Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
B ack in my room, all thoughts of the mysteries under the arena are forgotten. My mind races as I stuff clothing and supplies into my pack, Egith’s message burning in my pocket.
There have been possible sightings of children near the Grunfall outpost at the front. Egith gave no further details, but the implications…
Could Saela be among them?
Through our bond, Anassa tries to project calm, but my thoughts spiral with mounting intensity.
I might never get another opportunity like this. And I can’t trust anyone else to follow through on Saela’s rescue. I know there are great, seasoned soldiers and Bonded at the front—better than me, no doubt. But I don’t trust anyone but myself with my sister’s safety.
I have to get there—fast.
“Going somewhere?”
Stark’s voice drawling from the doorway behind me isn’t enough to break me out of my near-frantic preparations. I don’t even turn to look at him.
“Egith sent me a message, “ I say, cramming the healer’s kit into my pack. “I’m heading to Grunfall.”
“Grunfall?” he repeats. “The front? By yourself? I think not.”
“I’m not asking for permission,” I grunt as I fasten the ties on my pack.
Starks voice deepens with anger. “You are an Alpha, Cooper. And one still in training, at that. You can’t go charging off without protection.”
The dangerous tone makes me bristle. Finally, I turn to face him, temper spiking.
“I don’t need any damn protection,” I snap. “I’ve been training with you for weeks. Or did you forget how I put you on your back this morning?”
His face turns thunderous. He steps into my room, filling the small space with his looming presence.
“You took me down once,” he growls, “and you think that makes you invincible? Alpha or not, you’re still a trainee. The Siphons will smell the green on you a mile away—and they’d love nothing more than to capture an Alpha.”
Something inside me hardens as I face him. It’s the same feeling I got when I was torturing that Nabber. Nothing is going to stop me from saving my sister—not even Stark.
“You’re going to have to put me down if you want to stop me,” I say in a cold, deadly voice.
Stark’s expression shifts, reading my face. His jaw tightens. The deep brown eyes narrow with calculation. Silence stretches between us, thrumming with the threat of violence.
“You’re not going alone,” he grates. “I’m coming with you.”
Shock and fury flash through me. “The hell you are!”
“It’s not a request,” he says in a tone of steely command. “Talk to your wolf about it. I bet Anassa will agree with me.”
I reach for her. “Don’t fuck me like this, Anassa,” I hiss. “We can’t trust him.”
She growls, and it sounds like laughter. “Of course we can, he’s a fellow Alpha. I’ve decided already. He and Cratos will come with us, for your safety.”
Anassa sounds very pleased to be going around me with this call. “Traitor.” Cratos will probably eat me for a snack when he gets hungry.
My gaze snaps back up to Stark and I scowl. “Whatever. Come with us or don’t, just don’t get in my way.”
I can’t think of anything but getting to the front as quickly as possible.
Stark summons a servant to gather his travel supplies and meet us at the gates. We’re packed and ready to go within the hour.
As we mount our wolves and the castle gate cranks open, I feel a brief twinge of guilt. I left a note in my room for Killian explaining everything and promising I’ll be back in a week. He’s going to be worried, but there’s no time to say goodbye.
No time to argue about what I’m doing.
Despite what I said to Stark, I know this is reckless. I know it’s dangerous—the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, which is really saying something. But I don’t have a choice.
If I miss this chance and Saela dies—if I never see her again because I waited too long…
I push the thought away. I’m going to find her. Whatever it takes.
We leave the castle walls behind without a backwards glance, our wolves moving in practiced synchronization, their massive paws eating up the distance with otherworldly speed.
Stark and Cratos take the lead at first, guiding us down a broad dirt road that swerves away from the city and spits us out into mountain wilderness.
This is the path the troops take to get to the front. It’s forbidden to commoners, so there’s nothing to slow our pace. I lower my head and lean into Anassa’s body as her speed increases. Even in my state of desperate focus, the pace is exhilarating. We’ve never moved this fast before, even during the Trials.
