Chapter 25
Khal
I have my suspicions about who is involved in all of this. Without my twin, I'm questioning almost everything.
Wolves are more about the purity of the species than any of the others, besides the basilisks and dragons.
With everything that has surfaced since our arrival here, I wouldn't be shocked if the councils have been in cahoots since day one.
Why else would they ban the taking of more than one mate?
They knew what Feray's bloodline's potential is.
I pace the lobby, my mind racing with doubts and fears, waiting for the others.
We're heading to see the seer and then to cross the tundra.
Diaval found a sled in the shed and has loaded it up with food and camping supplies for the trek. The beta, Alec, said it's a two-day journey due east of our position. Feray has spoken to the pack and is leaving Alec in charge while she's gone.
"Let's get the show on the road," Feray yells as she walks past me, heading toward the front door. Her voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.
"Did something happen?" I jog to catch up as she turns right out the front door.
"Esther's time is almost up. I feel it." Feray draws in a deep breath, her face a mask of determination. She turns away, picking up the pace and moving faster through the snow.
It's not a long walk to where the seer lives, but the atmosphere is tense. Dozens of wolves sit staring at the house, their eyes filled with a mix of hope and dread.
"Is this normal?" I ask, noting that none of them possess a coat as white as my mate's.
Feray reaches for the doorknob and lets herself into the small cabin.
The townspeople within bow their heads in deference and move out of her way.
"For wolves, yes. The pack is a huge family of sorts.
" Her voice is steady, though I can feel the swirling emotions within her through the bond—a silent storm beneath her composed exterior.
She makes it to the room where the crone lays under a pale blue duvet.
A smile graces her weathered, pale tan skin. "You came..." Her voice is so soft and weak as she tries to raise a hand.
"Shhh... It's okay, I'm here. You can rest now. I'll protect our people," Feray whispers. She slides off the bed, lowering her head to the mattress, and gently rests the crone's hand on her own head.
I watch as the elder's gnarled fingers thread through Feray's hair. "You are my Claridon's heir." Her voice wavers with pride and sorrow. "You look just like your mother, but you have my Claridon's eyes." She coughs a little before managing a smile. "May I see your wolf before I pass?"
Wordlessly, Feray nods and steps back. The transformation is seamless and powerful.
Her wolf's form is enormous compared to the others, the white of her fur blending perfectly with the snow outside.
Slowly, she inches her massive body onto the bed, laying her head in her grandmother's lap.
"The false alpha will not yield," her grandmother says, stroking Feray's fur with a trembling hand.
"You are everything my son prayed for." With a final, tender caress, she rests her hand on Feray's head. And then closes her eyes.
The moment the old woman passes, I feel a shift—as if a ripple moves through the room, awakening the shared pack awareness.
Something ancient and profound just left this world.
And something equally ancient just stepped forward to take her place.
Stepping closer, I gently remove the elder's hand from Feray's head.
She sits up on the bed, her eyes meeting mine.
I nod, and she throws her head back in a mournful howl that rattles the walls.
Pictures and trinkets vibrate and fall to the ground as the voices of the other wolves join in, filling the air with their death song.
The sound is unlike anything I've ever heard—raw and primal, grief given voice, a hundred hearts breaking in unison.
Our bond-mates finally arrive, taking in the scene before them.
"It's a mourning song," Easton says, his voice hushed in reverence.
"The seer was Feray's grandmother. She warned us about the Alpha in Crescent Valley," I update the others.
"At least she got to meet her before she passed," Torben says softly, moving to hug Feray's wolf.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"No clue. I've never witnessed what happens at a traditional wolf burial," Diaval replies.
Easton sighs heavily. "I only saw it once. The royal bloodline has a cavern where they lay the bodies to rest."
Feray jumps down from the bed and shifts back to her human form.
"They're getting the sled, and I'm going to deliver her to her final resting place.
" Her face is a mask of emotionless determination as she scans the room, her eyes landing on a cluster of pictures.
She stops, staring at what must be her dad's family.
I move behind her and wrap my arms around her, holding her close.
"Your dad looks like he was a really strong man.
Look here..." I grab another picture frame and hold it in front of her—her parents' wedding photo.
"They made a beautiful couple." I press my lips to her temple as she stares at the image.
"I look so much like my mom," she whispers. Her index finger traces the image tenderly. "Grams shared some of her memories of my parents with me. It was nice getting to see them in life. They loved each other so much." She sighs and hands the picture to Torben to take with us.
"Princess?" A young woman appears at the door, shifting nervously.
Feray stiffens in my arms, unaccustomed to the title. "Yes?"
"We're ready for you. Alec and Dorian will bring your grandmother out as soon as we have you set."
"Here we go..." Feray mutters before stepping out of my embrace.
She walks to the front of the house, shifting seamlessly as she moves.
