Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
VICTORIA
Bastian’s pack moved the celebration outside at dusk, arranging long tables beside a bonfire already climbing high into the darkening sky. The transition from hall to clearing had happened while I’d been examining the flowering vines, and I stepped outside to find the compound transformed.
I paused at the edge of the gathering, taking in the differences between this and Feral’s celebrations. Both had warmth when the pack gathered. Both had showed wolves claiming space together, their voices rising in conversations that felt more like music than noise.
Earlier today, Bastian’s pack had watched us like threats. Now they watched us with curiosity and welcome.
The wolf who growled now sets the feast, Acorn said from my shoulder. The enemy becomes the beast who breaks the bread and shares the flame, the same mouth curses and proclaims.
“You’ve been saving that one for me, haven’t you?” I said.
His tail flicked, and he sent me a look full of satisfaction.
Feral strode over to join me, dressed in a formal fur tunic and pants, his hand settling at the small of my back with the same pressure I’d come to expect. To crave, if I was being honest with myself.
“They’ve set a place for us at the high table,” he said.
“I’ll sit between you and Bastian, I assume.”
“Where else would a queen sit?”
The casual way he said it sent warmth through my chest.
I followed him to the elevated table, noting the strategic positioning. Bastian at the center, Feral to his right, with me between them. This would make a solid statement about our alliance.
Bastian rose when we approached and gestured to the chairs beside him. He’d also dressed in a formal fur tunic and pants, though Feral wore them better.
He wore everything better.
I settled into my seat, Acorn hopping from my shoulder to claim a space beside my plate. Feral sat on my other side, his thigh pressing against mine under the table.
Bastian poured wine, filling my cup before his own. The gesture was small, but I noted it. Alphas didn’t usually serve. Others served them.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” he said, setting down the pitcher. “About the magical pressure needing distribution points. Is that similar to how spell matrices work in formal witchcraft?”
I picked up my cup, wondering whether the question came from diplomatic courtesy or actual interest. “The principle is related but the application differs. Spell matrices distribute magical energy through predetermined channels. The seal structure appears to function more like a resonance pattern, where each point holds a frequency that harmonizes with the others.”
I paused, giving him time to change the subject if he’d only been making conversation.
He leaned forward. “And the duskburst acts as the medium for that resonance?”
Genuine interest, then. I revised my assessment of him upward.
“Possibly,” I said. “Though I suspect it’s less a medium and more a catalyst. The plant doesn’t carry the magic so much as trigger the land’s existing capacity to hold it.”
“Which would explain why it fails when planted incorrectly.” He gestured with his cup. “The catalyst requires specific conditions to function.”
“That’s my assumption.”
Feral’s hand found my knee under the table. When I glanced at him, his face showed quiet pleasure at my interaction with the other alpha.
Acorn gave me a squirrely smile.
Bastian had been exhausted and overwhelmed, trying to hold together something too large for one person while everyone else interpreted his isolation as arrogance. I understood that particular mistake. I’d made versions of it myself.
Platters arrived, passed down the tables. Roasted meats still steaming, bread torn into chunks, and root vegetables glazed with something that smelled like honey and herbs. Starving, I served myself a generous portion of them all and ate, Acorn stealing bites off my plate.
The food was good.
As the meal progressed, Bastian’s pack members began filtering toward the high table.
Someone needed to borrow salt. Another wanted to refill wine that appeared barely touched.
I suspected they wanted a closer look at the witch who’d dismantled thirteen years of their alpha’s efforts in one afternoon.
I continued eating and talking with Bastian about seal theory and duskburst cultivation. His pack seemed to respect this more than if I’d tried to charm them.
One of the younger wolves lingered near Feral’s shoulder, clearly working up to something.
“Yes?” Feral said without looking up from his plate.
“Is it true her squirrel speaks in rhymes?”
Acorn sat up straighter.
“He does,” I said.
“Could we hear one?”
I glanced at Acorn, who was puffing up with the self-importance he got when he had an audience. “What do you think? Shall we demonstrate?”
The squirrel who performs upon request, does so because he knows he’s best.
I translated, keeping my expression neutral.
Laughter rippled outward from the high table, spreading through the nearest groups before reaching the outer edges of the gathering. The wolf shifter grinned and returned to his seat.
