To Live Among Wolves (Legends of Arcadia Book 1)

Chapter 29

Watching Silas in the kitchen was like watching a nine-year-old make breakfast. He didn’t know where anything should be stored, and when he did find the right bowl or pot, he’d make so much noise that I swore it would wake the whole forest.

“Silas!” I laughed, whispering his name. “You have to be quiet.”

He gasped. “Do you… Do you think there are wolves in these parts?”

I rolled my eyes. Something new had control over his body, like all the stress had dissipated for a morning, and I didn’t want to spoil it. This version of him was special, and maybe only a handful of people had seen this Silas.

“Silly little king.” I pushed myself up onto the tabletop, my feet dangling inches from the floor.

He hummed, a smile on the edge of his lips as he made his way to me. He fit his knees between mine and leaned his arms against the table on either side of me.

“You pretty little queen.” He smirked, kissing me with such gentleness. My stomach turned, loving how relaxed he seemed.

It shouldn’t have surprised me again and again, but the image of the Silas I’d met my first day in Arcadia and the goofy guy standing in front of me were almost two separate people. He moved back, smiling at me.

“So what are we having for breakfast this morning?” I asked breathlessly.

He raised his eyebrow at me.

“Ah.” I nodded. “My apologies. What are we having for breakfast this morning, your majesty?”

He rolled his eyes, nudging me. “Har har. Nothing a king can’t handle.”

He pushed back from the table. After pulling the kettle from its hook, he filled it with water and placed it over the remains of a fire. I watched while he systematically built and lit a fire, causing small flames to climb around the wood.

Leaving the kettle and fire, he tugged a large jar off the shelf, his muscles tightening from the weight of it. Silas pried the lid away, revealing pounds of oats. He grabbed one of the bowls he’d found earlier and spooned several scoops into the bowl.

“So tell me what life is like for a human.” He glanced at me and returned the jar, grabbing an apple and a small knife.

I shook my head, raking a hand through my unruly hair. “Nothing special.”

He stopped, eyes finding mine. “I’d have to disagree.”

I swayed my feet under the table. “It’s just life. It’s not magical like this.”

He dropped his hand with the knife to the table. “Life is magical in and of itself. You are teaching me that every day. It doesn’t need shapeshifters to be special or important.”

I focused on the fire, wood starting to crackle. “Fine then. It’s life. It’s education in concrete buildings in straight rows of desks. It’s having the pressure to plan your entire life before you’re even considered an adult. It’s–”

My words stopped when I remembered my life before all of this. “It’s music playing so loud your heart matches pace. It’s witnessing sunrises, sunsets, and stars so beautiful you know that your problems don’t matter in comparison, that there’s something greater beyond your minuscule life. It’s eating good food and drinking iced coffee in the summer and apple cider chai in the autumn. It’s screaming in the car on a road trip alone when you’re free. It’s simple and complex and ugly and beautiful all at once.”

“Do you miss it yet?”

I met his gaze. His eyes were shadowed in the dark of dawn.

I nodded.

“Maybe–” Silas started, cutting himself off. “Well, Someday.”

His attention was off of me and onto the apple, slicing through its skin with such precision. He cut the pieces into chunks, gathering them together in a pile. He tossed the core through the trees to our right.

It hit me anew that the kitchens were one of the places that didn’t have walls. Caroline had first explained to me that everyone ate together in the kitchen. Sometimes the royal family ate with their people, and other days, they ate their meals in private.

But the way the kitchen had been built aligned with communal living. There were no walls, only trees and grass marking the transition from forest to room. The center, where the table, shelving, and furniture rested, had a thin layer of small rocks and clamshells that clinked and crunched whenever Silas moved around.

“So we’re having oatmeal for breakfast?” I peered around him at the fire where the kettle steamed.

“Mother’s recipe.”

I thought I heard pain in his voice, maybe nostalgia.

His body froze aside from his chest rising and falling. “She always made the best breakfast. Oatmeal, cornbread, deer meat over the fire. It was always a special meal, even for a normal day. She was just like that.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She was,” he said, then shook his head. “Is… I guess. I don’t know.”

He wrapped the edge of his robe sleeve around his hand and turned to reach for the kettle. He poured the boiling water over the oats, then replaced the kettle to its hook. He pulled four small jars from the shelves.

I watched him while he added what looked like salt from one, what smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg from two others, and a greenish-gray colored herb. Scooping them up in his hands, he added the apple chunks. He then grabbed a spoon from a drawer in the shelving and stirred the contents of the bowl until they were mixed.

“Lycaon,” Silas spoke, holding a hand at the base of his sternum. “Veime kunan, surin lukos. Rauha ussen. Bene.”

He passed me a spoon and dug in.

I took a bite, the flavors melding in my mouth. Silas had added thyme, the mystery herb. I never would have thought about adding it to oatmeal, but it balanced the tartness of the apple.

“Tell me about your wolf life,” I said between mouthfuls.

He shrugged, swallowing. “You know a lot of it. I grew up as a prince who might one day rule Arcadia. Nash and I fought constantly, and Caroline always thought she was better than us. And our mother passed to the Other Realm when we were fifteen, only five years ago, though it’s like I’ve spent a lifetime without her.”

“And Iain?” I urged.

Silas shook his head. “He was always a father to us, not a king. Just Iain. And he taught us well growing up. Only when Nash started disappearing for long lengths of time did things start to slip away from us.”

“Disappear? What do you mean?”

I knew he’d missed Iain’s passing. That much was evident from his lack of knowledge when he’d barged into my council hearing. But now that I tried to understand the timeline, how long had Nash been gone?

Silas shifted where he stood, shoulders tensing.

“The first time Nash disappeared, he’d been gone for two days—about a week or so after burying my mother. When he returned, our father was grateful he’d come back. And alive, at that. We hadn’t been allowed out alone. No virlukos is until they reach sixteen. So Nash wasn’t trained and could’ve gotten into serious trouble.”

“But he kept disappearing?”

Silas clenched his jaw. “He started disappearing for longer periods of time. He’d been gone for about a month when–” He swallowed, clearing his throat. “When Nyx murdered our father.”

“I’m so sorry, Si,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault that he wasn’t there. My father had been searching for Nash when he… And Nash stayed missing for eight more months. He stayed missing for almost an entire year. I mean, who does that?” His voice snapped. “I’ve never demanded answers from him. Not once.”

“Silas, I’m sure–”

He threw his spoon back into the bowl. “You know, come to think of it. Why did he decide to return now of all times? Now, when you’re here and Nyx is causing problems again. A bit of a coincidence, really.”

“Silas–”

He wasn’t listening to me.

“I’m going to find him.”

“Silas.”

I reached for him too late.

He dropped his robe and phased, disappearing into the forest.