Chapter Twenty-Four #2
She reached out, her fingers trailing along one overlarge canine, and realized she’d have to destroy them. They must be dust before anyone saw. Her mind began its imaginings when she heard something in the woods.
Alora squinted beyond the fallen guard’s boots and into the shadows. She feared it was another wolf until she saw him walk from the trees.
No, stumble.
The Urchin was hooded and masked, one gloved hand hanging limp at his side, with a wickedly long knife gleaming wet and dripping silver. The other was pressed beneath his cowl, hidden from her. He tripped over the bough she’d toppled and nearly went down, which must have been when he saw her.
“Alora,” he rasped, sinking to his knees.
She saw then that his coat was shredded in places, and the shirt beneath too, as she could see skin, weeping red. She rushed toward him, statues forgotten. She dropped onto her knees before him, gripping his shoulders when he slumped.
“What’s happened? Where are you hurt?”
He still hadn’t removed his hand, and she worried about what he held pressure to. The cuts on his chest, at least, appeared shallow, but he didn’t act as if he were giving into a fit of terror, relieved in his escape.
He acted as if he were bleeding out.
He didn’t answer her but instead leaned forward. She could feel the press of his forehead against her shoulder, his breath shallow and warm against her neck. If he gave up supporting himself entirely, she’d fall beneath him, she knew. She pushed against his shoulders.
“Urchin—” she began.
“Don’t call me that.” His voice was muffled and ragged, more so because his mouth, already masked, was now buried against her.
She huffed, annoyed in spite of his attempts at dying, because what else was she supposed to call him? “Was it the wolves? Did they overpower you?”
“Six,” he breathed. “All dead.”
Six? Her eyes were wide as moons. “What wound are you hiding?”
“My…neck.”
He slumped further against her, and Alora grunted at the added weight. “How do I help you? Whom should I fetch?”
“No one. Just…stay here.”
His voice had grown softer, almost distant.
Alarm rang throughout her body. All she could smell was his blood.
“You are not dying today, Urchin. Drudge up what strength you have left.” Then she released one shoulder to find where his grip had slipped between them.
She felt about blindly until tattered skin and a warm wetness met her fingertips.
She fought a gag, holding tight to the wound.
“If you die against me, I will be endlessly traumatized.”
A wheeze of a laugh met her ears. “I will do my best…to avoid it.” But more of his weight added to her own.
“Urchin!”
“Don’t…” he sighed.
Shouts rang out behind them, and Alora released a cry in relief.
Help had come.
In seconds, the Urchin captain was hauled off her, his body carried away by more hooded and masked men and several others dressed in the gold and crimson of Opulence. Alora tried to see where they took him, to see what they did, but he was lost to the sudden swell of people.
“His neck is wounded!” was all she managed to shout before he was gone from her sight, and only then did she realize she was crying.
“Miss Pennigrim,” said a familiar voice. It was slow and deep, and Alora turned to find the groundskeeper at her elbow, eyeing her front. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Mister Macaw. It’s the poor captain’s blood.”
He nodded, and glanced beyond her, spying the golden boots from amongst the ferns. “Talk little,” he said to her, then lumbered off toward the body.
Talk little…
“Miss Pennigrim!”
Alora twisted away from the body being hauled from the brush to find Merridon making quick strides toward her. Madam Feebledire followed behind with a pinched expression, and when their eyes met, Alora scowled so deeply her vision blurred. That heinous woman tried to take everything from Reginald.
Madam Feebledire blinked in shock back at her, but she said nothing, glancing instead to Merridon when he stopped in front of her.
“My dear, you are covered in blood!”
“It isn’t mine,” she said, already tiring.
“Thank the heavens for that. Patrice, fetch her a new cloak.” He spared a glance for the guard’s body as it was carried past him, but only that. No hint of emotion entered his eyes aside from maybe a flare of irritation.
Alora hurriedly wiped her cheeks. “Has the driver awakened?”
“Yes, yes, he has. Specter wolves. It’s as I’ve said, the swath of forest separating Opulence and Enver is treacherous. I’ve the signage for good reason.”
Few workers remained behind, already attentive to cleaning the stones and removing the branch from the lever. A sight which Merridon observed for a moment before his arm snaked around her shoulders.
“Tell me what’s happened. Tell me everything.” When he turned them both, they were face to face with the stone wolves.
A warning rippled through her. Alora cleared her throat and fidgeted, scrounging for time, but the hand on her was unyielding. He wouldn’t allow her to go without his answers.
“They came upon us on the lane. One at first, then two. We raced for the gate. The driver was knocked unconscious when we halted, and I rushed to close the wolves out from the grounds, but the guard must have fallen to them. I tried to reach the lever when the wolves surrounded me. I’d given up on being saved when they became this. ”
Truth and lies and many holes. Alora tried to be conscious of how quickly she breathed but didn’t know how good a job she did. Merridon remained unmoved beside her, silent. Then all at once he released her. Contemplative, he stepped forward, enough that his hand came to rest on the wolf.
“Such a marvelous beast. And the largest I’ve seen. Do you know much about them, Miss Pennigrim?”
Breaths, Alora. Your godforsaken breaths!
“A little.”
“Ah. Well, you may or may not know then, that the largest of specter wolves, like these here before us, are only drawn to the most powerful of enchantments.”
“Like those that reside within Opulence.”
Merridon hummed a non-committal sound. “Also, they cannot see what is not enchanted.”
His son might be dying, and a guard is dead! And yet we’ve time for a lesson?
“The driver mentioned his gift.”
“Did he? How well and good.” Merridon’s pursed lips said differently. He moved to stroke the second stone creature. “It is strange, isn’t it? How their eyes appear.”
Alora nodded. “Like moons.”
“Quite right. And none can see them, unless they are enchanted themselves.”
It took longer than it should have for what Merridon said to sink in.
When it did, she swung her gaze to his, and found him watching her, a look like triumph playing across his features.
He waited, yearning for her to fold before him, and she could now see the resemblance that Ellie Turkens had mentioned. Between him and a powerful wolf.
He fed on Opulence. On all those locked inside. And he wanted her secrets.
Run away! screamed her instincts.
But she couldn’t. She had goals and dreams and friends to save.
“It’s better to see your attacker for what it is, I suppose. No conscience and a soul forged in greed.” She’d torn her gaze from Merridon before she spoke, choosing instead to imitate him, running her fingers along the stone wolf’s snout.
“Indeed.” The word seemed to edge around his teeth. She jumped when his voice suddenly rose between them, “Mister Macaw! Do bring these magnificent statues to the front doors. I’d like them situated at either side.”
The groundskeeper inclined his head in acknowledgment as he made his way toward them. Alora noticed he avoided her gaze, just as she noticed his hands were now empty.
To her, Marshall Merridon said, “Thank you, Miss Pennigrim, for your continued dedication in making Opulence beautiful. I can scarcely wait for what else you have to show me.” Then he patted the wolf farewell and left her.