Beatrice, sounding unfazed by Tav’s declaration about the Twelve, continued. “Ah, so if you have received orders from the Twelve, you must have seen them up close. Silverblade tells me that the flesh-and-blood members of the Twelve are usually marked by an intricate tattoo.”
Again Tav’s eyes narrowed upon Silverblade. “What information did you share with her about the Twelve?”
Silverblade drew himself up straight. “Now you are implying I would—”
Beatrice cut him off. “By chance, does this mark look anything like what the other members wear?” She swiftly unlaced her outer vest and the cotton shirt underneath, then she pulled it down enough to reveal the upper swell of her breast and the tattoo-like symbol glimmering there.
She arched her brow in question as the Councilor dipped into a grand sweeping bow. There he stayed, kneeling before her. A heartbeat behind, the rest of those under Tav’s command followed his example.
“Hmmm, I assume that’s a yes?” Beatrice said as she rocked forward to look down at the councilor, then she folded her hands primly in front of her and waited.
Even without any words to confirm Silverblade’s earlier suspicions, the actions were enough to tell him the mark was what he thought it was.
Equal parts terror and relief thrilled through his soul. So he and Beatrice were both members of the Twelve. His life, already complex, was looking to get that much more complicated. But at least they weren’t unknowing slaves to the acolytes.
“While the deep bow and the silence tells me lots,” Beatrice tapped the Elder on his shoulder with a fair bit of force, “it doesn’t tell me what I want to know.”
When the councilor looked up at her, she smiled. Although Silverblade would not call that smile friendly. It was more a flash of fang, a bearing of teeth, an alpha flexing her right to rule.
“Silverblade mentioned a bit about the Twelve Talismans and that their wielders are born in times of war. Well, the acolytes have certainly declared war. Am I to assume Silverblade and I are both members of this Twelve?”
Councilor Tav turned at the mention of Silverblade’s name. An unvoiced question entered his expression, so Silverblade unlaced his own shirt so the others could see.
“I had both hoped and feared that’s what this mark was. The alternative being that it was a mark placed upon me by an acolyte.” Silverblade couldn’t hide his shudder.
Councilor Tav huffed, and then came to his feet. “Well at least it’s good to see that not all the wielders are children.”
“Children?” Silverblade prompted with growing dread.
“Crown Prince Sorntar and Ashayna Stonemantle are the leaders, but even if you added their ages together it wouldn’t put them at half a century. Ashayna’s youngest sister is also a member, so too is the stallion mage, Shadowdancer. At least he’s not a child, but even then, I certainly wouldn’t have heaped this kind of responsibility on him.”
Silverblade didn’t know any of the other members personally, but it couldn’t be as bad as the elder made it out to be. For a moment, he’d visualized himself having to lead his pack and raise twelve god-blessed infants. But the individuals Tav named were at least Beatrice’s age or older.
“I imagine the third Stonemantle sister, the one taken by the Dead King, is also somehow linked to the Twelve,” Tav added, almost as an afterthought.
“What?” Beatrice interrupted. “Someone has kidnapped Lamarra?”
“The younger two Stonemantle sisters had a run-in with the acolytes. Shadowdancer and Sorsha were able to escape using their own magic, but tomb guards from the catacombs below Grey Spires snatched Lamarra before the acolytes could get her. I can only assume the Dead King is protecting her because she is one of power as well.”
“Has no one attempted to communicate with the Dead King?” Silverblade asked.
“Attempts are impossible at the moment. The Dead King triggered the city’s defensive shields and now no one can get in or out. The only communication possible is primitive hand signs through the crystalline shield. No one seems to be hurt, but your father and a few of the other council members are trapped inside.”
Then his father wouldn’t know about Cymael. Silverblade’s heart twisted with fresh pain, but it was for the best; he could tell his father himself.
“Who, by the Light or the Dark, is the Dead King?” Beatrice asked, her sharp tone clearly showing her patience was at an end.
“He is another being who serves the Light,” the Councilor explained. “But to give you the full history would take more time than we have at the moment. If you will both agree to come with me, we will return to the other members of the Twelve, and they will explain what they know to you.”
“Of course,” Beatrice said. “But I need to know one thing. My grandmother, younger brother and I were making our way further from the human-controlled lands when the acolytes attacked Silverblade. I went back to aid him and told my family to go on without me, that I’d travel faster than the wagon and would catch up. But once the acolytes had our scent, Silverblade and I couldn’t follow my family or we’d risk leading the acolytes right to them. I was hoping once we found other Elementals, they might be able to help me find them. Please, if you know anything, tell me.”
Councilor Tav nodded his head. “We found the ones you speak of three days ago. Once we deemed they were not servants of the acolytes, I ordered them onto the backs of the swiftest santhyrians. They are even now deep in santhyrian territory, far from the acolytes. If there is time, once you have met with the other members of the Twelve, you will be reunited with your family. But know they are safe and well looked after. And with the gods’ blessing, once we have defeated these acolytes, they will be allowed to go anywhere they wish. But we have greater concerns to attend to first.”
