Breathing fast, she nodded. He cared what she thought?
He lingered, as if ready to say more, then shifted. The light rose, flickered; he’d picked up the lamp. “Sleep well.”
“You, too,” she managed, squirming her way deeper into the bedroll. As he blew out the light, the tiny, delicate hairs on her skin stood to attention.
Chapter 6
Nine years ago
The Emaurrian Tower of Magic, Divinity of Magic
The trembling started at her fingers. Rielle clenched her hands, wishing the tremors away. Please, not now. Please.
Trying to gather all the maturity of her thirteen years, she paced the Tower kitchen stiffly, waiting for whomever had come to see her.
She breathed slowly, trying to ease her troubled mind. Only a few night owls haunted the dining hall, perched over books and papers with what meager offerings she and the other two novices on kitchen duty had been able to prepare. She moved to the larder, empty of people, but the cluttered shelves didn’t ease her nerves. At least her fellow novices on kitchen duty had given her privacy to meet with her unnamed visitor.
Behind her eyelids, flames licked stone walls and rafted ceilings. A rancid smell suffocated, burning—burning flesh. Screams, choked, hoarse... Cries for help...
Murderer. Demon.
No, that’s not me. Not anymore.
Maybe the king’s knights had come to take her away. Maybe they knew what she’d done.
No, no. It was in the past. That’s what Magister Galvan had told her. It was in the past, and she needed to look ahead.
The Tower was the safest place for her to be. The only safe place. The Tower would be her home now. Forever. Here, Magister Galvan would keep teaching her how to control her power. Here, stone walls kept her away from the surviving people she loved. Kept them alive. And they’d be safe from her. She swallowed.
The door flew open.
Brennan rushed toward her and gathered her in his arms. She melted into him, let him sweep her off her feet, breathed in the familiar spice of his scent, cinnamon and cypress. The eighteen-year-old noble was tall, handsome, her betrothed. And a werewolf—secret from everyone. Everyone but her.
After it all, she’d longed to see him more than anyone, and here he was at last. He’d come to her. He would understand, and with his love and support, she might live to stop hating herself someday.
“Rielle,” he breathed into her ear. “Praise the Great Wolf, you’re alive.” His arms tightened, just a little, his warmth radiating through her novice mage robes. “I felt your anguish, and I ran to you—but when I arrived in Laurentine, it was—and I couldn’t feel you anymore, so it wasn’t until my father received word from the king that—Before, I thought you were—” His voice broke.
The fire, Mama and Papa, her brothers and sisters—everything came rushing back. She buried her face in his shoulder. Magister Galvan had used an arcanir ring on her on their way to the Tower. It had nullified her magic, but it had also disrupted her bond with Brennan until Magister Galvan removed the item.
Brennan brushed her curls with gentle fingers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.” When she drew back to look at him, he cupped her face in his hands. “I thought I’d lost you.” His usually jovial hazel eyes were dull and bloodshot.
Tears streaked wet trails down her cheeks.
He pulled her back into his embrace. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through and what they’ve made you suffer in this place. But I’m here to take you home.”
She breathed in his soothing scent—but the word home jarred. “Home...?”
“Maerleth Tainn, Rielle,” he replied, rubbing the back of her neck. “So you can be with those who love you.”
Those who love me. Slowly, she drew away from him, and his hands slipped down her arms to hers.
“I can’t.” Their parents had planned their marriage ceremony for next year, to be consummated within four years. But the fire had changed everything. She couldn’t risk anyone else. Not now. Perhaps never again.
If she loved, she could lose. And if she lost, she’d go into fureur and destroy everything and everyone.
It’s in the past. It’s in the past.
He glanced down at their joined hands; the tremors had started in her fingers again. The tremors... Not the battle fury, please. The battle fury, like a gateway, opened into full fureur—destruction incarnate.
“I need to learn to control my magic.” To move where non-mages lived before mastering her power would invite only more tragedy. The trembling spread up her arms.
Brennan’s brow creased. “My father can afford the best tutors for you. You can learn to control your magic at home.”
No. Not there. Not at another castle that could burn and burn and burn, with no one to stop it.
“Everyone’s a mage here,” she tried to explain. “It’s different.”
“You won’t hurt anyone,” he said. “I promise. I’ll be with you. Our bond will keep you calm.”
But he couldn’t be with her all the time. He just couldn’t. She slipped her hands free of his, then turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. Only here could her violence be kept inside. “Magister Galvan said I won’t have to worry about hurting anyone if I stay in the Tower.”
“Rielle, wouldn’t you rather be with me than here, among strangers?”
“Of course.” Given a choice, she would always choose to be with him.
But it wasn’t just that. If she couldn’t control her magic and burned down the castle, he’d die with it, werewolf or not. And so would his family. That was no choice at all. Until she earned her mastery and could be confident in her own control, their marriage could wait. “But they said I could become a master in a few years, if I work hard. I’d feel better if I knew for certain that others were safe around me.”