Bastian blinked slowly. “Does he always do that?”
“Always.” I slid a piece of bread toward Acorn, who stuffed it into his cheeks.
As we finished the main courses, more platters arrived. The promised pastries had been arranged on wooden boards between piles of dried fruit and nuts.
Acorn’s eyes widened. He took one pastry. Then another. I slid a third toward him without looking up from my conversation with Bastian about optimal planting depth for willavines in different soil compositions.
When I finally glanced over, Acorn had constructed a small fortress of pastries around himself and was working through them, filling his cheeks.
“Your companion has strong opinions about territorial boundaries,” Bastian observed.
“He’s very food-motivated.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
A woman approached the high table. She was about forty, with dark hair pulled back in a braid. The set to her shoulders looked like it came from holding power long enough to forget it required effort.
Bastian scrambled to his feet, tugging on his tunic hem. Color rose into his face. “Arana. You’re here.”
“The roads were clear. It didn’t take long to get here after I received your message.” Her gaze swept across the table before landing on me. “You must be the witch who solved what Bastian’s been failing at for over a decade.”
Direct. I appreciated that.
“Victoria,” I said, offering my hand.
She took it with a firm grip. “Arana. Eastern pack alpha.” She glanced at Bastian. “I’ve been trying to tell him the structure required more than one of us for years. He said I was overthinking it.”
Something in her tone told me this was a well-worn argument between them.
“How many times did you try?” I asked.
“Four. He stopped taking my letters after that.”
“I suspect he’ll be more responsive going forward,” I said.
Arana smiled. “It’s remarkable what a crisis and a woman with solid knowledge can accomplish.”
Bastian shifted his boots. “I thought I could handle it alone.”
“You thought a lot of things.” Arana settled into the chair on his other side without waiting to be invited. “Most of them are wrong.”
Was there history between them? The way Bastian’s expression softened when she sat down told me yes.
Arana leaned forward to speak with me. “Tell me about your research. Bastian’s explanation was typically vague.”
I gave her the condensed version, touching on the duskburst correlation and the seal site patterns without diving into the technical details unless she asked. She did. Multiple times. Good questions that showed she’d been thinking about this problem from angles Bastian hadn’t considered.
Feral’s hand remained on my knee, his fingertips tracing small circles across the fabric of my dress. When I glanced at him, he was watching me with warmth and pride.
I covered his hand with mine under the table.
Dinner wound down as the bonfire was stoked higher, flames climbing into the darkening sky. Someone produced drums, and the clearing’s energy shifted from meal to an early celebration.
A wolf shifter stood. “How about a race through the forest and back? Any pairs willing?”
Several people whooped.
His gaze found me. “Does the queen ride?”
Before I could answer, Feral said, “She does indeed.”
Acorn’s eyebrows rose. The wolf declares before she speaks. The witch decides if pride or logic seeks.
I raised my own eyebrow at Feral. He raised one back, his expression daring me to object. Issuing a challenge, was he? I decided I didn’t mind.
“What are the rules?” I called out.
The wolf shifter grinned. “Pairs. One rider, one wolf. A fixed route through the forest, marked with blue spelled torches. Wolves can’t shift back until the end of the race. The first pair back to the bonfire wins.”
“And the stakes?”
“Losing pairs serve the winning pair for a day.”
I glanced Feral’s way. “Are you confident in your speed?”
“I’m confident in us.”
I nodded.
Pairs sorted themselves out quickly. Bastian partnered with one of his enforcers. Arana shifted into her wolf form, sleek and gray, taking a younger rider from her pack. Others arranged themselves easily, telling me they’d done this before.
After Feral shifted, I mounted his back, settling into position with Acorn in my lap.
The wolf shifter who’d issued the challenge raised his hand. “On three. Two. One!”
Feral launched forward.
The world blurred as he raced across the open compound. We hit the tree line and I tucked low, adjusting to the move from open ground to forest.
The spelled torches appeared ahead, blue flames marking the path. Feral didn’t slow for them, just adjusted his pace with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much space he needed.
A branch swung toward my shoulder. I redirected it with a small guiding spell.
We were fast. I could feel it in the way the other pairs fell behind, their sounds growing more distant.