Which is good. On horseback, the journey to the front takes two weeks. At this pace, we can be there in two days —if we don’t run into any trouble.
I glance to my left. Stark and Cratos keep pace beside us with unnerving ease, moving like one creature with two bodies.
Stark watches me intently. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the ferocity of his stare sets my teeth on edge. Maybe he expects me to peel off at any moment and try to leave him behind. Or maybe he just expects me to fall off my direwolf like the greenhorn I supposedly am.
Either way, tension crackles in the air between us. Anassa bristles, irritated by my resistance to having him here.
“Be grateful,” she growls into my mind. “You do not understand the dangers ahead.”
Maybe she’s right, but I’m getting really damn tired of Stark and his malicious condescension. The fact that he doubts me so much he’s willing to follow me to the front lines like some kind of nanny makes me burn with resentment.
What the fuck does he care if I die? The man hates me.
Maybe he just wants to be there to see it happen , I muse darkly.
Anassa bristles again. She doesn’t say anything, but her judgment comes through with crisp clarity. She thinks I’m being childish—and ignorant.
I ignore her, focusing in on the path ahead. This isn’t about Stark or anybody else.
It’s about Saela.
Within minutes, our lightning pace carries us out of sight of the city. As soon as the castle spires disappear behind the treeline, Stark says, “If you’re going to be reckless, at least let me keep you alive.”
I look at him with a start. Is that concern in his voice?
He meets my gaze with the usual scowling intensity, but there’s no malice in it. No condescension. Almost like he guessed what passed between me and Anassa just now and he’s trying to… what? Reassure me?
What the actual fuck?
Thankfully, I’m saved from having to respond by Anassa kicking up her speed. All at once, the air is whipping past with such violence that talking is impossible.
Thank the goddess .
I put thoughts of Stark aside and focus on the path ahead. It’s more difficult than expected. I’m all too aware of his wolf racing along beside us.
Focus on the goal, I tell myself, gaze trained on the winding path through the forest ahead. It takes us down from the mountains, over the foothills, and into the sprawling, tree-choked valley below.
We’ve been on the road for a few hours when the wind starts to pick up, buffeting us despite Anassa and Cratos’ unnatural speeds. I glance over at Stark and see that he’s adjusted his seat, sinking even deeper into the fur of Cratos’ neck and back until they almost look like one mythical creature. I do the same, burrowing into Anassa, and I feel her spark of approval.
None too soon, because shortly after, thick flakes begin to fall. The wind is whipping them into my face, down the collar of my coat, little piles of snow gathering in the joins of my clothing and melting into icy streams of water that dampen my clothes beneath my leathers.
The flakes turn into sheets of snow, and I stop trying to brush them off—it’s useless, at this point. The blizzard is raging so furiously that I can barely see Stark and Cratos through the snow, even though they’re just a few paces away.
A little of my doubt and worry passes through the bond, and Anassa comes back with fond annoyance.
Okay—she’s not worried. That makes me feel a little better.
I press my face against the fur of Anassa’s neck until the flakes can’t reach me, folding my arms beneath me and pressing them into her fur until all my most vulnerable parts are hidden from the elements. It’s not the most comfortable way to ride, but at least I won’t get frostbite.
We near Linsfall just before evening—or at least I think we do, it’s hard to tell the time of day through all of this snow. I get a little spurt of relief when I see the lights of the fiefdom through the trees up ahead.
This is the halfway point; directly south of Linsfall’s city center, within the bounds of their fiefdom, is an outstation where troops and Bonded can set up camp, rest before making the second half of the journey to the front.
The weather is still raging too hard for us to set up our tents, though. I raise my head to watch Stark, possible again as the snow has let up just slightly. He doesn’t look back at me, his focus straight ahead at the city walls we’re fast approaching.
Some stupid part of me doesn’t want to stop. The urgency I felt when I read Egith’s message hasn’t abated, and the wolves could probably keep going a few hours more.
