Direbound (The Wolves of Ruin #1)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

T he gate behind the woman, I realize now, is an elaborate wrought iron depiction of two direwolves howling. The woman turns to push it and the direwolves part and swing away.

I stare at it so that I don’t have to venture a look at Anassa, who I already know will be intentionally avoiding my gaze. I can somehow feel the tension in her massive muscles.

And worse, there’s still that unyielding iron wall between our minds.

Even so, there’s a warmth in my boots; I think she’s healed my cracked, aching skin.

“Go on, then. Find your pack in the courtyard,” the woman says, jutting a hand out.

I hesitate only briefly. Something about the towering stone castle walls makes me claustrophobic. But I don’t really have a choice, at least not tonight. I need time to figure out how to get out of this bond.

“You know where to go,” the woman says, craning her neck to meet Anassa’s gaze. The direwolf huffs dismissively and pads past me, galloping off beyond the castle’s walls.

I can sense the woman’s impatience, so I sigh and step forward, too, heading in the same direction Anassa disappeared. But when I round the corner, she’s nowhere to be seen.

Instead, a large courtyard reveals itself to me. The same mighty walls surround the enclosed space, but here, the supporting pillars are adorned with carved wolves sitting regally atop every column. They sit high above us, staring down with their muzzles tucked close to their chests, eternally glowering.

In the center of the courtyard is a similar statue with two wolves perched atop an artistically carved rock. Along the interior colonnade, there are several arched doors made of heavy, marred wood. At the corners of the courtyard, there are four oriel windows jutting out of the walls, implying a second traversable floor along the wall walks above.

At the edges of the courtyard, separate groups of recruits—no, Rawbonds —gather up, clearly separated by the differently colored marks in their hair.

The rest of the silver-marked Rawbonds are in the center of the courtyard, mostly huddled around the large statue. The snow beneath their feet has been crushed beneath many boots, revealing some dead grass and more of the same ice-slick cobblestone I trod across now, boots thudding heavily.

The massive interior space makes me leery. The courtyard has clearly been carved large enough to give the direwolves room to maneuver freely, but I’m used to narrow alleys and tiny houses. I’m used to having a wall at my back at all times.

Standing here, an attack could come from any direction and I’d have very little to use to my advantage beyond my own strength. Which is nothing to scoff at, of course.

But being able to hurl a chair at someone or yank down a dangling laundry line to blind them would make me feel safer.

Some of my energy returns when I pick Izabel out of the crowd of silver streaked-heads. I trudge towards her and grunt out her name. She tenses and turns, but her eyes light up when she sees me.

“Meryn! You made it in one piece!”

“Sort of. I left my dignity up on that mountain.”

Izabel laughs. “Well, you’ve got all your body parts, still. So that’s something. Anassa’s warmed up to you?”

“If the warmth you’re referring to is fiery rage, then yes . Very much so.” I suck in a trembling breath, still weak and aching from my tumble down the mountain, and look around at the rest of the recruits. “Wow.”

“I know. There are a lot of us,” Izabel replies.

But that wasn’t at all what I was commenting on. It’s devastatingly clear that nearly all of them are from the Bonded City. I can tell just looking at them. The colorfully dyed coats, heavy furs, draping scarves. The healthy build to their muscles. Their towering height.

Goddess, even their skin looks healthier than people’s did back in Eastern.

My eyes catch on a particularly boisterous pale-skinned Rawbond. He’s one of the older ones, tall and handsome with vibrant red hair that stands out against the gray stone and pale snow. He’s all smiles and laughter, with a small group of admirers gazing at him and tumbling into laughter alongside him as if we didn’t just watch leagues of people die.

It’s that unwavering confidence that unnerves me, like they all own the world.

Even the quieter ones exude it. A wiry girl with that same silver streak in her brown, curly hair stands apart from the rest of our group. Tears are streaking silently down her face—she’s distraught about something, and even so, her eyes burn like she thinks she could cut any one of our throats without consequence.

“You must feel a little lost,” Izabel says, interrupting my stewing thoughts.

“Understatement. But it’s like I told you. I’m not supposed to be here,” I reply.

“And yet, you are. It could be worse. We’re both in the Strategos Pack,” Izabel says proudly, beaming at me. That’s the same word I heard the woman at the gate use. “The leaders.”

I raise a brow. “Leaders?”

“Mmm-hmm. My parents are both in Strategos, too, but I’m not surprised that Venna joined Kryptos.” She points at the smattering of Rawbonds in the eastern corner of the courtyard. The ones with the deep bluish streaks in their hair. “They’re the spies,” Izabel explains. “Venna’s always been hard to pin down…” she smiles, a memory alight in her eyes.

