by K.N. Lee
“You’re quite good at that,” she said, nodding. “Fast. Efficient. Not one feather left from what I can see.”
Amalia smiled at her. Finally, something she could do that made her feel normal again. “I’ve been cooking all of my life. It’s something my mother and I used to do together. I’ve always loved it.”
Thinking of her mother was painful. For a moment, she had to consciously steady her hands so that they wouldn’t shake, and breathe deeply so that she wouldn’t shed any tears.
“Do you know how to make stew?”
“Indeed,” she said. “Rabbit stew is my favorite to make. I can make delicious goat stew as well.”
“Good girl,” Runa said, approvingly. “A good wife should have at least two stews in her head. It keeps a man satisfied in the winter, and fills the bellies of the little ones.”
Amalia now wondered if she would ever find another potential husband. Staying alive would have to be enough for now.
Her heart skipped a beat when she felt a subtle thumping come from the dead chicken. The slick muscle of the bird warmed with her touch and a faint pulse vibrated along her palm.
Oh, dear gods, no.
She dropped it, her face paling.
Runa lifted a brow. “What’s wrong?”
Though her eyes were widened with shock, she quickly shook her head and rubbed her hands together. The tingling in her hands subsided as she willed the magic within to stay at bay.
How would she ever explain the chicken coming back to life without a head? Her nerves were making her sloppy.
Wolves hated magic, and so, she needed to keep her abilities hidden. Despite her best efforts, heat throbbed and pulsed into her hands, and the desperate need to heal and revive refused to be stopped.
A faint glow emerged from her palms, and in a panic, she hid her hands behind her back.
“Do you mind if I go outside for a moment? I feel a bit faint and can use some air.”
“Of course,” Runa said, picking up the dead chicken. “Take your time.”
Amalia darted from the house and out the door into the back alley just in front of the tall wooden wall. The cool air was just what she needed. It filled her lungs and chilled her face until her cheeks stung. She pressed her back to the side of the house and closed her eyes.
Hiding her magic was going to be a challenge. It had never been so difficult back home. Life was easy, and she was comfortable around her family.
Here, she was in a constant state of panic and the magic fought to be free.
A tap on her shoulder made her jump with a start.
Aros held his hands up.
“My apologies,” he said as she covered her heart with her hands.
His gaze went to the glow that lit up the dark alley. To her surprise, he took her hands into his and pulled her close.
Her quick breaths abruptly stopped as she began aware of how close they were.
“You’re going to have to learn to control your magic, Amalia,” he whispered.
The warmth of his breath on her face as he spoke to her sent unexpected shivers up her skin. The glow amplified and her eyes filled with worry.
“Dear gods,” he said, shaking his head as the light illuminated his face. “We’re going to have to get you some gloves. This will not do.”
When he looked at her, she could see the light dance in his eyes and for a moment she was transfixed.
“What is this light, anyway?”
She shrugged. “Mother always would call it my rune spirit. Its not usually this difficult to control it,” she said, tearing her eyes away from his.
“Well,” he said, smiling. “You’re going to have to try harder, because you’re officially part of the family, now. Father says you can stay as long as you don’t cause any trouble and promise to help out with the chores.”
That was a relief. The glow slowly dulled until her hands went back to normal.
“Thank the gods,” she said. “I’ll do anything that needs to be done. I promise.”
He nodded. “You’d better. I think the gods brought you here for a reason.”
Her brows lifted. “What could that be?”
He took her by the hand and led her back inside to what would become her new family. “We’re just going to have to wait and see.”
10
Amalia woke to someone tapping her on the shoulder. The room was cold and her muscles ached from her daily workload.
“Come,” Aros whispered, kneeling beside her spot on the floor beside the door, nestled in a nook under a wall of shelves.
She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, a finger to his lips. She sat up and yawned. Everyone else in the house was still asleep.
“I think there is something you should see,” he said, and took her by the hand.
She accepted, and left her makeshift bed. It was cozy and small, and she felt safe there. After only a few days in Berufell, she was desperate for a sense of normality. She still wasn’t sure if the Wolves would ever truly accept her.
The fire that warmed the house from the center had gone out in the night, and it was dark and cold.
They wrapped themselves in cloaks and Aros grabbed his bow and arrows before they slipped out the back door. The sky was still a dark gray, and the air was chilly. Crows looked down at them from the roof, their black eyes peering into Amalia’s. Aros motioned for her to follow. He spoke in whispers.
“I’m fairly certain there is a reason I found you that day. The mermaids feared you, and that’s not something easily accomplished. You’re special, Amalia.”
Her brows lifted. “Why do you say that?” Amalia asked, keeping close as they trudged through the icy street and out the village.
He quickened his pace, his bow at his side, his quiver of bows on his back. “I had a dream a long time ago. I was a little boy, and I used to tell my mom about it because I would have it so often.”
“What was the dream about?”