My rational brain knows that would be idiotic in this weather, though. My body burns with exhaustion and cold, my thighs aching from their grip on Anassa’s back. I’ve never ridden her for this long before and it’s making my muscles scream. My back is tender where the moisture from the snow has seeped in and my damp clothes rub against my leathers.
Linsfall is an ancient city, like Sturmfrost, built in stone and timber. Stark guides us to a gatehouse built into the thick wall that encircles the city, and miraculously there’s still a gatekeeper holding watch there, though I don’t know who she thought could reach Linsfall through all of this snow.
Watching her converse with Stark, I realize—us. They’re probably ready for Bonded to show up no matter what, weather conditions be damned.
Inside the walls, the smells and sounds of the city remind me of home in Sturmfrost, though everything is muted by the heavy blanket of snow. Hardly anyone is out on the streets, wisely choosing to stay inside through the worst of this weather.
Stark leads us through the darkening streets, confidently turning corners and choosing roads without ever needing to stop and consider our path.
Anassa and I follow silently, out of our depth. Traveling today, arriving here, has made me realize just how big this world is, and just how little of it I know.
Just when my muscles are cramping up so badly that I think I’m going to fall off Anassa, Stark turns another corner and then hops down off of Cratos, his boots sinking into the snow halfway up his calf.
He’s brought us to an inn, and I dismount with relief, only to have my attention caught by the main square up ahead.
“Give me a second,” I say to Stark, and head off without a response.
I wade through the deepening snow, Anassa following, and the block empties out into a large empty space, ground eerily smooth with the unbroken snow.
At the center of the square stands the famous, enormous stone statue. The Faceless Goddess.
Even in the dusk, in the middle of a snowstorm, her form commands attention. The statue is carved from a single shining piece of white stone that blends eerily with the snow, making the whole scene feel surreal.
She looks almost alive, despite the signs of centuries past that mark the alabaster stone. She bends in a pose of maternal caring, her hands held out as if in offering. Though her face is smooth and featureless, worn down and unidentifiable from years of pilgrims touching it, her posture suggests both power and grace.
Anassa, too, seems captivated. She pauses just outside the square, making no protest as I move closer to the statue, trying to see it better.
“We should get to the inn,” Stark says behind me.
I ignore him. A strange pull draws me to the statue, carrying my feet across the square almost without my participation. Anassa’s approval wafts to me along our bond, as though it’s right for me to go and greet the image of the goddess.
Stark calls after me, his voice edged with annoyance. “Don’t tell me you believe in this commoner nonsense.”
Again, I ignore him. I’ve never been religious, but somehow that doesn’t seem relevant.
As I stand at the foot of the statue gazing up at that featureless face, I wonder who she was. It’s always seemed strange to me that anyone would worship a nameless, faceless deity whose story has been lost to time, and yet an air of quiet reverence falls over me.
For most commoners, the king is closer to a deity than the goddess, but she’s still invoked in prayer—or as a curse. There are small religious sects around the country devoted to her, their members numbering in the thousands. We have a tiny temple devoted to her in Sturmfrost, but I’ve never been there.
This statue is known around all of Nocturna, though. I had no idea that seeing it in person would evoke such a strong, potent feeling in me.
Without thinking, I turn to look at Stark over my shoulder. “What do you believe?”
He frowns as though the question surprises him, then his lips thin in grim disapproval. “The only thing I believe in with any certainty is death. It comes for us all.”
I laugh softly, without humor, turning back to gaze at the goddess once more. “Right. All of us except the Siphons.”
“They’re not immortal,” he says. “They might live for thousands of years, but they can die just like the rest of us. You’ll see.”
I reach out to touch the Faceless Goddess’s extended hands. Weirdly, they’re free from the heavy snow, as if there’s something inside of them warming them. Objects rest in her hands—offerings left by the residents of Linsfall. Coins, fruit, and dried flowers. Bundles of herbs tied with colored ribbon.
These are the people’s prayers, I think, something like sadness welling within me. Pleas for the goddess to bless them, save them. Protect their loved ones.
