Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
T he evening shadows stretch into night as Anassa lowers her head to scent the bundle of mountain sage I brought for her. Moonlight spills across the terrace, gilding her fur in an otherworldly blue-white glow.
I hold my breath, heart thundering inside my ribs, caught between fear and desperate hope.
Through the bond comes another shift. The impenetrable iron wall seems to thin, becoming permeable, like silk rippling in the wind.
Her voice fills my head with startling clarity, deep and rich as aged wine, carrying the weight of centuries.
“ You finally wish to be here .”
Each word rolls thunderously through my consciousness, stealing my breath with its raw power and beauty.
Over the past month, I’ve imagined many scenarios where Anassa and I finally talked, communicated, connected. But I never actually put a voice to her words. Hearing her speak in my mind for the first time is like seeing the sun rise across a field of ice.
It paints the world in colors I didn’t even know existed.
An incredible sense of rightness unravels inside my chest. This whole time, our fractured bond was chafing against me in a way that I didn’t even realize or sense until now, when it’s finally disappeared. It’s like sitting down after a long day at the laundry and realizing I’d been ignoring my entire body’s aches.
It’s relief—stunning, world-shattering relief.
Eventually, I’m able to take a breath, and I realize what she’s said—a statement, not a question. A protest rises up inside of me, and I start to claim that I’ve wished to be here the whole time.
A ripple of amusement— her amusement—washes my denial away.
“ Do not pretend. Before, you fought against what you are. Against what we could be. But you’ve decided not to fight any longer .”
The words sting with truth. And more.
Through our connection, I feel Anassa’s assessment of me—a surprisingly gentle dressing down that pinpoints every time I’ve pushed her away. Every time I’ve doubted her, fought her, rejected her.
Every time I’ve insulted our bond by thinking of it as temporary.
And every time I’ve impressed her with my fighting spirit, too.
That’s the only reason she didn’t give up on me, I realize. The only reason she protected me during the Presentation. The only reason she cooperated to get me through the Voice Trial.
She wants this bond—or at least, she wants to try.
And she’s pleased that I’m finally accepting it, even if she doesn’t trust me yet. Even if part of her still wants to tear me apart for all the disrespect I’ve given her.
Goddess, my head is spinning. Her mind, her feelings —they’re so overwhelming. It’s hard to get to my own thoughts in my head, buried underneath the wave after wave I’m receiving from her. Part of me wonders if she’s been protecting me from this, too, by keeping the wall up between us. She knew I wasn’t strong enough yet to receive her in full.
My eyes sting and burn with inexplicable tears.
“ I’m sorry ,” I think, too overwhelmed to speak the words aloud. “ I didn’t know—I didn’t understand .”
Another wave of feelings washes over me. There’s satisfaction in it. Annoyance, too. Hope and distrust.
“ I will work with you ,” Anassa declares finally, her mental voice carrying both promise and warning. “ But know this—I chose you for a reason. Do not make me regret it .”
Before I can summon the ability to ask why she chose me, the connection closes. It’s not like before—there’s no slamming of that iron wall—but it’s clear the conversation is over.
As Anassa retreats once more into the shadows, I’m left with a sense of immense emptiness I don’t quite understand.
Like I’ve lost something I didn’t even know I was missing until now. It was the same feeling I had after the Voice Trial, when she let me see glimpses of a potential connection, but amplified by an unbelievable magnitude.
I make my way back down to my room in a cloud of unanswered questions, the echo of Anassa’s regal voice still loud in my head.
When Anassa meets me on the training field the next morning, I know today is going to be different. She doesn’t speak to me again, but the barrier between our minds is little more than a porous membrane. Through it, I can sense her feelings, her focus, her every intention.
She looks me in the eye when Stark commands us to mount up. Her mistrust flares again as she waits for me to push the connection away.
I don’t. I just put my hand on her broad, furry neck and nod.
“ I’ll do my best ,” I think toward her. “ I’m willing to try .”
She blinks slowly in wordless acknowledgment and turns her head away, waiting for me to climb on her back. As we begin our mounted warm-ups, I brace reflexively for her resistance, unconsciously expecting her to try bucking me off again.
Only she doesn’t. She glances back at me with irritation, though.
