Chapter 6
I resorted to pacing.
My limbs were itching to move, to hike, to swim—something, anything other than sitting motionless in my prison cell.
Silas—King Silas—unsettled me.
I thought maybe his memory of me would make things different, like we were old friends or something.
Enemies, more like.
I fought the urge to scream. Being cooped up drove me crazy, but what if all the other werewolves were like Silas? Sweet at first, then they turn around to rip your throat out.
I shuddered at the thought and the passing memory of his breath against my cheek, my neck… pulse thrumming beneath my skin.
He had meant it, too.
That flash of wild I had seen in his eyes at the council meeting rippled underneath the surface, like it lived in his ribcage nestled under his heart. Maybe it’s what made his heart beat.
Regardless of what or where that wild lived, it had unnerved me. He’d switched so fast that it seemed almost like he had two personalities inside of him: one, kind and caring with a playful spirit; the other, untamed and angry and broken.
He’s still hurting from losing his father. I can give him a little grace for being broken.
I hated how logical I could be.
Morning had slipped into afternoon now, liquid gold spreading through the leaves of the bright green trees above me despite it being late autumn. I wondered how they had maintained their color with the growing cold. Then again, everything felt warmer here, like the place teemed with magic. And maybe it was magical.
Wherever it is.
I’d been informed I’d been here for a whole day. I wondered if everyone whispered about the intruder, wondering if my presence meant danger. Silas said in the Council that I threatened the exposure of Arcadia, but I wasn’t like some humans who would want to hunt them. I wanted to know them and learn from them.
Will they understand that?
I threw myself onto the soft bed, gazing up at the foliage.
I thought of all those years, all the ridicule I’d faced for believing in something beyond comprehension. I remembered the insults so vividly and the hatred for being stuck between the two things: my beliefs and my immediate reality.
I had wanted this.
I wanted to find the truth, proof that magic existed somewhere in the world. I had searched for countless hours on computers and paid careful attention to plants, fungi, creatures, and anything else I thought provided some answers.
And here I sat, in the den of an ancient race of shapeshifters, right under my nose for fifteen-odd years, facing a trial I didn’t think I could win against a king who was equal parts aggravating and fascinating. Here I lay, contemplating how I could convince him to let me stay.
It was a crazy idea.
I was crazy for even thinking it.
But I belonged here. Or at least, I didn’t belong with humans mocking what I knew to be true. Or maybe they would understand if they only knew.
I doubted myself countless times over the years, but I always found my way back to what I knew in the deepest parts of me. Shapeshifters roamed the Appalachian Mountains.
And I found them again.
The sound of keys caught my attention. Sitting up, I wondered if Silas had either come back to rip my throat out or apologize for his behavior.
Unlikely.
Instead, golden hair slipped through the doorway, a graceful body robed in silver.
“Hello, Eden.” Caroline smiled, warm, hot chocolate eyes watching me. “You seem relieved.”
I sighed. “I thought you were Silas.”
Caroline’s lips quirked downwards. “Is he causing you trouble?”
Shrugging, I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I don’t think he wants me here.”
“He brought you here, Eden.”
I stared at the woman in front of me. “He brought me here?”
Caroline tilted her head. “He thought it was the wisest decision… at the time.”
“So why does he bring me here and then turn around to be uncaring and unfeeling?”
“Silas is still not sure where he stands as Alpha. He wasn’t ready when our father passed.” A far-off expression clouded her gaze. “None of us were. Our people, they’re still healing. They’re scared. It takes time to heal from a wound so deep, losing your King when his heirs are still pups.”
I wondered over the social structure of their kingdom. If Silas was king now at a young age, he must’ve been barely an adult when he was crowned. That would be difficult for anyone, let alone dealing with the grief that comes with losing someone so close to you.
“I came to talk about your council tomorrow.” Caroline stepped over to the wardrobe. “You should wear this robe. It will communicate that you are here to learn and not to destroy.”
She handed me a light green robe, soft to the touch, like cool water running through my hands.
“When you speak with them, speak from your heart. Don’t try to be like us. And don’t try to be eloquent.” Caroline shook her head. “They want to watch you fall. Don’t allow them to succeed.”
She turned back to the table and picked up my plate.
“Caroline.” I set the robe aside. “Why are you helping me?”
The young woman paused near the door. A vague sadness passed over her face. But it left as soon as it had arrived. Instead, a smile lit up her features.
“My father always said that we should be kind to all we come across. The virlukos were created to be kind. We were created to help the earth and all that inhabit it. It’s in our blood.”
“Virlukos?” I asked, stumbling over the pronunciation.
“Our race. Our people.”
“What does it mean?”
“Men of wolves. Or, as your people call us, werewolves.” She chuckled, leaving me alone in my prison cell.
My mind wondered if the werewolves—virlukos—would even be willing to hear my case. Maybe they would refuse my hearing in the morning and refuse my plea. I hoped they would come with kindness, with whatever Caroline claimed rested in their blood.
Their loss of King Iain saddened me. It was obvious that their grief stayed back, dammed up right under the surface.
I stood and draped the light green robe over one of the chairs by the table.
I began to pace again, this time working out what I would say to the virlukos.
“Citizens of Arcadia,” I muttered to myself. “Sounds like a superhero comic.”
I walked another circle around the moss-covered floor before trying again. “Good afternoon, people of Arcadia.” I groaned in exasperation. “No, definitely not that.”
I made another round in the room.
“Hello. My name is Eden,” I started. I shrugged to myself and continued. “When I was four, I nearly died. I slipped into the Little River, its water swallowing me whole.”
I shivered. The memory of the icy waters choking my lungs burned in my memory. The phantom fire lingered in my chest. Since then, I’d never been quite comfortable in the water.
With a deep breath, I continued my speech to the empty room. “In a daze, I was dragged onto shore. That’s when I first met Iain, the moment I discovered that magic was real. The day I met the virlukos.”
I stopped pacing, and an ache worked its way into my chest where the fire had been.
Iain.
Countless times I’d dreamed of him. He would race through the trees, a younger version of myself clinging to his back. I heard his laugh, smelled the pine on his fur. He went with me wherever I went. He had been my imaginary friend growing up, only I knew that he wasn’t imaginary.
But now he was gone, and I would never see him again.