“People think the Faceless Goddess made humans,” I muse aloud. “That she’s the one who gave us life. They believe if they pray to her hard enough that she’ll right the imbalance in our kingdom and make life better for the commoners again.”
There’s a pause, then Starks says, “And you? Do you pray to her, hoping she’ll do that?”
I laugh again—a short, cynical gust of breath. “No,” I murmur darkly. “I know better. If the Faceless Goddess was ever real, I suspect she’s long since abandoned us. If we want things to improve, we have to make that happen ourselves.”
Even so, something about the figure calls to me. I reach for her hand again, gloved fingers sliding against the smooth stone. Part of me recognizes that it’s freezing right now, but strangely, I don’t feel the cold.
For the first time in my life, I close my eyes and pray, thinking of Saela. Thinking of Mom and the madness. Of the voices and dreams that haunt me.
Of the future, which once seemed so clear to me, and now is shrouded in mist.
Help me find the children. Help me understand what’s happening. Tell me how to make things better, and I’ll do it myself. I’ll do everything I can.
When I open my eyes and turn around, I find Stark studying me with inscrutable intensity.
“Are you ready now?” Stark’s words are clipped, but they don’t hold the annoyance I expected to hear. I nod, turning to face Anassa. For a moment I think I see something in her eyes, sense something in the bond, but then it’s gone, whatever it was.
Back at the doors to the inn, a worker appears to lead our wolves away to the nearest stable. Stark hands him a few coins and says, “Fresh meat for both. Make sure it was killed today.”
Inside, the inn is bursting with people driven off the roads by the storm. The main room is large, filled with rows of rough wooden tables and benches where dozens of travelers are seated, eating and drinking. The space is oppressively hot after the frigid outdoors, damp with body heat and smelling of woodsmoke. I shuck off my outer layers, bundling them under one arm.
Stark pushes through the crowd to the innkeeper’s counter.
“Two,” he says to the craggy-faced man standing behind it.
“Alpha Stark! We weren’t expecting you,” the man says with a grimace. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve only got one room left, and it’s… well it’s not to the usual standard that… I can see if one of the patrons can find another accommodation, if you just give me a moment?—”
“No need,” Stark says, turning a glare on me for just a moment. “We don’t want to put you out. We’ll take the room you have.”
Great , I think darkly, everything inside me sinking with dread. As if things weren’t bad enough. Maybe he’ll kill me in my sleep and it’ll be painless…
I briefly consider heading back outside to brave the frostbite instead.
But Stark is already pushing money across the counter, then clasping the man’s hand. The innkeeper leads him across the crowded room and I trail behind, uncertain, but hopeful that whatever is happening is about to involve food.
“You lot, clear out,” the innkeeper shouts gruffly at a group of men huddled together at a booth in a prime spot—near the fireplace, but not so close that smoke or ash might drift our way. They look up, clearly about to protest, and then the words die on their lips.
“It’s Alpha Stark,” one of them murmurs to another, “leader of the Daemos pack…”
“Of course,” the men all mumble, one of them even wiping up some spilled ale from the table before he leaves.
I look at Stark sidelong. Is this how he’s treated by commoners everywhere? No wonder he’s a complete asshole. They’re all scared stiff of him, as if he’s some kind of vengeful god.
Our asses have barely touched our seats when a busty barmaid comes around with two tankards of ale and an overflowing basket of bread.
“Alpha Stark!” she says breathlessly, her chest heaving lewdly out of her dress. “We didn’t know you’d be coming through today. I’m sorry to say that all we have left in the kitchen is some mutton pie; it’s not fancy, but it’s hot, or it will be once I heat it up for you and…” Her eyes move to me, and she leans against the table. I think it’s not an accident that her position puts her chest on full view for Alpha Stark .
“This is the new Strategos Alpha,” Stark says tersely as I roll my eyes. The sounds around us hush, and I hear the scraping of chairs as people all around the inn turn to get a look at me.
Awkward.