I send her a wordless apology and force my limbs to relax. A subtle tension I didn’t even notice before leaves Anassa, too. The muscles in her back go lax.
Today’s warm-ups start with a few laps around the training field, then agility drills with the enormous weave poles and hurdles on one end of the arena.
The instinct to direct Anassa is hard to resist. It’s terrifying to sit astride such an enormous animal and know you’re not in control. But Anassa can sense my anxiety. The fur between her shoulders ripples with responding ire.
Trust , I tell myself sternly, leaning into the enormous wolf. You have to trust her, Meryn. Otherwise, this will never work .
Again, Anassa responds, though I didn’t mean for her to hear my thoughts. I’ll have to start finally using some of the communication strategies we’ve gotten in Samson’s class, I realize. The bristling fur subsides. Her running gait grows longer, more confident.
I’m still nervous as I focus on matching Anassa’s rhythm, moving with her instead of trying to direct her.
Listen. Hear .
The command comes as a wordless thought—a vague intuition—but my mind translates it easily. I turn all my senses to the wolf. To the beat of her paws against the ground. The way her weight shifts with each stride. The way her ears angle and her head turns just before she changes direction.
By the time we reach the hurdle jumps at the end of the agility course, I’m aware of every muscle in her body coiling and uncoiling, all the way down to the flex of her toes as her claws dig into the earth.
Somehow, I know just how far to lean over her neck at the start of every leap. And how to hold my weight off her back when she lands so the impact doesn’t disrupt her stride.
She doesn’t tell me any of this in words or images—or even feelings.
I just… know .
The practice scenario Stark gives us today is focused on defensive maneuvers. Several Rawbond pairs are chosen to play “injured” pack mates while others are “attackers.” The rest, including Anassa and me, are instructed to protect the injured pack mates.
I can tell the moment my fighting instincts align with Anassa’s battle experience, clicking together like gears in a machine. I don’t need to direct her like I tried to before; all I have to do is adjust my swordwork to fit her natural hunting patterns.
It’s almost like a dance.
When she lunges into an attack, my sword is there to strike in the opening she leaves behind. When she leaps away again, I swing to defend her exposed flank.
Trust builds slowly between us with each maneuver, and an unexpected giddiness bubbles in my chest. Gone is the awkward cooperation, the sense of grudging teamwork. We move together with lethal precision—if not with the fluid unity of Stark and his wolf.
Their coordination carries a predatory oneness, like two killers who share a single mind, a single goal:
Hunt. Kill. Triumph .
The thought that Anassa and I might actually one day achieve that kind of unity fills me with unexpected eagerness. It feels good to work together instead of being so at odds with each other.
It feels powerful .
With Anassa’s help, I might actually have a chance of finding my sister.
But that’s a ways off. We’re still finding our rhythm.
Through it all, Stark circles on his massive black wolf, watching like a hawk. I try to ignore him, but I catch sight of his face again and again. Each time, his expression is darker and more vicious than before.
His bellowed orders drive our “attackers” into a killing frenzy. In a flurry of movement and clanging metal, Anassa and I successfully defend against three simultaneous assaults.
“Again!” he barks. “Harder this time!”
Suddenly we’re surrounded. Three attackers on one side, two on the other.
What the hell? Nobody else is getting this treatment! Why is he always singling us out?
What a sadistic asshole.
But I grit my teeth and focus in, trusting that Anassa knows what to do.
She darts and leaps with incredible speed, attacking and defending at turns. I don’t even know how I manage to stay on her back, but I do. It almost feels like I’m fused directly to her spine. My sword arm flies without thought, following her lead with choreographed precision.
Miraculously, the session ends with both of us breathless and spattered in blood, but undefeated.
I’m actually a bit disappointed it’s over, much to my surprise. I look up at Anassa as I dismount and smile without thinking.
“ That felt good ,” I direct at her.
Anassa doesn’t return my sentiment—she just turns and walks away, as usual. But I catch the waft of her satisfaction.
And for once, the bruises on my body warm and heal. She’s finally using her healing powers on me again.
Then I notice the strange quiet that’s fallen over the training field. The other Rawbond pairs are staring at us like they’ve never seen us before. A few of them whisper to each other in tones of astonishment.
Huh. I guess we impressed them .
