Chapter 17
I’m so bored, I’m withering.
I swear, this feels like the longest day of my life, which is saying something, because until recently, I spent nearly every day alone in my tower.
At least there, I had things to do; painting, reading, magic.
Here, there’s nothing to do but count the loose threads hanging from the ceiling and wait for Fox to come back.
Even Eugene has abandoned me to go explore the nearby forest, driven away by my bad mood.
I’m lying on my back staring up at the tent ceiling, just like I have been for the last several hours. This is not how I pictured spending my first ever adventure outside of Vernallis.
We’ve barely been here a few days, and with weeks until my birthday stretching out ahead of me, I’m not sure I can last that long. Getting inside that castle is the first step to finding out if I still have family out there somewhere, but at this rate I’ll never make it. At least, not like this.
Admittedly, though, I’m starting to wonder if I even want to see inside the castle.
If my mother and sister are there, then in what capacity?
Could they have something to do with outlawing magic and treating the wolves so badly that they hate all Fae?
Could they be the cause of it? I think I might rather they weren’t there…
but if they’re not, I don’t know where to begin looking next.
Maybe I can track down the village in Solistine my mother originally came from and try there?
“Ugh,” I groan, then clamp my mouth shut, remembering that anyone around can probably hear me. All this silence definitely isn’t helping my mood.
Abruptly, I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I need to get out of the tent. I promised Fox I wouldn’t go wandering around, but surely I’m allowed to go for a walk if I stay close by? As long as I don’t go too far, how would he even know?
Swinging my cloak around my shoulders, I leave the tent and walk down the long row to the edge. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around at the moment, and I don’t think I’m seen as I pass by the last row of tents and walk into the woods that run along the far side of the snow-covered field.
I’m just going to gather some herbs. Even if I can’t actually make any potions, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, and at least it will give me something to do.
Unfortunately, I soon realize that my idea is pointless.
There’s nothing to gather because a thick layer of snow lays upon the ground, even under the cover of the trees where I thought it might be lighter. Many of the trees are evergreens, but their branches are too high to reach.
Glancing quickly around to make sure no one is watching me, I kneel down and press my palm against the snow, letting a trickle of magic warm my skin until the white crystals dissolve into water.
What I see underneath makes me gasp—green shoots, tiny unfurled leaves, even a small purple flower bud.
It’s as if it’s not truly winter at all, just a cold blanket thrown over what should be spring.
That’s…strange.
I reach down and pick the purple flower, frowning at it in confusion. The delicate petals feel impossibly soft between my fingertips, like they shouldn’t exist beneath the heavy ice and snow.
Before I can investigate further, a man’s voice cuts through the silence: “They’re back!”
I turn toward the camp as other voices join in, laughing and shouting. Through the trees, I see movement between the tents and hear the distant sound of pounding footsteps.
My eyebrows shoot toward my hair. What’s happening that would make them all shout out loud? I quickly tuck the purple flower behind my ear and hurry back toward the noise.
I weave between the rows of tents, following the sound and movement of the wolves, then skid into the center of the camp, my boots sending up sprays of slush.
My lungs seize mid-breath, my eyes landing on a group of bedraggled soldiers, their armor splattered with dark blood.
Two of them grip the edges of a canvas stretcher, the fabric sagging beneath the weight of a sixth man whose arm dangles limply over the side, fingers curled like dead spiders.
My stomach drops, and my mouth goes dry as I picture Fox lying on the stretcher, his eyes closed, his chest still. I take an involuntary step forward, just as the soldiers lower the stretcher to the ground and I can finally see the person’s face. It’s not Fox, it’s Kai.
His skin is angry red with burns across one side of his face and down his arm, yet somehow he’s grinning through the pain. Without thinking, I rush forward, my fingers already tingling with healing magic.
Suddenly, a large figure catches my attention, shoving two soldiers out of the way in his haste to reach me. Before I can take another step forward, Fox plants himself in front of me, fingers digging into my shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Don’t,”
I blink up at him, relief washing over me only to be replaced seconds later by concern.