I marvel at how smooth and effortless her transformation has become.
We follow Feray out into what appears to be a storm squall, the wind howling and snow lashing at our faces.
I watch as they adjust the harness to fit her, noting her immense size.
She stands easily three feet at the shoulder and is almost twice the size of the other wolves present.
"She looks like a dire wolf," I whisper to Diaval.
"Size-wise, yes. Pound for pound, the dire wolves are heavier but cannot live outside of their natural habitat. Whereas a winter wolf, though adapted for this weather, can live anywhere."
A glimmer of pride flickers in my chest despite the somber occasion.
Alec and Dorian arrive with Feray's grandmother, wrapped up carefully, and lay her gently on the cart. Two light gray wolves walk ahead of Feray, leading her toward the cavern. The bond is deadly silent. Usually, I would feel a pulse of emotion from Feray, but now there's nothing.
"Do you feel her?" I ask Torben.
He shakes his head. "Her wolf is in control.
It's learning the path to her family's resting place.
Unfortunately, it's not instinctual for her.
" His voice catches. "I wish we knew her pack did this.
I would have insisted on carrying her parents' bones with us.
" The way he says it makes something twist painfully in my gut.
"She needs us focused," Easton says, dropping back to talk to us.
"With everything that has happened lately, we need to be on high alert for a potential attack.
Whoever hunted her parents and killed them is still out there.
" The steel in Easton's voice catches me off guard. He's usually the laid-back, quiet one.
The great maw of the cavern yawns open before us, an ominous and gaping entrance.
Ice hangs from the top like the jagged teeth of a mighty dragon, each icicle glistening with a cold, blue light.
The narrow entry path is well worn from years of use.
Someone had gone ahead and lit candles to guide us deep within.
Their flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the ice tombs that line the walls, each one marking the resting place of extended family and pack members.
The air is heavy with the weight of history.
Alec explains that the pack reserves the front of the cavern for their dead.
The royal vault lies deep in the depths, and it will take several minutes to reach it.
The crunch of rocks and ice under the wood of the sled is the only sound we hear after Alec goes quiet.
The silence is oppressive.
Before long, the cavern takes a turn and heads downward.
Alec explains that once upon a time, an ice dragon used to guard the burial chamber.
Its presence still lingers in the bones that remain as a silent sentinel.
Legend has it the dragon cursed itself to rise again when the true ruler summons it.
Feray tilts her head, listening intently, her eyes reflecting the candlelight with curiosity and apprehension.
"Hopefully, she doesn't get any ideas," Diaval mentions.
"Why?"
"They are nearly impossible to defeat once they rise. The more lives they take, the more they regain their flesh. Once it has the taste of life, it will go on a rampage beyond what the summoner intended. Most times, they kill the summoner and drain them so they can live again." Diaval shivers.
"Our fearless leader is leaving out an important factor. Phoenix fire can destroy them," Easton chimes in.
Feray growls, looking back over her shoulder at us, her eyes flashing with irritation. If what they say is true about the dragon, I hope our mate doesn't get any ideas. The last thing we need is to be hunted by both an unseen enemy and a giant, menacing dragon skeleton.
Alec leads us to the area carved out for her grandmother's final resting place. I move quickly, unbuckling Feray from the harness. As she shifts back to her human form, I notice the weariness in her eyes. She looks around, taking in the somber surroundings with a distant gaze.
"You picked a good place for her," she says to Alec, her voice barely above a whisper.
Torben and Diaval gently lift her grandmother off the wagon, sliding her into place with the care of those who understand the weight of their actions.
Feray watches with a strange detachment, her eyes unfocused, as if she's here but not here at the same time.
I can feel the turmoil within her—a storm of emotions barely kept at bay.
Before I can reach out to her, she approaches the crypt.
Shifting back to her wolf, I watch her puff herself up as she steps closer.
With a deep, shuddering breath, she releases a howl infused with her ice breath.
The sound echoes around us, and in moments, her grandmother is sealed in a solid block of ice—a crystalline tomb for her final rest. The display is both beautiful and haunting, a testament to Feray's power and her grief.
She stands there for a long moment, staring at the ice, at the grandmother she only just met, at the connection that was severed before it could fully form.
I think about all the years Feray was robbed of—the family she never knew, the heritage stolen from her, the grandmother who waited decades to see her son's heir.
And now that grandmother is gone, leaving behind only memories shared in a handful of precious moments.
Shifting back to her human form, Feray turns away, her steps purposeful as she explores the family crypt.
My gut twists with unease, sensing that she's searching for something specific.
Her movements are deliberate, yet there's an underlying desperation.
I want to comfort her, to ask what she's looking for.
But the look in her eyes tells me this is something she needs to do alone.
So I stand watch.
Because that's what a mate does.