Sensing his gaze, I glance over at Stark as everyone starts leaving the training field. I want to see some sign of approval in his stormy eyes, as much as I hate to admit it.
What the fuck is wrong with me that I’d seek praise from someone who very recently threatened to make an “accident” happen to me?
As usual, his vindictive scowl could darken the skies in sunny Astreona. I wonder if that’s his secret weapon on the battlefield: snarling at all the Siphons like the feral creature he is.
I lift my chin at him, challenging. We both know my success today means I’m a lot less likely to get murdered by one of the other Rawbonds.
I hope.
When I get back to my room this evening, I notice a note sitting on my small table. The room was locked, which means that this can only be from one person.
Killian.
I approach the note warily and Anassa’s curiosity perks up at the back of my mind.
“ From the man I used to… see, ” I tell her.
“ I’ve gathered, ” she responds tersely. She’s probably annoyed that I’ve spent so much mental energy on Killian when I’m meant to be training and strengthening our bond.
She agrees.
Sighing, I unfold the note. I’m not sure what I want from him. After seeing him at the Voice Trial, all I wanted was to seek him out, mend what was broken between us, and find a way to move forward. But can I truly trust him again?
The note stills all my thoughts of trust.
“Come to my quarters when you receive this. I have an update on the Nabbers. Straight through the servant’s tunnel, ignore all turns. It ends at my rooms. —K.”
If he’s found something out about the Nabbers, about Saela, I need to go to him. I grab my oil lamp and open the wardrobe, pushing my clothes to the side. Then I feel for the panel and eventually my finger snags on a button.
I push it and the wooden panel swings open to reveal a darkened stone tunnel. Take the straight path, Killian said. Easy enough.
But as the stone walls twist deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle, my hair starts to raise on the back of my neck, like something is wrong.
Just like in the halls that night after Presentation, the shadows seem to move with a will of their own. Faint whispers echo off the walls, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. They’re too faint to make out words, but they carry an unnerving thrum of energy that settles behind my eyes and leaves me dizzy.
Head swimming, I pause in the dim glow of the oil lamp, bracing my hand against the wall to steady myself.
What the fuck is this?
The voices grow stronger.
Pressing my palm against the cool stone to steady myself, horror spirals down into my gut. This is just like one of Mother’s episodes.
I shake my head, whether to refute the thought or to dislodge the voices, I don’t even know.
A vision hits me of my mother sitting at the kitchen table in a daze, staring at nothing. Speaking to ghosts.
Is this what it was like for her? Am I descending into madness now, too?
I lurch forward, determined not to give in to whatever this is. If I can just get to Killian’s rooms, maybe the voices will stop. Reality will reassert itself and I’ll feel normal again.
The path continues winding deeper into the bowels of the castle, but I reach what looks like a fork. I’m turned around and I suddenly can’t tell which path I’m supposed to take next. Pressing onward, I realize minutes later that I’ve started to descend instead of ascend to rooms. The air is stiff down here, musty with damp and age.
I stumble in the dark and my shoulder catches on something soft.
Heavy, dusty fabric collapses over me—a tapestry, ancient and faded. The whispers peak in a wild crescendo as the fabric slithers off me onto the floor.
My gasp echoes eerily against the cold stone walls.
Where the tapestry hung is a huge, intricate image carved directly into the stones—a woman astride a massive wolf, her face serene. Her head is adorned in an intricate crown composed of two direwolves leaping toward each other.
Vaguely, I recognize the style of the art is ancient. Very different from the other carvings and statues around the castle. It’s rougher, bearing subtle marks from the carver’s tools, yet no less elegant for it.
My vision swims strangely as I trace the woman’s face with my fingers. With a start, I realize it’s the bond—Anassa comes to life at the other end of it, her attention shifting to me, full of curiosity.
Why would this carving be hidden in the castle? And here of all places?
I touch the carving again as though to confirm its existence. I’m not imagining this, am I? Like the whispers?
As though in response to my thoughts, the whispers surge again. My hand trembles against the woman’s crown and the voices press against my skull like a physical weight.
My breath hitches. My vision darkens. As if from somewhere far away, my legs start to buckle.
The last thought I have before consciousness fades is that Killian will be waiting, wondering what’s become of me.