Fox is covered in blood nearly head to toe, more than any of the other soldiers.
Crimson droplets streak his face like war paint, and his blonde hair is matted with it, stained a sickening shade of pink where it’s begun to dry.
“What happened?” I blurt out.
“Nothing,” Fox grunts. “He’ll be fine.”
“I meant, what happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he repeats, and reaches out to shove my hand down. I hadn’t realized I was still holding it out, ready to help heal them.
I suck in a steadying breath, eyes still darting back and forth between Fox’s blood splattered face and Kai’s burnt one. Clearly, they’ve all been hurt, but there’s no sense of urgency—nothing that makes me feel like I need to ignore Fox and insist on healing Kai. “Why is everyone celebrating?”
Before Fox can answer, an unfamiliar blonde man appears over his shoulder. He flashes a grin that feels almost indecent given the circumstances. “When a mission ends with everyone still breathing, that’s cause for celebration around here.”
“Aurelia, this is Luka,” Fox rumbles tonelessly, introducing the stranger. “Luka, Aurelia.”
I look the smiling man up and down. Like nearly all the wolves, he’s tall with light hair and light eyes, but his blonde is a shade or two closer to red than Fox’s. He has a round face and no beard, and somehow looks young, though of course there’s no way to tell the age of immortals.
“An old friend?” I ask, when no one elaborates.
Luka’s grin widens. “Exactly.”
“So, are you saying that you were expecting someone to die?” I ask Luka, wrinkling my nose.
“We usually lose at least a few a month. Just part of life.”
I glance to Fox for confirmation, and the shadow that crosses his face tells me everything.
“But thanks to your mate here,” Luka continues, clapping Fox on the shoulder. “We didn’t lose anyone this time. That calls for a drink. You both should join us.”
Fox steps between us pointedly. “I need to go wash up.”
My ears prick up at that, and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind without thinking. “Oh good, I’ve been wanting to take a bath.”
Luka’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Say no more. If I had such a pretty mate, I’d want to wash up too after the victory we just had.”
Fox growls and glares at Luka. I assume he must be saying something in his head because Luka’s grin widens, and he winks at me, then walks away without another comment.
Fox and I stand there stiffly. There’s still people all around us, but it suddenly feels as if we’re alone.
“He’s nice…” I hedge.
Fox just grunts, then looks conflicted, like he’s debating with himself. Finally, he gives me a pointed nod, eyes flicking toward the path leading away from camp. Taking his silent cue, I follow him away from the crowd and back down the row of tents.
When we reach our tent, Fox walks straight over to the paper we’ve been using to speak back and forth while in the camp.
I roll my eyes. “They’re all talking out loud,” I grumble, jerking my head in the direction of the center of camp.
He grimaces.
They’re excited.
“Can’t I be excited?”
He shakes his head once, then gesturing toward his bloody face, writes:
I really do need to wash this off.
With an aggravated sigh, I take the pen from him.
Is any of that your blood?
He shakes his head.
The wyvern’s
Right. That makes sense.
I take the pen again and this time it takes me slightly longer than usual to write out what I want to say.
Could you show me where you’re going to bathe? I’ve been using magic to keep myself presentable (I know, I know, I shouldn’t. You don’t need to say it) but I’m not used to going this long without a bath. I’m disgusting. I might actually die. I think I feel things crawling on me.
Fox’s eyes scan rapidly back and forth over what I’ve written, and his brow grows lower with each line he reads. He slowly reaches for the pen.
You should come with me.
Yes, that’s what I meant. You can just show me where the bathing facilities are, and then I’ll leave you alone, I swear. No need to worry about me peeking, I can’t even think about anything except the dirt. I actually think I’m dying!!! Do you want that on your conscience??
“Stop,” he growls out loud, sounding frustrated. “I’m not reading all that.”
“Well excuse me, you were the one who said I couldn’t talk.”
He looks like he might implode at any second, which part of me would sort of like to see, but when he speaks again his tone is carefully even. “You should come with me. Now.”
“I thought you were bathing.”
“I am.”
He over-pronounces both words, fixing me with a pointed look.