“Then over there,” Izabel resumes, pointing to the western corner, where a group of particularly brutish-looking people have gathered. “Daemos. The warriors.”

The warriors with the bloody red streaks. I frown.

Every single one of them looks like they’re just waiting to tear someone’s throat out with their teeth. They’re even larger than the rest, buzzing with an energy that I’d assume was nervousness if their eyes weren’t so keen. I’m pretty sure they’re just restless to fight something.

Unsurprisingly, Jonah’s in that group, glaring out at everyone.

“Lastly, there’s the Phylax, or the guardians,” Izabel goes on, gesturing to the calmer looking group where Henrey stands with his hands resting passively on his hips.

So leaders, spies, warriors, and guardians. “Roles in combat?”

“Sort of. But it also has to do with pack dynamics, culture, and even the wolves’ demeanors,” she says. “Each of us has our purpose, and we work together. In theory.”

I’d been starting to lean into the intrigue of it all. The inner workings of this privileged, exclusive part of society that always loomed over those of us toiling below. But that one word, purpose , jars me from my curiosity.

Saela is my purpose, not leading a bunch of pompous, overly cocky Rawbonds.

I have more important questions to ask. Like, how the fuck do I get out of this and reach the front lines?

But before I can start interrogating Izabel about how difficult it may or may not be to wriggle out of this particular sort of enlistment—specifically, how possible it might be to break my bond without dying—the metal gate we all entered through clangs loudly, the sound echoing over stone.

We all fall silent as the woman who admitted us strides forward, frowning slightly. “That’s it, then!” she announces, voice carrying. “Sundown. Let’s get you to your quarters.”

One look at the darkening sky and I realize that she’s right. The day’s over. Anyone still beyond those gates is probably dead.

I give myself only a moment to think of the lost, then the high-ranking Bonded woman sweeps past us, speaking loudly and quickly as she walks. “I am Egith Hartsfeld, Beta of the Strategos pack,” she says without looking at any of us.

The group of Rawbonds startles and stumbles after her, trailing after her authority without needing to be told. I try to work through the term she just used.

Beta , she said. But apart from knowing the Alphas are in charge, I don’t know anything about Bonded terminology, and it passes right over my head.

I take it that she’s someone important, though.

We head to the eastern part of the courtyard where the Kryptos pack waits, all funneling through the colonnade and into the interior of the castle. The wide wooden door creaks open before Egith as she approaches it, and I realize belatedly that there are two men standing on the other side, pulling it open for her.

But how long were they standing there? Is that all they do? Are they just paid to stand there and wait to open the door for the all-important Bonded?

Egith talks while she walks, not bothering to look back to see if she’s being followed. “This half of the castle was constructed for Rawbond training. We train here, in close proximity to the king, so that he is able to keep an eye on the progress.”

An entire half of the castle is dedicated to training? I had no idea. And it all looks like this? Goddess.

When I step inside, a wave of welcoming warmth envelops me. There must be a hundred hearths crackling within these walls to keep the cold out so efficiently. Everything is polished and gleaming, even the exposed stone of the walls. The floor gleams beneath our messy boots.

More imposing statues flank the walls of the entryway, faces of what I presume are renowned Bonded staring down as if they’re assessing us.

Izabel looks unbothered, eyes glued to Egith as we delve deeper into the castle, but this is all too much .

Disbelief simmers in my gut.

There’s no need for any of this opulence. The deeper rooms of the castle’s interior warm further, walls covered in paneled, rich wood. Tapestries hang on every surface, woven with gold and silver threads, each depicting direwolves, elaborate crowns, or swirling designs that look like snowdrifts and stormy clouds.

The hostile, cold stone turns to marble and high, vaulted ceilings with carved wooden support beams. Everything is just as wide open as the courtyard, with massive arched doorways and floor-to-ceiling windows with intricate latticework. The halls are lit with flickering oil lamps, warm light pooling over shining marble and the excited faces of the other Rawbonds.

“You do not leave this half of the castle,” Egith says, her voice echoing through the halls alongside the blunted sound of our many footsteps. “The other half is for the royal family and you are forbidden from stepping foot in it except on special occasions.”

It seems impossible to me that there’s a part of the world that possesses this much obvious wealth. The hallway we’re walking through is wider than the streets back home.

“As you can see, our half of the castle was built for wolves to be able to navigate it,” Egith says, gesturing to a tall doorway as we pass it by.

“Where are our wolves?” Henrey pipes up from nearby.

People around him snicker or smirk like his question was stupid. It makes sense to me, though. Anassa disappeared. I thought it was just because she wanted to get away from me, but I haven’t seen a single direwolf since arriving.

