Chapter 18 Meryn #2
We wait as the flames burn on, howls fading to silence, until all we can hear is the crackle of the logs. Finally, the peak of the inferno passes.
Izabel and Asteio are reduced to ash.
Groups of mourners begin to stir. I stand unmoving as the mourners collect themselves, paying quiet regards to the Brooks family as they leave.
Stark puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s time to depart, my queen.” It’s always “my queen” when he’s trying to protect me, I’ve noticed.
I shudder, and a resounding emptiness fills me. It’s so final, leaving her here. I know it’s irrational, but I don’t want the funeral to end. By clinging to the ceremony, it’s as if we’re still keeping some part of her with us.
Swallowing hard, I step down from the platform, moving toward the path back to the city. Anassa follows somberly behind, sensing that I need to walk this time.
The tears that I can no longer hold back cloud my vision.
I don’t see Tomison coming until he’s standing right in front of me.
Stopping short, I blink at him. “Tomison, I—”
“You did this to her,” he interrupts, voice breaking. His face is gaunt; it’s clear he hasn’t slept. It’s a look I know intimately.
His words are a welcome dagger in my chest—finally, someone has said out loud what I know to be true.
In many ways, it’s a relief.
“I know,” I whisper. “I know, I wish—”
But he cuts me off again, leaning toward me, swaying slightly. “That cup was meant for you. That poison was meant for you. Izabel didn’t have enemies. She’d still be here if it weren’t for you and your—your bid for power.”
There’s hatred in his gaze.
I stare at him, shivering. We should be united in our heartache, but he’s aiming his at me. He takes another step closer, until we’re only inches apart.
From behind me, Anassa bares her teeth in warning. Tomison’s wolf, Filikos, sidles up next to him, a low growl forming in his throat.
There’s a dark flash as Cratos appears, circling to put himself between Filikos and Anassa.
I glance over to see Stark’s hand on his sword, his face hard. Everything is balanced on a knife’s edge.
“You had to be queen,” Tomison continues, voice scratchy and almost unrecognizable. “You couldn’t settle for Alpha. And you’ve killed her. Now you’ve killed her—”
Filikos lets out a pained howl, echoing Tomison’s agony, and then moves in fast—lunging, eyes wild, toward me.
I jump back quickly into Anassa’s fur as Filikos’s jaw snaps shut on empty air, but he’s not done. He lunges again, slobbering fangs coming for my throat.
“My family was right about you,” Tomison shouts. “I was blinded, but they saw you for who you are!”
Anassa growls, but Cratos is on Filikos in a flash, huge paw slamming him to the ground. Filikos thrashes against him, his brown eyes still focused on my face. Death is in his gaze. He wants to kill me.
Tomison goes silent. Not egging on Filikos—at least not audibly—but not stopping him, either.
“Stark,” I plead. Then, without thinking, I reach out in my mind. “Don’t harm either of them.”
Stark is on Tomison instantly, a thick arm around Tomison’s throat.
“Call off your wolf,” Stark snaps, steel in his voice.
Tomison doesn’t say a word, just stares at me. The despair and pain on his face tangle in my gut until I might retch.
Behind them, Filikos scrabbles against Cratos, twisting wildly to free himself. Cratos swipes his claws across an ear, and Filikos yelps, a high, painful note.
“Tomison, stand down.” Alpha Egith has appeared beside us.
I’ve never seen her so imposing. Her face is cold and hard, and her eyes flash as she focuses on the pair.
I feel myself straighten at her commanding tone.
Through my mental link with all the Bonded, I can feel the reverberations of her order.
Her iron will, forcing itself down on Tomison and Filikos, until Tomison slumps in Stark’s arms.
Filikos stops moving underneath Cratos, submitting to Egith’s dominance.
Stark releases Tomison, and he stumbles forward, gasping for breath.
There’s a whole world of pain in his eyes as they meet mine. “Queen Meryn—”
“You’re dismissed, Tomison,” I manage. “I’m relieving you of your duties on the Council Palast, and of active service generally.” I hear myself as if I’m listening to someone else, someone capable of managing this moment.
