Asylum

by Kit Bladegrave

  We just reached the door of the hall, when we were met by loud and boisterous voices, silverware and dishes clanking, when I paused to ask him one more question.

  “Do you think he’ll ever get over the fact that I’m a seer? I mean I did come here to help, I think.”

  Hank scuffed his boot on the floor, and the chatty wolf from earlier was gone. “That is something you’ll have to ask him. I suggest you don’t go around telling everyone what you are, either. Some of us don’t hold a grudge, but Tristan and a few others, they’ve lost loved ones to the curse. Finding out you’re a seer could end very badly for you.”

  “Right, lips are sealed.”

  “If anyone does ask who you are, just say… you’re a guest of the king’s.”

  “His guest. Does King Tristan usually chain up his guests?” I smiled.

  Hank breathed out heavily through his nose, but I patted his arm and walked inside with my head held high.

  I’d lived my entire life thinking I was insane, and the voices and visions that seemed so crazy were my life. I was pretty sure I could make it through a dinner in a castle filled with shifters who might or might not try to eat me when they realized what I was.

  Yeah, just a typical night for little old me.

  Despite the fact I continued to get weird looks throughout the evening, no one questioned why a human was a guest of King Tristan’s. Nice to know all those here at least respected him enough to leave it at that. I could tell they wanted to bombard me with what I was really doing there, but Hank hovered close by, stopping the conversations from getting out of hand.

  It got better when Lucy returned from the infirmary. Then all anyone wanted to know was how the scout was doing and if he’d live.

  “If he makes it through the night, he’ll live,” she announced. “But I’m afraid that’s all I can say. Hope and prayers, that’s what he needs now.”

  She sat down beside me, but before I could ask my question, someone else did it for me.

  “Those wounds, what caused them?”

  I thought the wolf’s name who asked the question was Danielle, one of the guards who’d been ordered to watch me earlier, and one who didn’t seem to like me.

  “That’s the worst part. I don’t know,” Lucy replied. “Took forever to get the bleeding to stop and even then, the wounds continued to ooze. Whatever attacked him, he’s lucky he made it back here.”

  The conversation picked up again around us, and I let Lucy enjoy her mug of ale, which tasted strangely sour and sweet at the same time, before I leaned in.

  “Is there anything else you can tell from his wounds that you’re not telling us?”

  Her eyes slid to mine, and she subtly nodded. “Magic of some kind was involved,” she whispered, so quietly I almost couldn’t hear her. “We will talk about it later.”

  I looked up to catch Danielle glaring at us both intently before she returned to her meal, stabbing at her hunk of meat viciously—probably thinking of me while she did it. Yes, just then she pierced me with a stare.

  I gulped and hid my face behind my mug.

  When I’d first sat down, I’d been a bit thrown off to see so much meat on the table. Hams and turkey legs, steaks, any kind I could think of were there. I wondered how much of it would go to waste, but now as I stared up and down the table, there were hardly any scraps left at all. Another curious note to add to my list about shifters. They ate a lot of meat. I wasn’t about to ask why. It seemed rude, first off, and I wasn’t willing to piss Danielle off anymore.

  After Lucy managed to eat a few bites, she excused herself, and I followed, retreating from the hall.

  Hank came with us, of course, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “Now then,” she said once we were well away from the hall and stood on an outer balcony overlooking the courtyard. “Whatever attacked the scout used magic to do so.”

  Hank snarled furiously behind us.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Wolves and magic. You know it was my magic that saved him,” she pointed out.

  “Sorry, but we don’t take it lightly. You know that.”

  “I know, and I find it ridiculous after all these years. Especially after the Vindicar has come forward. She stopped the army here, remember that, too?”

  Hank looked sheepish all of a sudden as Lucy rubbed her forehead hard and I saw how much taking care of the scout and dealing with me had taken out of her.

  “Those wounds, I’m lucky I even got them to close. The magic intended to keep them open, so he would bleed to death over time. If my magic holds for the next few hours, he’ll live and maybe then can give us more of his tale.”

  I wished there was more I could’ve done, seen everything he’d seen, but something had pushed back against me when I tried. I doubted she would let me near the scout again, but the same urgency I’d felt back at the asylum to do something nagged at me now.

  “I have to get back,” Lucy told us. “I’ll be in the infirmary all night if you need me.”

  We watched her go, and though I was far from being tired, an idea popped into my head.

  I forced a yawn, stretching my arms over my head and mumbled something about turning in for the night.

  Hank followed me all the way back to my room, which I expected. Once I closed the door, I waited, listening to hear if he’d stick around or not.

  It took about an hour or so, but eventually, I heard his steps retreat down the hall, and no one else came along. Holding my breath, I opened my door a crack and peeked out. The torchlit hall was empty. I stepped all the way out, ensuring my door closed softly behind me, and looked right and left.

  Great, now how to get back to Tristan’s room?

  I was terrible with direction, something I hadn’t known until that moment, my head finally clear enough to even understand such a thing as direction. I closed my eyes and let my feet guide me as they had before.