“Ah, there’s always one,” Egith says as we pass through a set of massive iron-studded doors and turn down another equally elaborate hallway. Some servants scuttle past us, eyeing us with blatant apprehension. “Learn quickly, Rawbond. The wolves prefer to be outdoors. While in training, the wolves stay in pack terraces carved into the mountainside across from the outdoor training grounds. You will get a full tour of the facility tomorrow.”

To his credit, Henrey nods sternly, focused, and ignores the assholes muttering about him under their breaths. His cheeks are ruddy, though.

We reach the end of the hallway and approach yet another pointed stone archway. This one has lush red velvet curtains draped over the bend of its arch, dripping down to the shiny floor in gentle folds.

Egith bats a curtain aside carelessly as she steps through. We all follow her like a gaggle of ducklings imprinted on the only authority figure in sight.

The circular room we enter is massive. It’s clearly some sort of common space, if you could call a place like this common .

It’s well-lit with flickering oil lamps covered in warm-colored shades. One half of the room has dozens of long, polished dining tables set with delicate, spindly chairs. The other half has huge, plump couches and chaises set around several enormous fireplaces. One of the gargantuan fireplaces is being stoked by a servant in castle livery, who doesn’t look up when the crowd of us enters.

The walls are lined with stacked bookshelves, tapestries, or massive portraiture and landscapes. The walls themselves are made of a rougher stone, scenes of hunting wolves carved in bas-relief throughout the entire room.

It’s immaculate, of course, as the rest of the castle is. Every detail is in place, down to the perfectly pruned flowers in the vases. How they managed to get this many flowers from the outer fiefdoms, I have no idea; they don’t grow outdoors in Sturmfrost. We see them occasionally in the markets, but they’re exotic, priced high.

I guess that’s one of the unnecessary things rich people like to spend their money on.

As the rest of the crowd files inside, my eyes catch on the large adjoining doors set around the room. Four of them, spaced out evenly. They’re very clearly labeled with the pack names Izabel shared earlier.

Strategos, Kryptos, Daemos, Phylax .

Below each gilded inscription, there’s a unique symbol crafted from some sort of runes. I’m just starting to examine them when Egith’s voice rings through the room again.

“This is the Rawbond common lounge, where you will receive your meals,” she announces, finally stopping to turn and look at us. “Behind your respective pack doors are your pack dormitories. Each pack has its own common space, bunk room, bathing areas, and private rooms for the instructors. You’ll eat within your pack dorms tonight, but starting tomorrow, all packs eat in this shared lounge.”

Silence settles over the room, punctuated only by the shuffling of feet and a loud pop from the fire. Seconds pass before Egith rolls her eyes and juts her hand towards the labeled doors.

“ What are you waiting for? Go!”

Immediately, the Rawbonds flood towards their pack quarters. I clench my jaw as Izabel waves to her sister, smiling and signing a few words. Then she turns to me and touches my elbow gently. I fall into step with her as we head towards the Strategos quarters.

“Home sweet home,” Izabel says as we step inside.

I sway slightly on my feet at the sight of it. It’s equal parts sickening and thrilling, seeing all this luxury.

We’ve stepped into a massive antechamber crammed with comfort. There’s seating everywhere, including plush-looking nooks by the windows. More bookshelves line the walls. Mountains of pillows heap on the various chairs and couches. Soft, ornate rugs blanket the floor. A chandelier hangs low, flickering with gentle light.

There’s another massive fireplace, big enough to fit my entire body standing upright within. The walls are covered in shimmering wallpaper, a deep mauve color with silver damask patterns reflecting the roaring fire’s light. The windows have stained glass patterns on them—silver wolves in various states of elegant motion. Above the mantel is a massive carving of the military crest.

Goddess, it even smells rich in here, like someone’s burning incense somewhere. Cloves, maybe?

“What the fuck?” I mumble under my breath, gaze catching on the crystalline tea set sitting on the low table near the fire. Who needs that? Aren’t we meant to be fighting a war?

Around the anteroom are four closed doors and one that’s open.

“Welcome to the Strategos dormitory,” Egith says as she moves toward one of the closed doors. I’d wager that all of those doors lead to the private rooms for the instructors. “For those of you who need clothes to change into,” her eyes linger on me at this, “there’s a store closet in the bunk room that has everything you’ll need in a variety of sizes. Sleep well.”

I stare back at the servants that start to pour into the room as Izabel drags me through the open door. This is clearly the sleeping quarters. There are thirteen bunk beds lining the walls, all identical and separated by matching dressers. There’s another hearth burning at the end of the long room, with a stack of wood next to it and a grate with a howling wolf sparing the lavish rug from rogue sparks.

At the end, an ajar door reveals a lavatory and washroom, likely just as large, luxurious, and gleamingly clean as the rest of this place.