There’s a low pounding in my head. I’m saying goodbye to two friends today. My fingers ease, slipping down from Anassa’s coat.
I take a deep breath. “Go home, Tomison. You need time to heal.”
A small crowd has gathered around us, and I glare at them. Onlookers purse their lips, then move off. Ready to spread this story widely, I expect.
My shoulders slump. I stay where I am, next to Anassa, as Egith escorts Tomison away. Stark and Cratos stand with us, watching their backs as they retreat.
I turn at a pull on my sleeve: Venna’s beside me, mouth pressed into a thin line.
“He’s hurting,” she signs, clearly not wanting Tomison to overhear us.
It’s not just Tomison; Filikos is in pain, too. Asteio wasn’t his mate, but they were close friends who grew closer from their riders.
What happened today wasn’t a thought-out plan of retribution against me; it was two beings reacting with wolfish instincts to the person they blamed for their distress.
“I know. I know.” I suck in air. How many allies can I afford to lose?
But I can’t expect Venna to carry on, not without time to heal as well.
“Venna, I’ll understand if you want to take a break from your duties in the palace as well.
I value your help so much, but I think you should be with your family right now. ”
Venna’s brows draw together. “No. Meryn, I can’t sit around and do nothing. I’ll suffocate.”
I take her hand, squeezing tight. “Are you certain?”
“The worst thing right now would be for me to sit still.” Her expression is resolute.
I lean in and wrap my arms around her shoulders tearfully. “Okay. Okay. As long as you’re sure.”
Venna holds me close, then steps back.
“Take a night or two with your family, though,” I urge her. “You can resume your post at the castle in the morning.”
She nods and moves off to stand with her parents, who are saying their final farewells to other mourners. For a split second, watching her is like seeing Izabel’s ghost, pale and somber.
I shake my head to clear the vision and wrap my arms around Anassa, hiding my sobs in her fur.
I’m the last to arrive for our Council Palast meeting, but I don’t interrupt any idle chatter as I enter. Siegrid and Nevah were both at the funeral, of course, but even though Igor and Castle Matron Alienor didn’t know Izabel, they understand what a blow this has been for all of us.
The direwolves sit quietly along the back wall, watchful. Anassa moves to join them, exchanging a few brief sniffs of hello before she settles back on her haunches.
Gazing around at solemn faces, it’s impossible to miss the empty chairs: two for Venna and Izabel, one of which will remain empty; one for Tomison, who may never return; and one for the Councilor of Sturmfrost, a role that will need to be filled now that Gerhold is dead.
Sorrow rises in me as I stare at all the empty seats.
“Queen Meryn,” Siegrid says, almost gently, at least for her.
I startle and then sit.
A pile of paperwork is in front of my chair, and I pull it toward me, flipping through the first few pieces of parchment without processing anything on the pages.
“There is much for us to discuss today, of course,” says Siegrid, seamlessly falling back into her role as de facto leader of our group. “First among these concerns, however, is appointing a new councilor.”
Her words are followed by a silence so complete it’s almost loud. I don’t need my powers to know what images are running through everyone’s heads.
I draw a shallow breath and then stand again.
“Yes. I wanted to say something to all of you about that.” My brain is muddled and slow from the emotion of the day, but it won’t help to wait. This is important if I’m going to be any better than the Valtieres, that I own my mistakes and faults and try to improve.
Siegrid half-stands as if to interrupt me, but I hold out a hand. She sits back down, expression resigned.
“What I did was wrong.” I look at the people gathered around the table once more. Matron Alienor is focused on her clasped hands, but Igor, Siegrid, Nevah—they’re all staring at me squarely now. Waiting for more.
My mouth is suddenly dry. “I… the councilor’s family should not have been harmed.
I lifted my hands in anger. I didn’t think, and instead I let emotion take control of my power.
And… that’s not the kind of queen I want to be.
I do not want to rule with fear. And I’m sorry.
” I run out of words and sit down, feeling inadequate.
