Chapter Eight
Calista
By the time first light crept across the sky, the sea had taken on the heavy roll of a beast finally choosing its side.
My arms ached to the bone. Between the rope burn across my palms, the sting of blade work, and the old ever-present ache across my shoulder blade, everything from my neck to my spine throbbed.
The lanterns had been hooded low all night to keep the Gloamthreshers at bay, and the oar-hands had settled into the kind of rowing rhythm that came from exhaustion and instinct.
They whispered quietly amongst themselves, the steady crashing of waves a hypnotic rhythm.
“…lunar rage.”
The muttered words shattered the easy lull. I sat up, ears straining to hear.
“…it’s affecting more and more—”
Lunar rage? Aunt Mara had been the only one I’d ever heard use the term. My thoughts leapt to Ma, and my heart catapulted against my ribs.
“Be wary, lads. Loose tongues carry bad omens.” The priestess’s voice carried over the frosty breeze, halting the younger oarsmen’s conversation. She waggled a long finger in their direction. “Ask for Selraya’s blessings as we pay her homage by recounting the story of the first Wolvryn.”
One of them nodded around a yawn.
I listened despite myself.
Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Long before the Courts of Lunaris existed, the Fae of Crescentia made a vow to Selraya: Spill no Fae blood beneath my full light. But ambition is older than any promise, and one moonlit night, the blades of dueling courts met beneath the goddess’s brightest face. ”
My ears sharpened on the familiar tale.
“When the first drop of blood touched the earth, Selraya descended in fury. Instead of death, she gave a punishment worse: a beast in the bones. A curse that woke beneath her full face.”
The young oarsmen had all gone still now.
“She twisted the violent clans into something between Fae and wolf, cursed to transform when the moon was whole. Some embraced the power of elra. Some feared it. Some,” her bright gaze turned slightly in my direction, “carried the curse in their blood but never woke their Wolvryn at all. Some say it was her displeasure. Others, her mercy.”
Then she closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath which marked the end of the telling. The boys dispersed reluctantly, drifting back toward their work.
The two-faced goddess certainly had a vicious sense of humor.
Sel, the gentle phase. Healer. Tides. Birth. Raya, her darker face. Retribution. Hunger. Ill omen.
According to Pa, those two sides were the reason why some Wolvryn kept their minds beneath the full moon while others lost themselves entirely.
Shifting on the bench, I forced my stiff body to sit straighter. Pride demanded it, even if every part of me begged for sleep. The priestess at my side was kind enough to pretend not to notice that I had started swaying with the boat.
The king had no such courtesy. “Sleep, bride.” His voice dropped over me, quiet enough that only I would hear the order in it.
“I’m fine,” I muttered without opening my eyes. “I can still sit upright.”
“You are about to sleep upright.”
I opened my eyes to find him standing over me, one gloved hand extended. “And I would rather my future wife not pitch into the sea before we reach Frostcrag.”
“Yes, wouldn’t that be inconvenient,” I said under my breath.
Ignoring my comment, his hand remained. “There is an empty bench at the stern where you may at least stretch out.”
As much as I despised to show a hint of weakness, the idea of lying down was too tempting to deny.
“Fine.” Refusing the offering of his hand, I stood on my own, even if the deck tilted hard enough beneath me to make my knees wobble.
Before I could say anything, he shrugged off the wolf pelt draped over his shoulders and settled it around mine.
The warmth hit first. Then the scent of pine, frost, steel and something darker beneath that I’d already learned was purely him.
My pride wanted to reject his offering. My body, frozen and spent, had other priorities. I hated how quickly the heat seeped into me and that the scent steadied rather than unsettled me.
He had fought like a storm made flesh tonight. And more than that, he had let me fight beside him. I had not expected either of those things.
“Goodnight, moon bride,” the priestess called softly. “May tomorrow bring you good fortune.”
I glanced back over my shoulder and gave her the smallest nod. “And to you.”
I still didn’t know her name. What was it with Frostcrag and their insistence on mystery?
The king ducked beneath the canopy at the stern.
I followed, the lantern wash glinting on the edges of his mask.
I tried to keep my gaze on the dark water beyond us, but it kept catching instead on the breadth of his bare shoulders, the shifting rope-like muscles of his back, the scars cut pale across his skin.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Instead of the darkness I craved, I found the memory of him at the bow: leather harness crossing his chest, torso cut hard as carved stone, every movement all brutal control and restrained force. He had looked less like a king and more like a tempest Selraya had decided to dress in skin and iron.
And somehow, impossibly, he was to be my husband.
Moons take me.
At the stern, he halted beside a narrow bench tucked beneath the partial shelter of the canopy. It was far enough from the oarsmen to give a measure of quiet and yet close enough to remain in his wary sight.
“This will do for the night.” He dipped his chin at the dark timber.