She pulled her cloak close against the chill in the air, and though she wished she was still wrapped in her wool blanket inside the house, she had to admit she enjoyed being near Aros. With him, she felt safe. He knew her secret, and had yet to tell anyone the truth about her power. That alone made her trust him more than anyone.
He smiled at her and her heart stirred. “It was about you.”
They entered the dark forest and he took her by the hand.
Having him touch her was unexpected. For some reason, it felt completely different from when Tomas would hold her hand. When Tomas would try, she would either pull away, or begrudgingly allow him, all the while wishing she could let go. Perhaps it was because his were always sweaty, and Aro’s grip was firm and warm.
She smiled and together they crossed the brook and its running water that barely covered the tops of their boots. Birds chirped above and snow fell in wispy flurries. The trees were tall and nearly blocked out all light despite being mostly absent of leaves. Their bare branches outstretched upward and to the sides like skinny arms, sometimes intertwined with those of the trees beside them.
Aros led her to a cave at the bottom of the mountains. First, she hesitated to enter. There was a familiar scent, one that she couldn’t place. With the sweeping of the wind, it was blown away and replaced with the scent of pine needles and pine cones. Aros stepped inside.
“What’s wrong?”
She licked her lips, looking around the dark cave at the slick stone walls and the low ceiling. Instead of voicing her fears, she simply shook her head and joined him inside.
“So, when I was a boy, there was this girl in my dreams. She had long dark hair, mixed with silver, and I’d call her my fairy princess.”
Amalia smiled at the images that came to her as he told her the story.
“Am I the fairy princess?” Amalia asked, her grin widening.
He nodded, and paused, turning to her.
Her grin quickly faded as he took her face into his hands and looked into her eyes. Sh
e could barely breathe when he was that close to her. Being that close, she could see the depths of his eyes. The bright blue and flecks of gray. The blond lashes that blinked as he looked from her eyes to her hair.
“Yes, it was you,” he said, and ran his fingers through her hair so tenderly that her eyes closed against her will. “I didn’t realize it until I got a better look at you the night I brought you home. But, there is no mistaking you’re that girl. I just don’t know what it all means.” He brushed her hair from her face with his thumb.
She swallowed.
“But, I distinctly remember there being silver in your hair. Same face. Just a few differences. You wore armor in my dreams.”
She had to remind herself to breathe.
“And, what else?” Amalia asked in a whisper.
He let her go and turned back toward the cave. “You were riding a dragon,” he said, and her eyes popped open.
“What?” She hurried to catch up with him as he vanished around a corner. Her voice echoed, as she’d spoken louder than she’d intended.
“Yes,” he said. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Impossible, more like it.”
She joined him around the corner and her eyes widened. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she looked at the bright painted pictures on the cavern wall. Images depicted a scene that didn’t make any sense to her.
There was a girl riding a dragon.
A girl with a crown.
And her birthmark was painted in a circle all around her.
11
Igniting a yellow glow on her hands, Amalia cast the light on the cave walls. It warmed her face and revealed how high the walls stretched upward to a jagged ceiling.
She shivered at catching a glimpse of movement from above.
Bats slept in a huddled pack, but that wasn’t what struck her as eerie.
“Aros, what is this?” Amalia asked, tracing the pictures with her finger. She noted every detail of the image of the girl, the dragon, and her birthmark.
A chill ran through her body as she stood there before the ancient artwork. She took a closer look and noticed writing writing underneath in a language she had never seen.
Aros took her hand and compared her birthmark to the symbols on the cave wall.
“I wasn’t sure until now, but, you have the mark of the Erani clan.”
“I don’t know what that is.” She shook her head, and chewed the inside of her bottom lip. “My parents always said it was just a birthmark.”
Though he nodded, something in his eyes told her that he knew more than he was willing to share. “You don’t know much about who you are or where you come from, do you?”
“Not really. Only what my parents have told me.”
“I see,” he said, scratching his chin as he thought. “I think there is more to you than we both know.”
“Obviously,” she said, pointing to the pictures. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“I leave for a few months of studies in the capital. I will do as much research as I can to figure out the truth about your lineage.”
She sighed. She hated to think of him leaving her behind, even if it was just for a six months.
She opened her mouth to speak when a loud cry erupted from farther inside the cave.
Aros looked toward the noise. His face paled as he exchanged a look with Amalia.
Every muscle in her body tensed as the cry was repeated. It vibrated the cave floors and the air grew hot.
She knew that sound. It haunted her dreams. It kept her up late into the night. With the sound also came that familiar scent of coal and fire. Her hands began to shake and she looked up.
“Firedrake! Run, Amalia!”
They ran from the cave as a bright red firedrake flew from its nest, scratching the walls with its talons and the hooks at the end of its wings.
Every ounce of energy was poured into running for her life. Aros was faster, and more agile, but made sure to catch her by the arm when she fell on the slick floor. He pulled her along, and she fought to keep pace. Once they were outside, small traces of sunlight began to illuminate the forest before them.
