by Jessi Gage
He looked around for something, anything, he might use to defend himself. There were tools by the fireplace, but he didn’t think he could get his damaged body to them quickly enough.
He was out of time. A great white wolf emerged into the cavern, rear end jerking and front half lowered as if dragging something. When it came fully into the light, the wolf’s cargo was revealed as a limp deer carcass.
Oh, no! Nenna had gone that way to help Vera bring in the meat. This wolf must have overtaken them.
“Nenna!” he cried, launching himself off the bench and toward the fireplace tools. His whole body ached, but he forced himself to grab up a heavy shovel for ashes. Spinning around, he brandished it at the wolf. “Back!”
He had to get past the thing to search for Nenna.
The wolf had dragged the doe to the middle of the room, where a stony depression in the floor bore claw marks. The carcass lay in the bowl-like depression. The wolf stood over it, but it wasn’t falling on the fresh meat. Instead, it cocked its head at Travis, ears pricked in an expression of curiosity.
Travis didn’t feel threatened by the wolf and suddenly felt silly for aiming a shovel at it.
Hoping his instinct was right and the wolf meant him no harm, he edged around it, careful not to make any sudden movements. When he got to the tunnel, he turned to run and find Nenna. Instead, he ran into a solid wall of russet fur. Another wolf!
He fell back on his bottom. Pain shot up his bruised back, and he cried out.
Suddenly, the white wolf was at his side, licking his face. No, wait. It wasn’t the wolf. It was— “Nenna?” He blinked up at her worried face, which was exactly where the wolf’s enormous head had been a moment ago.
“Travis, are you all right? Braeden! You need to be more careful! You nearly ran over our guest.” She slipped her arms into the holes of the loose-fitting tunic she’d been wearing. Her leggings were nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry.” A young man’s voice sounded from inside the cavern.
Travis twisted around with some difficulty until he saw the source of the sound: a naked young man of a good height, but not yet filled out. Probably in his early twenties. Stubble shadowed his chin and cheeks, but he did not have a full beard yet.
Where had the russet wolf gone?
The boy went into the tunnel that led to Nenna’s room. He returned a minute later wearing leggings and a tunic and carrying a carving hatchet. “Normally, we eat as wolves,” he said as he lifted the hatchet and brought it down on the doe. “But Vera says that might frighten you.” He rocked the blade free then set to sectioning choice cuts. “Here.” He’d expertly hacked off a generous helping of hindquarter—Travis’s favorite, and held it out.
Gingerly, Travis got to his feet. Nenna helped him toward what must be an eating pit. He’d read about eating pits in his history lessons. His ancestors used to gather all the fresh meat into a stone bowl set into the ground. The elders in the clan would gorge themselves first. Then the rest would eat by clan order. At the end, the bones would be collected by the poor and turned into tools that could be sold or traded.
“Thanks,” Travis said, taking the hindquarter from Braeden. He tore into the meat and chewed. It was fresh and delicious. Not spiced or tenderized like the meat they prepared in the kitchen at Glendall, but warm and gamy. Refreshing.
Once he’d swallowed his first bite, Nenna and Braeden dug in. Clearly, they were a civilized bunch, not like the ancient wolfkind from his lessons.
“So, uh—you said you normally eat as wolves. Are you two—?” he wasn’t sure how to finish the question. Were Nenna and Braeden the two wolves he’d seen? Could they somehow be both wolfkind and wolf?
“We’re the Remnant,” Braeden said with relish. He widened his eyes and grinned, reminding Travis of the older boys when they would tell ghost stories to the younger ones.
Unfortunately, the word meant nothing to Travis, so he couldn’t give Braeden the reaction he was fishing for.
“The cast-offs? From the time of King Jilken?” Braeden made it a question.
He must mean the breeding experiments from long ago. Travis nodded to show his understanding.
Braeden brightened. He rose to a crouch and gestured with his rib of venison. “We were the unlovely. The unwanted. We were not what the king was looking for. So he tossed us out of the keep, leaving us for dead in the wilderness.”
