Chapter 38 #2
“Because they saw in them the potential for an uprising. Primarily, the Wargfell pack, which was the most powerful of all the shifter clans. The kings and queens decided that such strength could not be trusted. So, after they defeated the Helvaktír they turned to unseelie magic once again. With it, they shackled the shifters. Some were locked forever in their beast form, never again to walk as fae.” She nodded toward the bear still snoring in the rocking chair.
“Bjarnalf? He’s been stuck in his beast form for all these centuries?”
“His ancestors were. They survived and lived as bears. He was simply born this way. He’s never known what it means to walk as a fae.
But while some were stuck as beasts, others lost the animal spirit within them entirely, left hollow, their magic erased from memory.
And in time, the world forgot. The shifters became nothing but whispered myths. ”
My blood iced at the idea of having one’s entire identity erased, not just from the history pages but from existence. My gaze dropped, a sickening feeling settling in my gut. “That’s monstrous, what they did to them.”
“Heartless. But it’s how the royal bloodlines were able to hold on to their power.
Thankfully, not all knowledge was lost. The Wargfell pack fled beyond the reach of the courts, clinging to their stories even as their power slept.
They’ve waited for centuries for the day Selvarg’s promise might come to pass. ”
Every time she mentioned the goddess, something inside me sank deep into my stomach. “And you believe I’m that promise?”
“According to the tale, when the royals silenced the magic the goddess had gifted her children, Selvarg swore that the sacred wolf would one day rise and break the shackles of the spell. The Wargfell pack, despite losing their ability to shift, were able to preserve their shifter history. They say the goddess left them a relic, the Vargeldr, a living flame at the heart of their den. Not a fire of destruction, but of awakening. A spirit that stirs the blood of her children, calls them back to their power. Memory. Rage. Loyalty. The primal essence of wolf-kind, passed through bloodlines nearly extinguished. Only true wolves can see its glow…or survive its touch.”
“But how does any of that tie back to me?”
“Because until now, none—not even the wolf prince himself—have been able to shift into their wolf form. Except for you. The flame calls to you, Sylvanna. It has awakened inside you.”
“But I haven’t shifted. At least, not fully.”
“It’s only a matter of time before you complete your full transformation.
But shifting is not why the pack wants you; it’s the elemental powers you possess.
Powers that will tip the scales in their favor.
Your magic will give them a true fighting chance against the royal bloodlines, especially if the prophecy comes to full fruition and you are able to fully break the spell that’s bound their magic for centuries.
If the shifters regain their power, the northern kingdoms will see a war unlike anything they’ve experienced since the War of Four Kings. ”
My stomach lurched and I looked at my hands, recalling the claws and the supernatural strength that allowed me to fight off those dissenters.
But elemental magic? The thought of wielding magic made my head spin.
Fisting my hands, I hardened my gaze and met Helka’s eyes. “You’re certain I’m who you say I am?”
She nodded. “It’s why Fenrik is desperate to find you. His people have been waiting for centuries, Sylvanna. They’ve been carefully watching for signs of your arrival. Not to mention that as heir to the alpha, Fenrik believes he is destined to claim the úlfhrein as his mate.”
My pulse hammered. “That’s insane. No one can just claim someone like that. Someone they’ve never met.”
“Though yours is a distant ancestor, Wargfell blood sings in your veins. It’s how Fenrik was able to track you. And if he believes you’re his destiny, claiming a mate is the wolf-shifter way.”
The hearth spat sparks as if in warning. “And what if I don’t want to be his mate? What if I don’t want to be their prophesied wolf? What if I don’t want to be the one to lead his people to freedom?”
Helka’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Want has nothing to do with it. Blood calls to blood, child.”
A flash of heat rolled through me, claws ripping unbidden from my nail beds.
I surged to my feet, chest heaving, fists clenched tight to hide the evidence of the wolf clawing inside me.
“I’m not one of them,” I snarled. “I don’t care about the magic in my veins, or some prophecy whispered in shadows.
My family, my duty, my heart—they belong to Skadgard.
To the people I swore to protect. You can’t expect me to betray everything I’ve ever known for strangers who believe in the words of a goddess I don’t even worship. ”
Helka studied me for a few short breaths, as if weighing the storm in my soul. “And that right there, daughter of moon and snow, is why Selvarg has chosen you.”