He shook his head. “The Proctor here said you’re a quaternary elementalist, Rielle. Do you know how rare that is? They’ll say anything to keep you here, to pull you into the Divinity. My father said they want you, your fortune, your lands—”
“No one’s asked me for anything here, Brennan.” Since the moment Magister Galvan had taken custody of her, no one from the Divinity had done anything but offer her aid. But what he said about quaternary elementalists, it was true. She’d read about them, how valuable they were to a bloodline. How valuable she was to a bloodline. “Perhaps it’s you who wants something.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “How can you say that?” he asked, his voice raw.
Perhaps she’d spoken too harshly.
“We Marcels have fortune and land in abundance. I want nothing but what’s best for you.” From behind, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
“Here is what’s best for me. Only for a couple years. You can come visit whenever you want. I hope you do.”
He went rigid. “You’re far too trusting of these mages. Ingratiating themselves to a girl in a vulnerable state is a manipulative tactic.”
Manipulative...? What was he talking about? Everyone had been kind to her, had made no demands, had treated her well even if she didn’t deserve it.
“They do it to gain your trust, and once they have it, you won’t even realize when they take what they want from you. My father’s had dealings with Magehold. The Divinity’s willing to submit to much without asking the mages—all for its own goals, its own ends.” He tightened his hold on her.
What was the Divinity willing to submit to? Brennan’s father sought something from the Divinity? All of this talk had begun to tangle. Why couldn’t Brennan just understand that she needed to be here?
“You might be too young to see it,” he whispered in her ear, his voice breaking, “but I do, and I can’t let them take advantage of you.”
He wanted to protect her?
With his hands clasped around her, she reached up to play with his fingers. She loved Brennan and someday would marry him, but she needed to stay at the Tower and master her magic; he was being
overprotective and unreasonable.
“It’s only a few years,” she replied. “I’m only staying here until I earn my Mastery, and then we’ll be married, just like our parents want.” She swallowed. “Wanted.”
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, stared down at her tempestuously. His hands traveled from her shoulders to her face, and his fingers stroked her cheek.
“Come home with me, Rielle,” he whispered. “To the hedge maze, and the hazel trees, the mountains, and all that was promised.” Slowly, he walked her backward until she hit the cupboard.
“After what I did to my family, I—” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears in.
His eyes widened.
Yes. This was who she was. If he hadn’t suspected she’d been responsible, he knew now.
He cupped her cheek, and she melted into his touch. His arms claimed hers once more, locking her in his embrace. Even through the simple novice robes she wore, his touch made her shiver.
All that was promised. They were friends now, had been since she was five, but someday, they’d be more.
But they’d have to live to see that day first.
“Brennan,” she said, breaking their embrace.
At the hurt rising in his eyes, she froze.
“Please, come home,” he said, his voice raw. “The marriage will just be words on a paper for a few years, but if we marry, the king will have no choice but to revoke the Divinity’s dominion over you and, until you’re of age, to put you in my custody as your husband—”
“No.” She wheezed in a breath. “I need to do this. I’ve made my choice.”
“Are you refusing me?”
No, she wanted to marry him, but she needed to be here for now. “Brennan, I only need to master my magic. If you could just please try to understand—”
The soft whisper of slippers came from the kitchen.
“No,” he replied, taking her hand in his. “You need to understand. You’re too vulnerable to think for yourself right now, but I know where you belong. They’ll try to keep us apart, Rielle. You’re too valuable to them. And you either trust me or you don’t. You either love me or you don’t. It’s either me or this place.”
Her lungs constricted. There wasn’t enough air. She couldn’t breathe.
He wanted her to choose between being with him someday and keeping him and his family alive? Between his comfort and her ability to live with herself? She clamped one hand over her mouth, tears dripping onto her lap.
“Please,” she gasped, “don’t ask me to—”
“Me or this place,” he repeated, his bright eyes fixed on her with unshakable focus.
Divine help her, she couldn’t breathe. Sobs rent through her as he stared at her expectantly. She had to answer.
“This place,” she mumbled.
His lower lip twitched. “Tell me you don’t want a life with me someday, Rielle. You know you can’t. Tell me you don’t want me in your life.”
A life with him was everything she wanted in the future. But after she was safe to be around. Why couldn’t he just see it?
“Brennan, please, I beg you—” She wanted to raise her hand to her eyes, but his brows knitting together, he grasped it, holding it tighter and tighter until it hurt. Her eyes stung with tears, burning, burning, and she tried to close them, but it didn’t help.
“Answer me.”
Why did he have to make this so hard? Why couldn’t he just trust her? She only needed to learn control, and then they could be together. Why did it have to be his way or none?
“Please,” she cried, but her wrist hurt.
“Tell me now or leave with me.”
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
“Tell me!”
“I don’t want you! I want to stay in the Tower! I want to learn magic!” Her hands blazed.
He leaped away, unharmed, and her hands faded, but her heart had torn open.
“There are more important things right now than marrying you! You don’t understand!”
He froze. Behind him, the entire kitchen staff and mages from the adjoining dining hall had gathered, exchanging concerned looks and whispering to one another.
When he looked back at them, his face reddened.
She had publicly rejected Brennan Karandis Marcel, heir to the dukedom of Maerleth Tainn and all its holdings, and everyone in the Tower would know of it before the night was out.
His eyes hardened.