As he told the tale, he moved with practiced steps around the pit. The crackling fire cast his shadow on the cavern wall. Slinging an arm around Travis’s shoulders, he waved his venison as if using it to paint an image in the air before them.
“We were left to die. But some of us lived. Wild wolves rescued us and brought us to the caves. They raised us as their own. Now we are the Remnant. We are what’s left. What was not intended, but what thrives in secret.”
Travis stared in wonder. All this time, the Remnant had been living alongside them. And they could change into wolves! The strange ability must have come about through Jilken’s use of magic to breed Larnians with wolves.
“And when they are all gone,” Braeden said, “we will emerge. We will claim our birthright and rule over Larna. The despised, the abandoned, the ones discarded. We will become the rulers over all the land.” Braeden lifted Vera’s cloak off the rack and wrapped himself in it. He spun with a flourish, making the cloak swirl in a great arc. He swept up the shovel Travis had used as a weapon and held it like a scepter, looking quite royal save for his lack of beard.
Whoa. Not only did these people exist, but they had a plan for when the last of the Larnians died off. Struck dumb, Travis looked at Nenna.
She nodded and smiled, as if she took it for granted that Braeden’s prediction would come true.
“Take off my cloak.” Vera strode into the cavern. Stopping near the pit, she tossed a rumpled bit of leather to Nenna, who caught it neatly.
Nenna shook out the leather, which turned out to be her leggings. With total disregard for modesty, she thrust her legs into them and pulled them up, then returned to devouring her hindquarter.
Vera hung her bow and quiver on the rack, along with her newly reclaimed cloak, and used Braeden’s hatchet to carve herself a shoulder. “I see Braeden has told you our history.” She wore a smirk, but her gray eyes were somber. She appeared young, because there was no gray in her hair, but her eyes seemed ancient.
Travis nodded, a little afraid of Vera. He cleared his throat and said, “All this time, you were here and no one knew.”
“Some knew,” Vera said, sinking her teeth into fresh meat. She chewed then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, leaving a grisly red smear. “From time to time, someone stumbles across us.” She met Travis’s eyes. “We don’t give them the chance to share our secret.”
Travis swallowed the lump in his throat. Magnus needed to know of the Remnant. But he had a feeling escaping these caves would be even more difficult than escaping Alexander and his lackeys.
Chapter 22
Danu stood in the bailey until the last rider had passed through the gate. “I would like to watch them ride out of the city,” she told Maedoc. Magnus had left her with eight guards. Maedoc, the captain of his Knights of the Crescent Moon, was in charge of her security. He alone knew her true identity, because Magnus deemed it wise. The others thought they were protecting Seona.
“Yes, my lady,” Maedoc answered in his gruff way. “This way, if you please.” Since Magnus had revealed her true identity to him, Maedoc had been practically tripping over himself to serve her. He led her to Magnus’s solar and threw open a pair of great oak doors. A blast of cold, damp air surrounded her.
Stepping through the doors, she found herself on a stone balcony overlooking a courtyard bordered by fine buildings. Beyond was the main street of Chroina. Mounted soldiers and supply carts filled the road from edge to edge and stretched into the distance. She could not see the front of the party, where Magnus would be.
“The east gate is about a
mile that way.” Maedoc pointed in the direction of the party. She knew from talking with Magnus that one thousand men rode for Larna. The number represented three quarters of his fighting force. The final quarter remained in Chroina to guard its citizens, especially the ladies in the Fiona Blath.
She had learned that of wolfkind’s population of just under six thousand, the vast majority were too old to serve in the army. In another hundred years, the population would be next to nothing. All the females, including Anya and Seona, would be gone. Their only hope for survival rested in Anya’s womb.
A pang of loss struck her, not just that her people had been reduced to this while she’d been imprisoned, but also that the hope of her people would come through another woman. Duff’s words from Hyrk’s dungeon came back to her. A human woman is said to have appeared to Magnus in a vision as the mother of his future heir.
