Chapter 3
MERYN
A million things happen at once.
Instinctively, I fist my hands in Anassa’s fur, hauling myself up onto her back. My friends close ranks. Izabel and Tomison and the rest of the Strategos automatically join together into a defensive formation around the platform.
Venna peels off and circles around in a tight arc. Her wolf, Skaia, gathers on her haunches to spring up onto the platform beside me.
“Alpha Stark!” Venna yells, gesticulating wildly toward something behind me.
Stark and I both pivot.
An older Kryptos woman and her wolf have materialized behind us. Her snarling gray wolf lunges forward, and I quickly draw the Dire Blade, steeling myself for a blow.
But instead of engaging me in battle, the wolf and rider barrel in low and hard. The direwolf’s head slams against Anassa’s front legs, toppling us over.
I spring free from Anassa’s back as we go down so that I don’t find myself crushed beneath my wolf. The platform slams against me with a breath-snatching crunch, and the world spins, my hand letting go of the sword. I shield my face with my arms as I tumble once, twice.
And then there’s nothing underneath me at all. I fall through air, off the platform, and slam face-first into the dirt. With a groan, I push myself over and onto my back.
My head is light, spinning. I reach for those dark shadows that respond to my anger, but they’re nothing but a whisper. That fall weakened me.
The sky dims, and I blink, fighting unconsciousness. Then the sea of black materializes into snarling dark fur and violence incarnate: Cratos and Stark.
Cratos lands directly ahead of me, the two of them guarding my front.
Anassa is still up on the platform in a defensive crouch, one paw placed possessively on the Dire Blade’s hilt.
I’ve lost the Sturmfrost crown in my fall, I realize dazedly, hand at my temple—
“There!” Anassa’s mental snarl cuts off the thought.
The Kryptos woman and her wolf materialize in front of Stark and several paces off to the right. She uses her Kryptos power to obscure them from sight as they move.
Her control is astounding—I don’t understand how she stays so completely hidden in such a bright place. What is happening? Is it just because she’s older?
Or has something happened to make the magic… stronger?
Reaching for my sword, I drop into a fighting stance.
Once again, though, the Kryptos pair do something unexpected. Instead of coming for me, they swing wide. The woman draws a short lance and spears something glinting in the dirt.
Then they dash away.
My crown, I realize, stomach dropping. Fuck. There’s a whispering darkness in my veins, but once again, it’s only a whisper.
Stark and I lock eyes, and I nod, answering the question in his glance. “Get it back.”
“My queen,” he says. He and Cratos spring forward so quickly I barely see them move.
Anassa leaps down from the platform, and I remount, linking with the rest of the Strategos to assess the situation. I’m still weakened from the fall and shy away from the strain of trying to reach for those outside my pack again.
“Jonah had several teams planted around the perimeter,” Nevah says. “See there, there, and there.” She gestures with her dagger while also sharing pictures mentally. “They’re guarding the entrances and exits.”
The pack’s understanding of the field coalesces, ideas and updates flowing in from a dozen different minds.
“That group’s coming straight for us,” Izabel mind-shouts, and we all spot the cluster of wolves headed toward Jonah: mostly former Rawbonds who trailed around after him during training. Disturbingly, a few older Bonded are in the group, too.
“And from the left!” Nevah adds, leading a group around that side of the platform. All of us use the wooden structure at our backs as an extra defense.
“Form up!” I call, snapping back into battle mode. Our group is a little larger than Jonah’s, but not by much.
What the fuck? How is this a nearly even battle?
Many of the Bonded in the arena are still hanging back, I realize. Possibly waiting to see the outcome of this fight before picking sides.
My mouth twists.
There’s a familiar tension in the air, the sick hum of energy that happens just before bloodshed. From where I sit on Anassa’s back, I watch as the castle servants clock it, too. Their eyes dart between the two separate factions of Bonded. They know what’s going to happen here.
They quickly scurry back into the castle, away from the messiness that’s brewing. Jonah’s forces let them pass through the exits without an issue. Good. No one else needs to bear witness to this insanity.
The Strategos riders and other loyal Bonded close ranks around me. My gaze seeks out Stark and Cratos. They’ve almost caught the Kryptos woman, but she’s still a length ahead of them and making hard for an exit guarded by Jonah’s people.
Stark’s heading straight into the waiting line of the enemy.
“Don’t worry about them,” Anassa snaps at me. “They’ve been doing this since you were a pup. Sword up!”