Too far. She had gone too far.
She retreated into herself, wishing in vain she could take back those hateful words. An apology trembled on the tip of her tongue, but no—it wouldn’t be sincere. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t.
He swept his sleeve across his eyes and raised his chin, staring her down with imperious coldness. “You’ve made your choice. Enjoy being a slave for the Divinity. Goodbye, Rielle.”
No, no, no. This wasn’t it. This wasn’t goodbye.
But he’d already left.
She collapsed. Hugged her knees. Rocked.
Although the crowd huddled and spoke, she knew nothing but the screams, rancidity, smoke, the all-consuming fire and death and pain, and Mama, Papa, Liam, Dominique, Dorian, everyone—gone. Gone, by her hands.
Warm arms closed around her. She inhaled lavender. Olivia. Olivia, who’d taken care of her for days when she’d been no more than a sobbing mess. At the look on Olivia’s face, the tears only flowed faster.
Olivia held her closer, cried with her, and Rielle was shaking. Had been. And couldn’t stop. Her heart had been torn asunder, but in the circle of Olivia’s arms, she was safe. And so was everyone else.
Brennan stormed through the Tower’s dining hall, striding through mages who didn’t step aside fast enough, not caring whom he toppled. He’d thought her dead. Dead! His heart had stopped, his life shattered. For the eight years he’d known Rielle, he’d loved her—as a friend, a confidant, as her future husband. He’d wanted nothing more than to protect her, to make her smile, to share his life with her.
When he’d no longer felt her through the bond—when he had thought her dead, he’d wanted to die. He’d planned to. Without her, there was no controlling the Wolf. He would have become a monster, a danger to all, and heartbroken.
But when the news had come she lived, was safe at the Tower, how he’d rejoiced. Great Wolf, he’d breathed in life in his relief. She was alive. And she was aggrieved, alone among strangers. Needing love. Needing consolation. Needing him.
He pushed aside the mages in the hallway and burst through the Tower’s front doors, wild eyes scanning the drive for his carriage.
Already gone, at the carriage house.
Hearts pounded around him, voices whispered, and he looked at the faces surrounding him in the cold evening air. Already rumor spread like frost, touching all the loose tongues in the Tower with its chill.
A girl had refused Brennan Karandis Marcel.
His fiancée had repudiated him. He, Brennan Karandis Marcel, the heir to the dukedom of Maerleth Tainn, Marquis of Tregarde, Baron of Calterre, the son of Faolan Auvray Marcel, had been brought to tears and humiliation by a mere thirteen-year-old orphan.
His face tightened, every muscle in his body hardening to painful rigidity, and his fingernails bit into his palms, spikes of pain blooming the wetness of blood. Rip their tongues out. He wanted to rip their flapping tongues out.
He could rip apart the entire Tower right now. Immune to magic, he could kill anyone who got in his way and take Rielle home, where she belonged.
Pain radiated from his clenched jaw. Some of the mages surrounding him receded.
Kill everyone and take Rielle home... And then what? Wait for the torches and pitchforks and the hunt for the beast that he was, feel the grain of the wood on the chopping block, taste the bite of the executioner’s axe?
He slowed his breaths, looked past the meddlesome mages to the pines. There, in the pines, he could be himself, infuriated man or beastly wolf, and he did
n’t know which he needed to be right now. He stalked toward the sanctuary of the forest, and the crowd split to let him through. Each step away from the Tower became heavier, harder, anguished, but the pines didn’t turn away his fury, didn’t withdraw their welcome, and he offered himself into their embrace.
Great Wolf, he’d said everything, done everything he could to convince her. He’d come to her in sincerity, met her uncertainty with affection, and in the face of her wavering, he’d reminded her of the promise of their future. Husband and wife. Duke and duchess. He and she, they were intended for more, intended for each other, for their love to mature into the kind that sustained marriage, an eternal bond.
An eternal bond, and she rejected it for a life among strangers. Rejected him, all they’d shared and would share, for the affectations of a faith that wielded magic to influence the world. Wielding mages. Like her.
She had tossed aside someone who had always loved her, who had wanted the best for her, in order to become a tool. She’d deemed him worthless.
Pressure pushed at the back of his eyes, and he picked up the pace, ran through the ordeal of pine needles and abrasive branches, allowing their cuts, their castigation. Worthless. Was that it?
He couldn’t breathe, needed to shed that black mantle that bound him, that crushing estimation of hers, and he clawed at his clothes, sending buttons flying, ripping the stitches apart, and at last, he called to the Wolf, uncaged him, Changed.
Fingernails became claws, hands paws, black fur bursting from his skin, and the agony claimed the rest of him as man gave way to wolf, muscles morphing, bones reshaping, metamorphosis. The pads of his paws cushioned into the cold forest floor, and relief rippled through him, but he ran, bounding through the forest, tasting the chill with his wolfish tongue, inhaling the myriad scents of the dogwood and white pines and Emaurrian larches, the rabbits, squirrels, and sparrows, the lingering spice of old magic.
It was the essence of her flowing through him that allowed him this control. Her blood. And he’d be forced to see her before the next full moon. A soft whine escaped him, but he stifled it.
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