  I had to swallow back a few laughs, not wanting to draw attention to myself, wandering the halls at night of a strange castle, eyes closed, hoping I’d end at the right place and not be caught. It was amusing. That and I was pretty sure whatever effect Tristan had on me was wearing off. If I was going to get answers, I had to do it fast before the voices came back to torment me some more.

  My toes bumped into something hard and when I opened my eyes, had to bite back my shout of triumph.

  I’d found the door. The right door. And there was no sign of Hank or any other guard to stop me.

  “Alright, King Alpha Tristan,” I whispered, reaching for the door handle a second time, “time to figure out who you really are.”

  I pushed down on the handle and stepped inside. I closed and locked it behind me for good measure, hoping it would at least buy me some time in case anyone tried to come in here, or Tristan returned early. Slowly, I turned around and took in the room.

  A large four-poster wooden bed sat off to the right, the headboard pressed against the wall. It was covered in piles of furs, with more on the floor by the empty hearth.

  I pictured him in his wolf form, curled up there instead of on the bed and decided I liked that image. After all, it was the wolf I followed out of the asylum and through the woods. That’s who he was. A wolf.

  I meandered deeper into the room, noting the round table by the door, overlaid with maps and various papers. They looked like formal letters of some kind, but it was the map that drew my attention. It appeared he’d been drawing on it, marking off new boundaries and territories.

  I ran my fingers along those etched lines, noting the additions of other places. Boshen. Darrah lands. Gregornath. Silver Valley. And Torolf, of course. A river cut through the main area on the map, winding down and around through what was dubbed the river lands.

  Growing up here must’ve been nice. To go out and see the forests, follow that river, play in it. Have an actual life. Now, looking at the map annoyed me, so I moved on, no longer wanting to think of how strange and lacking my life had been so far.

&nb
sp; “Eighty-seven years old,” I whispered to the room, reaching a wooden wardrobe. I opened it to see what secrets it held. “What have you done in all those years?”

  The leather armor was displayed on a bust on one side of the wardrobe, and more leather breeches, shirts, and spare boots were on the other. Nothing too exciting.

  I closed it and went to the desk setup, where he could work and stare out the large, floor-to-ceiling windows to the river beyond.

  There weren’t many personal items scattered around, no pictures or trinkets aside from some sheathed daggers resting next to his bedside.

  I picked one up, noting the ebony sheath and the rubies along the side of it, when a weird sensation gripped my gut. Like something was tugging on my center somehow.

  My head grew heavy, and then I wasn’t in the room anymore.

  Gripping that dagger in my hand, I staggered backward, opening my eyes to find a horrifying vision laid out before me. The stone columns I saw through the scout’s eyes were there. They ran down either side of a cracked, brick path beneath my bare feet. The air was musty, old, and I coughed after I sucked in my first breath.

  A strange scraping sound met my ears, not metal against stone, but something else.

  Something worse that made my hair stand on end. I gulped and fought to keep it from being audible.

  I shouldn’t be here, but no matter what I thought, or how hard I closed my eyes, this was where I remained.

  Cursing, I backed away, not wanting to turn my back on whatever came toward me. I moved to my right, winding through what appeared to be a never-ending maze of stone columns engraved with weird writing.

  Still walking backward, I yelped, clamping a hand over my mouth as the scraping noise suddenly stopped.

  I glanced around to see what I’d tripped over and fell into the nearest wall, shaking my head in terror.

  The dead scouts.

  Lying there, still in wolf form, their eyes frozen open in death, and their bodies torn to shreds. Not by claws or teeth, but by whatever left the marks on the surviving scout.

  I gagged, willing myself not to be sick as I ran blindly away when the scraping sound picked up again, louder. Closer.

  Impossibly closer.

  There was no way to tell where I was going, and when I reached a dead end, I sprinted back, taking another path, and another, the scraping always right on my heels. Just when I feared it was never going to end and I would be trapped in these walls forever, I heard a familiar yell and the sound of swords clashing.

  Then there was snarling and growling, bodies being slammed into the stone columns.

  The cracking rang out around me, and I took off in the direction of the fighting. I pumped my arms as hard as I could, needing to reach them before it was too late.

  “No… no!”

  Too late. There were limp bodies scattered around the ground, bloodied and broken.

  Warriors, all dead. Several wolves whined helplessly, unable to move, or heal their wounds. I searched in vain, praying none of them were Tristan.

  A thunderous bellow made me whip my head around in time to witness a monstrous statue with fierce, glowing red eyes and impossibly white, trailing hair, bearing down on Tristan.

  Tristan launched himself at the monster, but two long whips that cracked when they snapped flew at him, hitting him across his body. He yipped in pain, his body thrown across the bricks, rolling; end over end, until it finally came to a stop.

  Blood seeped from his side and his eyes closed.

  “Tristan,” I breathed, begging for him to get back up.

  Then those red eyes turned toward me, and fear rooted me to the spot. It bore down on me, and all I could do was throw my arms up and scream, watching those whips come down on my head—

  I fell back into a set of arms, a scream dying on my lips.

  “Sabella!”

  Hank. Hank was there.

  I opened my eyes and gaped at him in confusion, still clutching the dagger in one hand. “Hank?” I looked around Tristan’s chamber and tried to take a step, but excruciating pain shot up my arms.