Silverblade could not fault the Councilor’s reasoning. If they did not find a way to neutralize the acolyte threat, no one would be safe.
“If you are ready,” Tav said and glanced around, likely noting their lack of supplies, “I would prefer to return you to the other members of the Twelve as soon as possible.”
He nodded his agreement and the elder again called one of the mighty Gates into being. Silverblade’s mind was focused on other thoughts. He’d lived five and a half centuries as a simple lupwyn scout and sometimes-pack leader, but now fate was asking him to become something else entirely.
If he was honest, he was not happy about that, but if it allowed him to defeat the acolytes, he would embrace whatever personal sacrifices were required. He just hoped when it was over he could return to his pack with Beatrice at his side.
He glanced at her and held out his hand. Wordlessly, she took it and entwined her fingers with his and then together they followed the others toward the Gate.
He tugged her closer to his side and explained, “The Gate is a powerful working of magic. It allows the users to travel great distances in a heartbeat. Some Elementals find Gate travel unpleasant. The potent, barely contained magic needed to form a Gate can be unsettling for both hosts and Larnkins. Newly awakened Larnkins are especially sensitive. Normally one as young as you would not be allowed to travel via a Gate, but the acolytes are far more fearsome than anything a Gate might do to your Larnkin. Do not fear. I will be with you every step of the way. And then, we will be among my pack.”
Chapter Thirty
Curious about the Gate, Beatrice let her own magic unfold enough to study it. It was nothing like her green healing magic, nor was it cold and barren like her death magic. This foreign power was wild and joyous, barely contained.
She dragged in a deep breath, taking in its hot scent. There was almost a spiciness to it and a fragrance not unlike sandalwood. She’d noticed it upon the phoenix elder. At first she’d just assumed it was some kind of scented oil, but now she wondered if it was a fire Elemental’s natural scent.
Even from here she could feel the heat cast off from the Gate as the fire magic danced and flared in the breeze. On impulse, Beatri
ce reached out towards the fire—not close enough to burn, but close enough to better feel its heat.
“Careful,” Silverblade said. “The magic is controlled, but it is still fire magic. It can burn anyone who is not a fire mage if it slips its creator’s control.”
“My healer’s magic told me as much. I was simply curious, and…” She glanced around, hesitation clear in her voice. “It’s just that I’ve never seen so much magic displayed so openly before. I always had to hide my magic. This will take some getting used to.”
Silverblade chuckled. “I have a feeling being members of the Twelve will take some ‘getting used to’ as well.”
The guards had formed up around them and the ones in the lead were just readying to pass through the Gate. On the other side, she could see a large, open prairie where wind played among the tall grasses. When the first of the guards crossed over, they acted no differently than if they’d just walked through a door. Yet to her magic’s senses, one moment they were there and the next they were gone, her magic no longer able to feel them for two heartbeats. And then just as suddenly as they’d vanished, they returned to her magic ‘sight,’ but their life forces now felt muted and distant.
Beatrice instinctively held her breath and closed her eyes as she passed through the Gate.
Not surprising, she felt its heat press in upon her skin and her hair lifted off her shoulders, as if blown by some unnatural breeze. But other than a slight uncomfortable stirring of her Larnkin, she had no other ill effects.
She opened her eyes. Even though she’d expected it, gone was the shadowed forest, replaced by tall meadow grasses and the endless sweep of the vast sky. She drew a shocked breath as her eyes took in the sight of what must be a tall ridge of mountains. Never in her life had she seen such a majestic sight. As she watched, the sun sank down behind the tallest peak.
It would be full dark soon, but for now there was enough light that when she managed to tear her eyes away from the mountains, she could still make out the vast prairie with its softly stirring grasses. Midway between her position and the breathtaking mountains, there was what looked like a small city of tents.
A breeze stirred decorative fringes and tassels on some of the tents, making them glow in the last light of the day. The breeze continued to play with colorful flags and tapestries hung between the tents. Even the walls of the tents themselves were ornate and woven with intricate geometric patterns she could make out over the distance.
A vast herd of horses—or more likely they were the horse-like santhyrians—grazed along the edge of the tent city. Others shapes—the dark-furred lupwyns—flowed in and out of the camp on their own errands.
“My pack is here,” Silverblade said, joy entering his voice. He surprised her then, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and dragging her close enough that he was able to bend down and plant a kiss upon her lips. “And once we figure out how to free my father from Grey Spires, he will join us here. You will like him.”
She just hoped Silverblade’s father and the rest of his pack liked her once they got to know her. Though, there was one pack member who might not be excited to meet her.
And Beatrice would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit the thought of meeting Autumn Shadow made her uneasy. Knowing Silverblade was once mated to another and meeting that mate face to face were two very different things indeed.
With the small part of her mind not studying the tent city ahead, she felt the Gate close in upon itself and vanish.
What a strange world she was about to enter.
*****
When they at last reached the outskirts of the tent city, Silverblade’s pack came rushing out to greet him. Or at least some of his pack. Beatrice realized the first wave of the yapping and barking lupwyns were in fact only half the size of the dark-furred behemoths she’d seen patrolling River’s Divide.