I eyed the bench, then him.
His shoulders lifted casually. “It’s better than collapsing where you sat.”
“And you’re not going to stay and keep an eye on me?” Because the part of me raised among Hollows had learned not to trust anyone. “No hovering?”
“Why? Are you considering jumping?”
Was that a joke from the icy king? I arched a brow. “Tempting, but no…”
“I’ve hovered over green oar-hands and wounded scouts, Calista. Not over brides who can clearly hold their own in a fight.”
I hated how the praise slid under my ribs. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’m starting to.” His eyes narrowed beneath the mask. “You fought well today. Who taught you?”
I considered ignoring the question and giving into the overwhelming exhaustion, but Dorian’s words echoed in my mind. Behave. Make a friend of the king.
“My father taught me to use the crescents as soon as the raiders appeared along our shore.” Then my hand went to the ring at my hip.
“My aunt started me on the rope when I was younger still.” I lifted one shoulder.
“The rest I taught myself. Plain iron holds while bright daggers beg to be seen. Ugly cord begs to be underestimated.”
“And you prefer to be underestimated.”
“Only when it’s useful.” A ghost of a smile touched my mouth. “Otherwise, I prefer to be feared.”
That earned me an actual chuckle, low and warm enough to fill the entire boat in a way that made it feel small.
He drew a folded fur from the side storage and spread it across the bench with a quick, efficient motion, then turned and held out a second, thicker blanket. “For the cold.”
I took it after only the briefest pause. “My thanks, my—” I caught myself. “King.”
The edges of his eyes crinkled just enough to tell me he had noticed.
“What would you prefer me call you?” he asked.
“Calista.” I shrugged. “Vale, if you must. Or keep calling me bride if you want to see a Hollowcrest growl even without a Wolvryn soul.”
That earned me something I couldn’t quite name. Approval shaped like a hum.
“Calista, then.”
I fiddled with the edge of his cloak. “And what do I call you?”
A long beat. “Savage is fine.”
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes. That is what they call me.”
“That is what the Courts call you,” I countered. “That’s not the same as the name your mother used when you were small.” I lifted my chin. “You have a real name. I would rather use that if I am to be your wife.”
Another pause and for a moment, I was certain he would simply walk away and ignore the question all together.
“You haven’t earned it yet, Calista.”
That should have annoyed me more than it did. Instead, I found myself leaning into the challenge. “Then you haven’t earned mine either.”
His gaze sharpened. “Calista is yours.”
“My name is more than letters. You’ll need to do better than a pelt and a private fur-covered bench to earn the rest of it.”
“Good,” he said softly. “Then we agree.”
“Do we?”
“That names are earned.”
“You are irritatingly vexing.” I folded my arms. “And you truly expect me to call you Savage?”
“I expect you to call me what you can handle. Savage will do until you have the grip for more.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You speak in riddles too often.”
“I find straight lines dull.” He shrugged, then inclined his head once. “You should sleep.”
“And you?”
“I’ll remain on deck.”
Of course he would.
I lowered myself onto the bench, trying not to wince as sore muscles protested. The boat rocked beneath us in long, drowsy motions. He stood waiting until I had settled the pelt around my shoulders and drawn the blanket over myself.
Only then did he speak again. “If the sea worsens, I’ll wake you.”
There was a hint of tenderness in the words. Somewhere beneath the cold of fact and duty. A promise spoken in Frostcrag’s language.
I met his gaze through the mask. What did he look like beneath the unyielding iron?
The stories had painted him monstrous in every way that mattered, but I found myself wondering if the iron hid scars or beauty, cruelty or grief.
Perhaps all of it at once. Perhaps that was what made him so dangerous, not that he might look like a beast, but that he might not.
I drew in a breath, tossing away the pointless musings for now. “Then I trust you’ll judge the waves before they throw me overboard.”
“Always.”
That should not have sounded as reassuring as it did.
He blew out the dim lantern beside the bench before stepping back, giving me distance. For one heartbeat, he just stood there, broad and still against the dark sea, every line of him edged in gold and moonlight.
Then he turned away.
I watched him as he marched to the bow, where he planted himself with the same relentless steadiness he brought to everything. A king keeping watch over black water and sleeping crew alike.
Wrapped in his pelt and Frostcrag wool, I let my eyes drift shut. The sea churned, and the boat creaked. Boots shifted against timber and then went still again.
I told myself I would only rest for a moment. Sleep took me before I could argue.
And then I dreamt. Of Ma and Suri. Of a life where my family didn’t have to struggle or suffer the threat of starvation or raiders’ blades. And of a king behind an iron mask, who perhaps wasn’t as cruel or terrible as I’d feared.
I dreamt of hope.
I should’ve known hope never lasted long for a Hollow.
A horn blasted.
I jerked so hard I nearly slid off the bench.