Another moment of silence passes, and then Igor speaks. “You’re right, Meryn. It was terrible, what you did. In that moment, I was ashamed of who you were becoming.”
His gaze on me is unflinching, and beside him, Alienor nods once, decisively. The disappointment radiating off my dear friend—my family, really—is almost more than I can bear.
My stomach clenches. He’s right, of course.
It was an evil act, killing that whole family. What did I think I could say to make up for what I did? Are any words enough to hold up against mindless slaughter? Any reason that could possibly justify it?
“Well.” Siegrid’s voice is brisk. “This may not be a consolation, but you should know that the Bonded disagree with Igor’s assessment.
Word has spread at the battlefront and throughout the Bonded City.
People are impressed by what you’ve done and the swift vengeance you took on behalf of one of our own. ”
Nevah nods lightly. “My family has thrown in for you now.”
Siegrid’s right; it’s not a consolation. It’s a reminder that those with pack instincts will value ruthlessness and loyalty, even at the risk of alienating the rest of the population.
Igor’s lips thin in disapproval, and he looks away from me.
Is this the fate of a Bonded queen? To be just another face of violence and destruction? How do I balance it all?
“Still,” Siegrid continues, “I agree that you should have kept your power on a tight leash. But what’s done is done. Let’s turn to the task at hand instead of losing more time. The councilor vacancy?”
“It should be Igor,” I say quietly. His eyes snap back up, brows furrowed.
Igor shakes his head firmly. “No, Meryn. I don’t have the experience or knowledge to do the job justice.”
“I agree,” Siegrid chimes in. “The position should be held by a noble family.”
Of course she believes that. “Which one do you recommend, then, Siegrid?” I ask bitterly.
She doesn’t respond.
“We do not know which noble families will remain loyal to us.” I’m only saying what everyone else here is thinking.
“In the meantime, someone needs to immediately take over leadership of the city. We will spend time vetting proper candidates and choose the councilor’s replacement with appropriate consideration.
Until then, I’d like Igor to take the position temporarily.
I know I can trust him, and that’s all that matters at this moment. ”
The silence in the room is stiff, stretching on indefinitely.
Eventually, Igor sighs, placing his meaty hands on the table. “Fine, Alley Cat,” he says, using the nickname he gave me as a child. “I’ll do it, for now, but we start looking for a new permanent councilor right away.”
Siegrid shrugs. “It’s settled then. Let’s turn to the war effort.” She leafs through the pile of parchment on the table. “I’ll depart tomorrow to rejoin our forces at Linsfall.”
I hope my relief at the thought of Siegrid returning to the front isn’t too obvious.
Igor and Siegrid get into a detailed conversation about troop deployment and training schedules, Igor making sure he understands the finer points of the army conscription, a responsibility the Councilor of Sturmfrost has always been at least nominally responsible for.
As good a place as any for Igor to start taking a more active role.
I scrub my hands across my face, my exhaustion and frustration merging into a murky fog that makes everything seem blurry and slightly distant.
We’re on our last topic of the day—some appointments that the Matron wants to make in the castle’s guard. It’s apparently a separate force from the army or the Bonded, something I probably should have known.
And then hell breaks loose.
Siegrid feels it first, standing up with such violence that her chair skitters backward and tips over with a crash.
Genicos, her wolf, races to her side, growling and bristling.
I reach for Anassa mentally, and that’s when I sense it, too: a break, huge and terrifying. As if a giant axe were reaching into that mental sea where I connect to the rest of the Bonded and slashing down, hacking off an entire river, as painful as hacking off a limb.
“What is it?” I ask Anassa urgently, panicky. Not understanding it, my head pounding and my vision hazy at the enormity of what’s happened.
Anassa also leaps to her feet, hackles raised and fur standing on end.
Nevah pushes back from the table, too, a sickened expression on her face.
The un-Bonded at the table look around warily, unable to sense what we’ve all felt.
What I’m only just starting to understand.
“It’s—it’s the Phylax pack,” Siegrid chokes out, the first to put it to words. “They’ve all…”
She swallows, looks at me. Her face is ashen.
“The whole pack has defected to Killian.”