Another loud screech came from the cave, and her eyes went skyward as the firedrake swooped down and began its chase.
Her heart raced. She’d thought she’d escaped them. Why were they here? She ran, fearful that there was no way she would be able to outrun the flames of a firedrake if it came to it. A quick glance back, and she was at least relieved that the firedrakes weren’t being ridden by men.
Taking the chance to look back was costly. She was not fast enough. The firedrake grabbed her by the shoulders with its talons and threw her across the clearing of the forest. Amalia’s body slammed into the base of a tree. Before she could gather her senses, the firedrake grabbed her again and pushed her body into the dirt. She cried out as the drake slashed her across the face with a long, sharp claw. The pain was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It stung and burned like a hot poker had been pressed to his skin.
The firedrake pinned her to the ground. The beast was heavy, as big as two of the largest men in town, with a large head that loomed over her. She swallowed. This was it. The firedrake was preparing to smite her with fire.
Amalia swallowed and looked to the firedrake with pleading eyes. Hot saliva dripped from the firedrakes sharp teeth and onto her face, stinging her. She shook with terror and readied herself for the agony to come as the firedrake opened its mouth.
An arrow flew through the forest and shot into the firedrakes right eye.
The roar that filled the forest shook the ground beneath and rustled the leaves of the trees above. As another arrow followed the first, the drake took to the skies and fled.
Aros ran to her and slid to the ground. “Are you all right, Amalia? Your face is covered in blood.”
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I am,” she said, trying to steady her breaths. “Thanks to you, my friend. You’ve now saved my life twice.”
He helped her up, and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here before it comes back.”
“I can walk,” Amalia said, shrugging him off. She was a bit woozy on her feet, but steadied herself.
“Are you certain?”
She wiped blood from her face and more oozed from the gash that went from her forehead, over her eye, and onto her cheek. “Yes,” she said, though her vision took a moment to clear as she blinked away blood. “Let’s get back before your family begins to wonder where we are.”
“You’re right. The firedrake might come back. I suppose my special little place has been claimed.”
“Are firedrakes common around here?”
“Not really. I’ve seen a few over the years, but they usually stay in the mountains farther from the village.”
They walked back toward the village, keeping a wary eye to the sky.
Aros gave her a crocked grin. “You’re tougher than you look, Amalia. Did you know that?”
Despite the stinging pain from her wound, Amalia smiled with a nod.
He had no idea.
12
Weddings were meant to be the celebration of two lives being bound together for a lifetime. On this day, Kylan was less than optimistic as he watched his best friend swear his life to another. As he watched them laugh, dance, and kiss one another, he tried to forget the fact that he was partly responsible. He’d helped Vidar raise the money to ask for her hand in marriage and build a new cabin for the family they would make together.
He’d made that decision because he cared for his friend. Vidar had saved his life, and he would do the same for him. He took a swig of ale and set it on the long table before him. He sat alone, while everyone danced, drank, and cheered on the happy couple. It had been six months since the firedrake scarred Kylan for life.
Father said it showed character. His scar was a badge of honor he should wear proudly. Kylan drank another gulp and sighed. Father was right. As always. Several young wom
en lingered near him, hoping he’d show them some interest or even look their way.
Any other night, he’d be more than willing to chat with the prettiest girl he could find. Maybe steal a kiss. Tonight, he simply wasn’t in the mood.
“Someone’s looking extra gloomy tonight,” Astrid said, grinning as she slid onto the wooden bench beside him. She pushed his feet off the seat and moved even closer.
Groaning, Kylan rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his ale. He held it up for one of the attendants to fill his mug. The scrawny slave girl kept her eyes low and started the pour of cold amber ale.
“Why have you come to bother me, Astrid?” Kylan asked.
She smiled at him, her green eyes searching his face. Today was one of the rare days when she actually made an effort with her appearance. Normally, Astrid was little more than one of the men—ready for a fight—with dirt on her face, wild dark blonde hair and blood on her hands from working in her father’s butcher shop.
Tonight, he noted with amusement how she brushed her hair and even had it braided into small braids with beads and shells.
When she traced his scar with her cold fingers, he pulled his face back.
“Your hands are bloody cold? Cold and dead,” he said.
She chuckled. “You’re funny.” She rubbed her hands together and followed his gaze. “Jealous?”
“Not likely,” Kylan said. “If Vidar wants to pledge his life to Sassa that is his choice. But, that’s not the life for me. Not yet.”
“Really, Kylan? Are you saying you don’t want to marry someday?”
“Do I really have a choice? Pack leader must choose a mate and further the Fenrir line,” he said. “And, guess who gets to be pack leader one day.” Not that he had aspirations to lead, it was his duty to do so when his father died. Luckily, his father showed no signs of leaving their world anytime soon.
His mug was filled and the slave girl stepped away to line up with the other slaves. He drank several gulps. It warmed his chest as it went down.