She’d dismissed this supposed vision, because she had been in no position to grant one. Perhaps she shouldn’t have dismissed it so hastily. Magnus’s vision seemed to be unfolding before her eyes. Anya was the human woman. Magnus had just made Riggs his second. That meant in the absence of a blood heir, Anya and Riggs’s offspring would one day sit the throne of Marann.
She clutched her boar-skin cloak around her as she looked upon a city with nine vacant buildings for every occupied one. She was happy for Anya, happy for wolfkind that they had this precious hope. But she could not help feeling as though Marann’s hope should come directly from Magnus.
He was a good king. A good man. Ruling was in his blood. He bore the mantle of leadership with grace, strength, and fairness. His line should go on. He deserved an heir to love and to raise, to teach as his father had taught him.
But for Magnus to have a blood heir, he would have to impregnate a female. Her fists clenched at the thought.
Beneath the cloak, her hands cupped her empty womb. She imagined her current body round with Magnus’s child. She pictured him beaming over her protruding belly, pacing Glendall’s corridors as a physician oversaw the birth, cradling his newborn child, eyes brimming with love.
It made her sick to imagine any other woman sharing those moments with her king. And that was without considering the coupling itself. If the thought of Seona carrying Magnus’s child upset her, imagining Seona under him as his seed took root in her womb made fire pulse in her breast. Pain made her look down. Her fingernails had bitten half-moons into her palms.
It should be me. I am their Mother. I would be their mother again.
But she could not see a way.
The wintry air battered her skin as the last of Magnus’s party disappeared from view. Her would-be lover rode for Larna with his army. The distance between her and Magnus felt like a rope pulling at her insides. Over the coming days, that distance would grow, until finally, with Magnus’s victory, that distance would become infinite.
She would regain her deity, but lose her king. And any chance of participating in his vision.
I’m being selfish. What kind of goddess puts her own desires before the wellbeing of her people?
She would lose Magnus, true. But, restored to her throne, she would have the power to bless her precious wolfkind beyond measure. She would shower them with life and beauty and happiness for two thousand years to make up for the time she’d languished in prison. Then she would add another two thousand and another. She would gift her priests with new passages to pen in her Archives. She would ensure that Magnus’s name would be revered for all time.
She must do what she could to help her king win this war. She might be powerless in this mortal body, but she wore something that held nearly unlimited power, if she could only access it. Her hand wrapped around her moonstone at her neck.
I need to see Anya.
She must discover what the human had done to get the moonstone to work for her. It had given her understanding of the wolfkind tongue, a great power indeed. Once she learned Anya’s secret, she would speak to Assaph. The priest had blessed Hyrk’s gemstone, allowing Magnus to use it. Perhaps a blessing would make her moonstone work for her.
Once she could wield its power, she could aid Magnus and his army. Her help might mean the difference between defeat and glorious victory.
Course set, she whirled around to demand that Anya be brought to her, but when she turned, it was to nearly plant her face in the broad, armored chest of Maedoc.
The knight steadied her with two massive hands on her shoulders. “Beg pardon, my lady. Didn’t mean to make you start.” He set her away from him with a rising of color to his bearded cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Lady Anya is here. You want to receive her?”
What perfect timing! “Yes, Maedoc. Send her in. Thank you.”
Striding into the solar, she smoothed the velvet of her gown, the color like deep ocean waters under a full moon. Her stomach lifted with a strange sensation. Nerves? She was not accustomed to feeling nervous.
To one of the guards, she said, “If it is not too much trouble, would you ask that tea be sent up?” Without the children, Glendall was short-staffed. She did not want to burden anyone, but she would like to provide hospitality to Anya, especially since she planned to interview the human at length.
The guard left to pass along her request, and in through the open door came Anya.
The human wrung her hands as she approached the table where Magnus dined and met with his council. She was small in stature compared to wolfkind females, but similar in height to the human body Danu occupied. Waves of chestnut hair cascaded around delicate shoulders and made a soft waterfall over her forest-green gown. She, too, wore a cloak, as did most everyone since the children had disappeared and there were fewer attendants for the fires. Large eyes like polished tiger’s eye displayed curiosity and concern.
How odd it must be for the human to face her sister’s body knowing someone else dwelled within.