As Izabel and I wander among the other Rawbonds, looking for a spot, I drag my hand over the linens on one of the beds. Soft. So soft. Nicer than anything I ever washed back home, let alone owned.

My mind spins. This is what Bonded trainees get?! We’re not even proper soldiers yet!

The contrast is ridiculous. The recruitment center I visited was run-down and barebones in comparison. What are the soldiers on the front lines getting? Probably a cold bed roll and gruel for breakfast.

We constantly hear about how we need to tighten our belts for the war effort, to make sacrifices so that soldiers could get what they needed to protect us.

But all the food we couldn’t have ended up here, in Bonded bellies. The fuel for our fires ended up in these hearths. The taxes and the lowered wages, too, all so that the Bonded could hire servants to open their doors for them and sleep on silky sheets.

We’re all putting our lives on the line in the war against the Siphons. Why should the Bonded get this luxury when soldiers on the frontline are struggling, when commoners are starving to death and living in fear?

What, because they have big scary direwolves?

I’m in a bit of a trance as Izabel picks a bed for us to share. She thuds her pack down, and I stand there a little numbly, remembering that I don’t have a pack any longer. I had to leave all my things up on top of the mountain, right next to my dignity.

Rest in peace.

I spot the store closet Egith mentioned and note to myself to grab some things to wear.

“We should eat,” Izabel says. “And clean up. But food first.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding absently.

By the time we make it back into the anteroom, the tables are laden with a feast. It smells amazing, like fresh bread and herbed meat and the gentle sting of wine.

I sit beside Izabel and load a plate, inhaling the food without a care for manners. It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and it’s not just because I’m half-starved. I wouldn’t be able to afford a meal as nice as this with a week’s wages back home. People in Eastern don’t even make food like this, because no one would be able to buy it.

But it’s so good. Rich and buttery. Spicy. Fatty. It’s bliss on a plate.

“Hungry?” Izabel teases as I chew.

I swallow and nod. “Fattening myself up for when Anassa decides to eat me. Want to make the experience nice for her.”

Izabel laughs. We eat in silence for a few more minutes and I consider refilling my plate, but my stomach already aches from the rich meal and the sheer amount of it that I’ve already downed.

“Ready to turn in?” Izabel asks.

“Fuck yes,” I reply, pushing my chair out and standing.

Back in the bunkroom, many of the Bonded are unloading bags and stocking their dressers, draping blankets over their beds, hanging curtains along their bunks for privacy.

I frown. “Did they have all that stuff in their packs?”

Izabel shakes her head. “No one would climb with a spare pillow in their bag. Our families deliver our things to the castle when we head to the Ascent.”

I scoff. “Presumptuous.”

A muscle in her jaw twitches as she drags a bag out from beneath our bed. “For a Bonded family, there’s no such thing as failure. If you fail to bond in your Trials, you’re out. You’re dead to them. Not one of them any longer.”

Bitterness seeps into my blood. None of this makes sense. None of this is just. This system grinds people up and spits us out.

I glance around, cursing under my breath. It’s going to be even more obvious that I don’t fit in here, what with my bare bunk and regulated clothing. As if my shiny silver hair and asshole of a direwolf weren’t bad enough already.

Not that I want to fit in here. My goal is Saela. I just need to live long enough to find a way out of here.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

I grab some old—but still soft and expensive—pajamas from the store closet, as well as new packs of underwear and a uniform for tomorrow. Then, I head to the lavatories, changing quickly so the next girl can use my stall. The connected washroom is tempting, but I’m so exhausted that I can’t think of anything other than falling face-first into a pillow.

Back in the bunk room, I start to climb up to my top bunk, but Izabel stops me, her eyes filled with concern.

“Don’t let your guard down,” she says quietly. “Everyone’s wiped out tonight, but training has started and everyone is going to want to prove themselves as the strongest recruit in the pack.”

I nod. “I’m going to keep my head down. Don’t worry.”

Izabel looks decidedly worried, but nods and reclines in her bunk. I wince as my muscles strain on the way up to the second level of the bed, but even once I’m there, the tension doesn’t leave me. Izabel’s words were hardly comforting.

It’s like I thought, like Lee said.

The Bonding Trials are vicious and cutthroat. The Ascent may be over, but the Trials are still just getting started. I have to watch my back.

My mind is rifling through possibilities as I close my eyes. Would someone try to attack me in my sleep here? Will my faulty bond with Anassa end up killing me first? I’m convinced I’ll never fall asleep up until the very moment my mind starts to away, exhaustion getting the better of me.

The sleep that takes me is deep and unbearably heavy. Dark, even.

And in that darkness, a voice that turns my blood cold, chanting like the beat of a heart.

“ Lumina, Lumina, LUMINA .”