My feet froze to the floor. “What do you mean? I thought… I thought you wanted me to embrace the wolf-shifter blood in my veins, to join the Wargfell pack.”
“What I wanted,” she said, edging closer, “was to see the fire in you. Your devotion to protect what you love. The Wargfell were wronged, all shifters were. But Fenrik’s ambition, his driving force in claiming the sacred wolf, is rooted in his hatred for the royal bloodlines, for the atrocities committed against his kind. He wishes for war, not peace.”
My breath hitched. “But there doesn’t need to be a war. Now that magic is returning—”
Helka’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood, silver fire sparking in her gaze. “The war is already at your doorstep, child. The wheels are in motion. The pack is coming for you, and you will have to choose.”
“My choice is already made, Helka.”
“Your choice will not be that simple.”
“Choosing my people is not hard. Choosing to defend my prince—”
She pressed a finger to my chest, eyes blazing.
“Your people? To the Wargfell, they are your people. How do you think they will react when you deny your heritage? When you choose their enemy over them? And Fenrik…he nearly killed your prince tonight. How many mortals can make that claim? Do you even understand how powerful he is?”
“He caught Jack off guard. Otherwise—”
“Why did he catch him off guard? Ask yourself that.”
My gaze dragged toward the shadowed hallway, toward the room where Jack lay. My heart thudded, frantic. “He almost died because of me…” My voice cracked, a shudder thundering through my body.
“No,” Helka said firmly. “He almost died because he loves you. Because he would trade his life for yours without a second thought.”
The words cut deeper than claws. I turned to her, throat raw. “Are you saying the only way to save him is to leave him?”
“I told you already. Your choice will not be that easy, child.”
“You think that’s easy?” My voice rose, ragged. “You said the mother’s roots showed you my future. Tell me then, what path am I meant to follow?”
Her gaze softened, but her answer only drove dread deeper into my bones. “Your paths are not mine to reveal. All I can do is guide.”
“Paths?”
She only watched me in silence.
My knees weakened. “Then please, guide me. If you can’t give me the answer, at least give me a chance to figure this out.”
“Then make your first choice.”
“Now?” My stomach dropped.
“The wolf prince is in these woods, and he will stop at nothing to find you.”
“Are you asking me to join a pack of wolves and fight against my kingdom, is that it?”
“I’m asking you to choose, Sylvanna.”
Tears burned hot in my eyes, and my lungs caved. I could barely breathe. “I… I need time. To think. To speak to Jack. To figure out what comes next. I just…I need time, Helka. Please. Can you give me that?”
At last, the crone exhaled, sinking back into her chair. “That, deary, I can give.” She turned her head, voice lifting toward the rafters. “Come now, Thessaly. I know you’ve been listening. Don’t be rude to our guest.”
I glanced around the small room, unsure who she was addressing this time until a shimmer rippled across the beams above the hearth. Out floated a glowing orb.
My breath caught as it drifted nearer, its glow so hypnotic the stress constricting my lungs dissipated. I reached out to touch it, but the orb darted back, dimming then vanishing into a flicker of light that left in its place something I thought I’d never see.
“Thoughtless faeling,” the tiny, winged fairy snapped, though her voice was sweet and soft like music from a flute carved out of hollow bone. “Did no one teach you manners? It is improper to touch a fairy without invitation.”
She was no taller than my forearm, her limbs long and willowy, her gossamer wings beating in a blur, veined like a drekifly’s and shimmering violet-blue when they caught the firelight.
Her hair streamed down in a silvery cloud threaded with brittle twigs and pine needles, tipped with frost as if winter itself had breathed over her.
Her skin glittered faintly like morning dew, and her eyes—Gods, her eyes—they were huge, glossy green orbs, deep as moss and bright as polished jade.
I had heard whispers of wisps being fairy folk, tricksters of the old world, but never in my life had I seen one in their true form. My words stumbled out, “My apologies, little fairy. I did not mean any disrespect.”
The fairy hovered with startling grace, wings stirring the air into gentle eddies of cool air. “My name is Thessaly. And you are most offensive, faeling,” she sang, her words lilting like a melody. “But as you are Helka’s guest, I shall forgive your mild transgression. This once.”
“Don’t be cross, Thessaly,” Helka said with fond amusement. “Sylvanna means no harm.”
My heart thundered in my chest. “Gods. You’re…a real fairy.”