I keep my head up defiantly, looking straight forward, refusing to give them the pleasure of seeing how embarrassed I am.
“Of… of course,” the woman says, and inclines her head to me slightly. “Alpha.”
I can tell she wishes Stark weren’t traveling with a female, and for some reason, it annoys me.
“That pie sounds good,” I interject. “We’ll take two big portions. And anything else back there you can rustle up.”
The woman hurries away, though I notice she’s not in too much of a hurry to swish her backside alluringly as she leaves.
“Bit of a cliche, don’t you think?” I say sardonically, turning to Stark. “The barmaid who wants to get in the big bad warrior’s pants?”
Stark raises one eyebrow at me. “Alisa? She owns this place, and another inn down the street besides.”
A flush rises in my face. You’d think I of all people would know not to underestimate a woman, no matter what she looks like.
I bury my face in my ale. The chatter has started up around me again, so I’m safe enough to glance around, reasonably confident that I’m no longer the center of attention.
A few tables are still watching us, but most have turned back toward a stage in the corner where a musician is getting set up. He tunes his instrument for a few minutes and then launches into a song, his gaze seeming to land on me and Stark more often than not. Curious about the strange new Strategos Alpha, no doubt, like the rest of them.
The song is some kind of classic tale about a Bonded hero that saves the whole city of Linsfall during a surprise Siphon incursion, putting his life and his wolf’s life on the line for them and valiantly defeating the threat single-handedly. It must be a traditional tune around here, something learned at their mother’s knee, as everyone in the inn seems to know the chorus, singing lustily along every time it comes around, some clapping in time with the beat.
Our food arrives shortly after he starts singing, so I’m quickly distracted by the feast of mutton pie, potatoes, and a few boiled leeks, all with a brown sauce I sop up with the brown bread they brought us. It’s basic fare, but I’ve never tasted better.
Stark eats just as wolfishly as I do, starving after the day of travel. We’re both silent as we clean our plates.
“Meet you upstairs, room ten,” he says shortly once he’s done, standing and draining the rest of his ale before making his way across the room. He stops to say something into Alisa’s ear as she leaves, and I see her nod and smile.
If he thinks he’s bringing some woman to bed while we share a room, even if she is an impressively successful businesswoman…
I’m jolted from my disgust when Stark swerves away from the stairs and strides over to the stage to have a few words with the musician, who has just wrapped up his epic ballad to cheers and applause and many toasts to the Alpha of old, the hero of the song.
I can’t make out what Stark and the bard are saying, but it looks like Stark is… reprimanding the man? I’m almost sure the musician is apologizing for something as Stark stiffly walks away again, toward the staircase that leads to the rooms upstairs. The bard is younger than I thought at first glance, his bearded face anxious as he watches Stark leave.
“Huh,” I say softly, wondering what that was about.
Someone slides into the booth across from me, into the seat Stark just vacated. I look up in surprise to see that it’s Alisa, the owner of the inn.
“Food to your liking?” she asks, and I nod.
“Exceptional,” I admit. “Although I’m not sure I’m the best judge, I think I would have loved anything halfway decent you set in front of me, as long as it was warm and plentiful.”
Alisa laughs so hard she snorts, and I grudgingly realize that I like this woman. “Guess you liked the music a bit more than Alpha Stark then, if you’re sticking around for another song?”
I glance back over toward the musician, bemused. “Does Stark know that man? Or…?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Alisa stands and grabs Stark’s empty plate and mug. “Another ale?” I shake my head. “No, he just hates it when they do that.”
I’m lost. “When they… sing?”
Alisa squints at me, then laughs again. “Strategos Alpha, you must not have been listening closely. That song he sang? That was about Alpha Stark, when he saved half the city from being murdered, oh, five or six years back. Legend has it he killed a good hundred Siphons on his own. Our streets ran red with the blood he spilled for weeks after.”
She saunters off and I stare after her, then survey the room again. All these people, their toasts and cheers, their singing and clapping…
That was for Stark ?
The whole world has gone mad.