These were in fact juveniles, or pups even. It occurred to her she didn’t even know what a lupwyn child was called, and again her ignorance gave her pause. She didn’t have long to dwell on her own doubts though, for within heartbeats, the first and fastest of the lupwyn pups had already reached their side.
A small, round ball of fur no higher than her knee threw itself at Silverblade, squealing in delight when he bent down to pick it up. While her eyes could not discern a gender, her healing power came to her rescue again, telling her this was a small female. Probably no more than a year old. A second and third arrived, circling cautiously, studying her. They would advance upon her and then drop down into a crouch, almost like they were stalking her. When she looked directly at them, they would dart away again and then she realized they were being playful.
When she went down to one knee and held a hand out in invitation, the bravest of them approached and gave her hand a quick sniff, then a lick. Before she knew what was happening, seven lupwyn pups all pounced on her at once, driving her back. She fell on the ground and proceeded to be mauled by playful younglings.
“Away with you,” Silverblade said, reaching down to haul Beatrice up by the hand. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Beatrice brushed the grass and wrinkles from her skirt and then looked around. The young lupwyns had obediently lined up along one side, waiting for Silverblade’s next order. “They are adorable.”
The tiny female pup nuzzled and licked at his face, nipping his chin almost playfully. Something occurred to Beatrice. She’d never asked Silverblade if he had any children. She knew he was over five hundred years old and he’d once had a mate. With a long-lived race like the lupwyns, there was no telling how long one of their offspring might take to mature. Were any of these little ones his? How had she not thought to ask?
If he had fathered young and she became his mate, would she be expected to help raise them? Did she want to? Would she be allowed? Or would their birth mother be territorial?
She eyed the youngsters. Goddess! What if a single lupwyn female gave birth to multiple babies at a time, like wolves? Were these juveniles all his?
It was an unsettling notion. One part of her heart wanted to know the answer, while the other half wished to remain ignorant. In the end, the need to know won the battle.
“Is she yours?” Beatrice asked as she indicated the tiny pup still in Silverblade’s arms.
“All young belong to the pack, it does not matter who sired or birthed them. While lupwyns are more fertile than phoenix, we are less so than the humans are. Our fertility cycle is tied to the power of our pack bonds and the Larnkins we are host to. You’ve just happened to meet my pack during one of our fertility cycles, when we have an abundance of pups. As such, every member of the pack helps to rear the young. That is the lupwyn way.”
Beatrice noted he neither confirmed nor denied that he’d sired any, and she could only take that to mean he had. Even if he could not openly claim any of them as his own.
He must’ve seen her questioning expression, for with a flash of teeth and pointed fang, he grinned. “I have not had the honor of helping to bring a life into this world. But one day, I hope we will be able to bring many into the world.”
An intense wave of relief rushed through her body at learning he didn’t yet have any young, and warmth followed fast on its heels at knowing he wanted to have some with her. It probably shouldn’t have mattered as all children were special no matter who birthed them, but if Silverblade was to sire young one day, a selfish part of her soul wanted it to be with her.
Councilor Tav joined them, huffing at Silverblade’s remark. “You can explain the finer points of the lupwyn culture later. For now, we have more important things to talk about. I have informed my sister that you have been found and that you are members of the Twelve. She and her mate will be here shortly. The other members of the Twelve already discovered have already arrived. Come morning many of the Council will be here, too. Were I you, I would walk among your pack this night and allow them to heal you. You will need to be at full strength for what we must do soon.
<
br /> Silverblade grunted an answer, likely agreeing. Beatrice wondered what she was supposed to be doing while Silverblade was being healed by his pack; she could not read minds but she could read intent, and Councilor Tav had implied that she would not be with the pack. He did not leave her in doubt for long, though.
Tav turned his attention to her. “Tonight, you and I will have a long conversation about the history of the Twelve and the nature of your healer’s gifts.”
Beatrice felt dismayed, but kept her face neutral. “Thank you. I am honored. Your guidance is greatly appreciated.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Tav hadn’t even led Beatrice and Silverblade past the first row of tents before other members of the pack made their way to them. Instinctively, she moved closer to Councilor Tav to allow Silverblade’s family room to greet him.
Walking among lupwyns in their true form was not for the faint of heart. A tall human might come to their shoulders. It wasn’t merely the height. They were broad and muscularly built, males and females both. Actually, when she looked, she didn’t see much of a size difference between the genders. While the lupwyns could walk upright in a motion similar to a human’s gait, and they wore clothing and armor and carried weapons, that was where physical similarities ended.
Those rare times she’d managed to catch a glimpse of Silverblade in his lupwyn form when he’d been scouting, he’d always been running on four feet and looked very wolf-like. But those times hadn’t been enough to truly understand.
There was very little that was familiar in their narrow, angular faces with those big slanted eyes, long muzzles and mobile wide-set ears. Every handspan of their massive bodies was covered in thick fur. One other eye-catching characteristic was the way their tails swayed back and forth as they walked. Silverblade’s didn’t. Perhaps he couldn’t because he was stuck between forms.
Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) Page 17