The first group of attackers hits us, several armed with long spears they must’ve brought with them, anticipating this would happen. Assholes. We break ranks slightly to avoid the vicious weapons spearing our wolves.
Anassa darts in and snaps her teeth down on one of the spears, sending splinters flying as she shakes her snout. The rider wisely lets go but pulls out his sword.
I don’t think so.
I swing the Dire Blade toward him. Metal hits metal, and I grit my teeth as I press forward, forcing him back inch by inch.
Then Anassa clamps her jaws viciously and comes away with a chunk of fur between her teeth. There’s a hole where his wolf’s left ear was.
Blood showers us and the ground, the open wound pulsing. Vicious satisfaction lashes through Anassa.
The rider’s control of his sword wavers as his direwolf’s pain slams into him. I slash in under his guard, scoring a long wound along his side.
He yells in agony and falls back, but another wolf and rider take his place just as quickly.
Izabel appears beside me, and we bear down on the enemy pair together. Our swords flash bright as we maneuver in, trying to land a blow.
The rider is a Daemos I recognize from the Trials, younger than me. His hands come up to throw a blast of Daemos power our way. Izabel and her wolf, Asteio, swerve to the side, escaping the brunt of it.
It hits me and Anassa full on, like a stone wall, harder than should be possible.
But weirdly, it also seems to rebound, as if the power had an equal reflection onto the wielder. It knocks the Daemos boy off his wolf, leaving him sprawling on the ground.
“What was that?” I ask my wolf, muscles screaming as I fight to stay on her back. I’ve never seen power falter in that way.
But we don’t have time to discuss it.
Another Daemos rider has circled around fast. He nearly sideswipes Izabel with his dagger. Then he jumps—onto Izabel’s wolf behind her.
I look for an opening. Anassa swings us around until we’re right next to Izabel and Asteio—and the Daemos attacker. I lean forward, but he’s too close for me to bring my sword in without injuring Iz. He’s wrapped an arm around her throat, and she can’t get purchase with her sword at that distance.
She coolly whips a dagger from a thigh sheath, even while gasping for breath, and buries it in his leg.
He screams and tips to the side. His weight carries them both to the ground.
I leap down next to them and slash wildly at the man.
His neck erupts in a fountain of blood, and the fight goes out of his wolf.
They crumple as the life drains from them both.
Anassa growls in pleasure at my action, but I can’t feel the same, watching this beautiful creature give up. It’s a sheer waste.
Asteio leans in with a snarl and rips out the Daemos wolf’s throat, her silver-white muzzle drenched in red.
I pant and circle around to anticipate the next attack, but Nevah and Tomison and the rest of the Strategos Bonded have drawn the bulk of the melee away from us.
“Thanks,” Izabel wheezes, rubbing her bruised throat before remounting.
“You’d have had him in pieces in another minute or two,” I reply with a tight smile, trying to cover how much that freaked me out, watching Iz in such a vulnerable position.
Briefly shielded from the fighting, I get a quick glimpse of the battles happening around the arena. My stomach churns. This is all so wrong. This was our moment for unity, and here we are, tearing one another apart.
My gaze drops to the Dire Blade in my hand.
King Cyril used it to control us. Control our wolves. I saw him do it, saw him create violence with a simple gesture.
I wonder…
“Yes,” Anassa urges from next to me.
“Cover me another minute,” I order Izabel, not waiting to hear her response.
In a queasy blending of past and present, I lift the Dire Blade above my head, just as I saw the dead king do at each of our Trials. I didn’t want it to come to this; wasn’t I just thinking how much our people deserve free will and the ability to make their own choices?
But we can’t turn on one another.
Taking a deep breath, I use both hands to plunge it into the dirt below.
“STOP THIS. LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS.” My mental shout echoes and reverberates along the bond, power rebounding and redoubling until my ears are pounding.
The arena seems to still, sound receding. I can sense the weight of a hundred wolves’ minds as the ancient magic begins to take hold.
It’s working. Thank the goddess. The wolves will stop their riders, will heed the call.
We’ll get through this—together, as Bonded.
And then the bracelet on my wrist heats, starting to burn. The bloodred ruby twists with dark shadows.
Suddenly, I know. I just know.
Whatever magic was used to compel the direwolves through this sword before—whatever magic links us all together—it’s all been corrupted. Tainted. Infiltrated. I can sense it, like a sickness lurking on the edges of my mind. My stomach lurches.