“Sister,” she greeted, setting a tone of conspiracy for them. She rushed forward and took the human’s hands. “I am glad you came.”
Anya’s eyes widened. Her hands trembled in Danu’s grasp. She appeared uncertain how to proceed.
“Speak freely, my dear, but keep your voice soft.” She spoke close to Anya’s ear while kissing her cheek in greeting. “We must pretend I am Seona. Let us converse as secretive sisters, shall we?”
Anya nodded. Following Danu’s example, she kept her voice low when she said, “I suppose I shouldna attempt to curtsy then, since I wouldna do so for Seona.”
“Precisely.” She smiled, pleased Anya caught on so quickly. She had a feeling this human was no stranger to secrets and plotting. “Come. Sit.” Arm in arm, she led Anya to the far end of the table, where the guards would not overhear them. “We have much to discuss.”
Anya came along with limping steps and took a seat. Behind her, two white-haired servants started a fire in the hearth. “Aye, we do, indeed.”
Danu arranged herself in the chair beside Anya’s. They sat close, as sisters might, heads bent for private conversation while the fire began warming their backs. “Congratulations on being with child.” She let none of her earlier thoughts show on her face. “You must be elated.”
Anya’s hand went to her womb. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Aye. ’Twas unexpected to say the least, but most welcome.” Anya’s wide eyes showed her nervousness, but the smile on her lips felt genuine.
“Unexpected?” she asked. “Did you not hope for a child when Riggs took you as his lifemate?”
Anya shook her head, her hair shifting on her shoulders. “Och, Riggs dinnae take me as his lifemate. At least no’ wi’ intention. It simply happened. As for being with child—I’ve never shown signs of it before. Figured I was broken.”
Infertile, she meant. Interesting. Even more interesting that she and Riggs became bonded as lifemates while Danu had been imprisoned. The creation of a lifemate bond was a sacred blessing gifted to a deserving couple under the full moon. The couple would pray and ask to b
ecome lifemates, and Danu, if she felt so inclined, would grant the request. But for two thousand years, she had not been able to receive or answer prayers.
Oblivious to Danu’s musings, Anya said, “Riggs showed me I’m no’ broken. At least no’ in any way that matters.” Color infused her cheeks. “But I willna bore you gushing over my lifemate. Tell me. How does Seona fare?” Gone was the glow she wore when speaking of Riggs. Her hands twisted in her lap.
“She is as well as she can be,” Danu answered, “Considering she dwells in Hyrk’s dungeon. For a mortal, such a place would be deadly, but she is protected by my deity. And by Duff. He will ensure no harm befalls her.”
“Duff?” Anya frowned.
Ah, yes. Anya did not know him as Duff. “You know him as a gypsy. Gravois, I believe, is the name he goes by in the mortal realm.”
“Gravois! You ken of him?” She sat forward in her chair.
Danu smiled. “Yes. I know him. He’s of the Fae. He spends most of his time in the mortal realms since the king of the Fae, Arwan, cursed him to dwell forever in darkness. Duff is chained to night and shadow, but he disguises himself as Gravois so he may circumvent the curse.” At least he had done so when he possessed her moonstone. For the first time, it occurred to her just what Duff had sacrificed when he’d given the stone to Anya. She resolved to help her friend any way she could once she was restored to her throne.
Anya’s mouth hung open while Danu spoke. She snapped it shut and thumped a small fist on the table. “I knew there was somat fishy about that tinker.” At that moment, the guards admitted a servant with a tea tray. Oblivious to the interruption, Anya muttered, “So Gravois’s a bloody faerie.” Her eyes darted back and forth, as if she were slotting pieces into a mental puzzle.
The servant set the tray before them. If he thought it strange that the two human women were discussing the Fae, he showed no sign of it.
“Always surrounded by magic, that one,” Anya said, reaching for the teapot. “I never saw him use it himself, but every tinker in his camp had somat magical about them. He told me once he was attracted to magic. I should have guessed he was a faerie. Magic-lovers, one and all, that lot.” She nodded, as if she were an authority on the Fae.