault.

  Noruscan looked her curiously up and down, like she was a statue. A relic. Red’s stomach sank at that look, the sting of it doubled after so long without.

  The commander’s gaze turned to the Wilderwood behind them, tall and dark, and the sight of it seemed to settle some internal debate. “We’ll take her to the High Priestess.”

  Red’s brows pulled together. The Neve she knew— the one she’d seen in the mirror, desperate for her return— would want her sister sent straight to her. “Are those your orders, Noruscan?”

  The use of his name made the commander recoil, stepping closer to the clustered soldiers.

  “Don’t talk to it, man,” the guard with the still-bleeding lip and shaky sword-arm cautioned.

  The captain peered at her, assessing her threat, then grabbed her arm. Shackles pinched into her skin, but Red didn’t fight. The last thing she needed was to inspire that shaky guard to a moment of bravery.

  “You’ll ride with me.” Noruscan pulled her over to his horse. Before boosting her into the saddle, he reached for the ties of her cloak.

  Red twisted from his grip, instinct moving her more than thought. “No.”

  “How do you think the capital will react, if you are who you claim?” His face was stern lines, his eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite fear, but skirted close to it. “They sent you to a monster, and the monster gave you back. How will that look, Second Daughter?”

  Her pulse thrummed steady against her shackles. As much as it set her teeth on edge, he was right. She couldn’t afford to broadcast her presence to the whole kingdom, and the scarlet bridal cloak would draw undue attention. “Will you return it?”

  A moment of hesitation, his ruddy brows low. But he nodded.

  Red slipped the heavy fabric from her shoulders, swallowing hard. When Noruscan settled behind her in the saddle, he placed the cloak almost gently in her lap. She twisted her fingers in it as they galloped away.

  Two hours’ hard riding, and the gates of the capital shone on the horizon.

  “Hide that,” Noruscan said as he sawed on the reins, turning the horse toward the gates. He tapped a fist on her bridal cloak.

  His tone held warning. Hide it or we’ll take it from you. Red balled the cloak in her hands as well as she could, tucking the embroidery on the underside.

  When they reached the guard tower, Noruscan rode close, pulling up Red’s shackles so they caught the sun. “Thief from the outer villages,” he barked.

  The lie made her lips twist, but Red stayed silent. Cooperation seemed her best option here, the surest way to get to Neve.

  The guard waved a lazy hand, and the gates opened.

  Noruscan’s horse cantered toward the palace. As soon as they crossed into the courtyard, he dismounted, helped her down cautiously. One of his hands brushed the bare skin of her arm, and he pulled back quickly, like her touch might burn.

  They were terrified of her. Once, that might’ve hollowed her out, but now Red just wondered how she could use it. Hands still shackled, she shook out her cloak, clumsily fastening it around her neck.

  The battalion marched her into the Temple, flanking either side, hands on their blades and eyes pointed away. They entered the hallway that led from the palace gardens, all marble and glass, but stopped at a simple wooden door instead of going all the way to the amphitheater. Noruscan waved a hand to dismiss the others, but he followed Red inside, closing the door behind them.

  The far wall was a window, looking out on the gardens and letting in bright, airy light. A lone priestess sat at a desk beside it. She stood slowly, folding her hands into her sleeves. Dust motes like light shards twisted lazily around her red hair.

  A new High Priestess, then. Red frowned. It shouldn’t have been a surprise— the other had been getting up in years. But a new High Priestess coupled with what she’d seen in the mirror made her hackles rise.

  The Shrine. Whatever they were doing, it was in the Shrine. “Your Holiness.” Noruscan bowed. Red stayed upright. “She claims to be the Second Daughter.”

  Calculating blue eyes flickered over Red. “Does she, now?”

  “She came from the Wilderwood,” Noruscan said quickly. “But she hasn’t shown any signs of . . . of abnormality.”

  Red straightened her shoulders, trying to make eye contact, but the bright light of the window left the High Priestess’s face in shadow. “How would you like me to prove it to you, Your Holiness?” Then, because subtlety was something she’d never been good at, “If you’ll take me to the Shrine, to pray and pay my respects, I’m sure I could answer any questions you have.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself.” The priestess moved into the light, hands held loosely by her sides. A strange pendant lay against her breast, a piece of white wood touched with threads of darkness. Red’s eyes narrowed at it.

  The priestess noticed. Long-fingered white hands picked up the bark shard, dangled it in the shaft of sunlight. “Familiar, I’m sure. Twisted up in you like rot in a corpse.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” But the splinter of magic in her, the shard of the Wilderwood, twined and bloomed around her bones.

  The High Priestess— Kiri, Red remembered now, the name she’d heard Neve say in the mirror— flicked the corner of a cold smile, letting the pendant drop back against her chest. Slowly, she approached, close enough that Red had to fight the urge to step back. The priestess’s gaze was searching, like if she looked hard enough she could see into Red, into the hollow places between her organs.

  “You arrival might derail us,” she said, nearly speaking to herself. “But perhaps you’ll be a useful pawn.”

  Red’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion eclipsing the manufactured kind. “I don’t understand—”

  But before she could finish, Kiri’s hands shot up, crooking into tortured shapes, and icy cold slammed into Red’s body.

  Red’s own hands rose, like the invasion was something she could fight off, but all the power she’d learned to control was nowhere to be found. Whatever the High Priestess was doing, lacing ice through her veins, seemed to make her own power wither and hide, canceled out. It felt like being crushed, ground under some cold heel— the Wilderwood’s magic, taken and inverted, crawling through her as if searching for something.

  It
made a twisted sort of sense. Freeing Red would’ve been cause enough for Neve to weaken the forest, but not the Order. They had to have more of a reason, more of a reward.

  This cold, awful magic must be it.

  When the icy onslaught was done, Red was on her knees. She didn’t remember falling. Breath rattled in her lungs, and her throat felt thorned with frost. Blood dripped from her nose to pool on the marble.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Noruscan flinch.

  The veins on the High Priestess’s wrist were ink-dark, wet with crystals of melting frost. One long finger dipped into the blood on the floor, brought it to the light.

  “Scarlet,” the priestess whispered. “Only scarlet.” Sunlight flashed off bared teeth. She looked to the commander. “Leave us.”

  Noruscan slid his gaze between them, almost regretful, before turning toward the door. It closed with a sound like a sepulcher.

  When Red wiped her mouth, her hand was shaking. “I just want to see Neve.” The tremble in her voice wasn’t artifice. She felt like she’d been turned inside out, every secret thing beneath her skin bared to terrible light. “Just take me to the Shrine, and let me see Neve.”

  She had to see what was in the Shrine. She had to see what Neve had done, and figure out how to fix it.

  Especially if it birthed this power, this twisted darkness that made her weak, made the Wilderwood in her recoil. What would it do to Eammon, if it did this to her?

  Kiri eyed the blood on her finger. “You’ll see the Queen when I deem it safe.” She stood, wiping a red streak on her white robe. “There’s something there, some remnant of the forest’s binding. You’re just hiding it. Rest assured it will be found.”

  “I don’t understand.” Red sat back on her heels. “I’m here. You weakened the Wilderwood for me. Isn’t this what you were working toward?”

  “Stupid girl. This is so much bigger than you and your foolish sister.” The High Priestess circled like a carrion bird. “You’ve served one purpose. Perhaps you’ll serve another. It’s not for me to decide.”

  Red swallowed. Neve and Kiri had two different perspectives on what was happening here, she was sure of it. Their methods might align, but their objectives didn’t. At least, not completely.