  I squealed, collapsing, taking Hank to the floor with me.

  “What happened to you? Sabella…” He trailed off, staring at me with a mix of confusion and horror.

  “What? Hank listen, I know I’m not supposed to be here,” I gasped, adrenaline pumping through me and making everything shaky, “but you have to get me to Tristan. I have to warn him.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “What?”

  The sleeves of the black blouse I’d picked from the clothes brought to me earlier were damp and warm. I felt woozy, but there wasn’t any time to deal with whatever I’d done to myself while trapped in a vision.

  “Look, you need to get me to Tristan. Now! He’s going to die if you don’t.” I repeated. I was at the door before he had even closed his mouth. “Hank!”

  “I can’t let you leave the castle,” he argued. “Sabella!”

  “Either you take me to him, or I’m going to run out of here, barefoot, at night, to try and find him, get lost and probably die,” I informed him. “Is that what you want?”

  He growled in warning, but I didn’t back down. If I could stand toe to toe with his alpha, I could certainly stand my ground with him. He groaned, giving in and grabbed my hand, dragging me down through the castle. We ignored the few people we passed, and once we were outside, I expected him to wrangle up some horses, but instead, we headed for the gate.

  “We’re going to walk there?” I asked, shivering already from the chilly night air, my feet cold on the hard ground.

  “No, I have something faster than a horse.”

  I was about to ask what when a shudder ran over his body and Hank shifted into a wolf, his sleek, black and white fur shining in the moonlight flooding the courtyard. He stared back at me over his shoulder and lowered his body enough that someone could climb on.

  “Oh, wow, wait a second,” I said, holding my hands out. “I’ll fall off.”

  He snorted in annoyance and ran toward me, circled me and managed to lift me up off my feet.

  I landed on his back and buried my hands in his fur just in time. He took off at a dead sprint.

  I hunkered down, low on his back, closing my eyes from the harsh wind pelting me in the face from how fast he ran. My fingers cramped in his fur, but I didn’t dare let up my death grip. Each step made my arms throb in pain, as well as my sides.

  What had I done when I was in that vision?

  No, that part wasn’t important.

  Getting to Tristan before he and anyone else went into that maze, that’s what mattered.

  I had to save him, save all of them before it was too late.

  11

  Tristan

  The flames crackled loudly before me. We were close to where the scouts had been sent to search, but Boris pulled me aside earlier, begging me to wait another day in case it was a trap. He and the others would try to draw anything in the area and if there was no immediate danger, only then would he let us continue.

  I’d snarled in warning, but his job was a most difficult one. Looking out for the alpha sometimes meant stopping him from running headfirst into danger.

  Forrest and I talked briefly about what we would do once inside this maze of stone columns. We agreed to leave someone near the entrance and use a rope to keep us tethered to our exit point. The chance was slim it would work, but the idea of being lost in a maze did not sound enjoyable to me.

  I was ready to curl up in wolf form and rest my eyes when a voice tugged at my mind.

  Tristan…

  I rubbed my eyes, figuring it was exhaustion making me hear things. I waited a few more seconds, and when I didn’t hear it again, shifted into wolf form. The fire warmed my fur, and I settled down beside it, nestling my head between my massive front paws.

  King Tristan! My King!

  My head shot up this time, and I was on all fours as Boris growled close by. He’d hear
d it too.

  Hank. It was Hank’s voice. What the hell was Hank doing here?

  “Tristan!” Sabella’s voice, now.

  Sabella? She was with him? Boris and the others took up protective stances around me seconds before Hank’s black-furred body appeared, with a very windblown and frantic Sabella on his back.

  A sharp jolt of jealousy shot through me, but then it was gone as she slid off unsteadily.

  I shifted back in time to catch her as she threw herself at me.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “You are supposed to remain at the castle.”

  “I couldn’t, not after what I saw,” she gasped, clinging to my arms. Fear, it poured off her in waves, and was blatant in her eyes, as well as relief. “Had to stop you…”

  Her eyes fluttered closed then she slipped through my hands. “Sabella!”

  She was on the ground, the words barely a whisper. Something wet and warm coated my hands, and the sharp tang of blood hit my nose hard. My hands were covered in it. I glanced from Hank to Sabella before falling to my knees before her, tugging up the sleeves of her shirt.

  “By the gods, woman? What did you do to yourself?” I muttered, noting the deep gashes running up her right and left arms as if struck by a blade—no, not a blade. These seemed familiar, but I couldn’t tell… “Hank. You were supposed to watch out for her.”

  “Her arms.” His eyes widened in alarm. “I’m sorry, sire, I found her in your chambers and then she said we had to come find you before it was too late.”

  I hefted her into my arms, hating as she winced in pain then carried her closer to the fire so I could better see her wounds, shoving the sleeves of both arms out of the way. “Boris, get me the kit, would you?”

  “Tristan?” She sat up suddenly, and we banged foreheads. She cursed and fell back down immediately. “Damned furball with your hard head. Great, now I’m dizzy on top of everything else.” She mumbled a bit more while I prodded the area around the gash. “Ow! What was that for?”