Chapter Forty-Five
FORTY-FIVE
Naturally, Rufus is suspicious of a lone wolf arriving at the gate.
That’s his job—to see danger lurking in every corner.
So he insists on escorting Bishop while Julius and Ann go with me.
Edwin is keeping the wolf outside the wall, and Bishop and Rufus loop around that way, while we take a longer walk through the new forest.
The forest is a couple of acres, having grown since the old castle fell to ruin. Humans would have chopped those trees down, but werewolves obviously appreciate a small forest inside their walls.
We take our time strolling along the path, as we discuss what the next few days will bring.
Endless negotiations, for one thing, between the brothers, and between the brothers and Bishop, and probably with Hamish, once the old wolf gets over his sulking.
Negotiations, too, with the wolves themselves, to be clear that they won’t be divvied up without regard for friendships and family.
While that happens, Ann wants to consult with the wolves who act as cooks and to make sure there’s plenty of food. Food is one sure way to a werewolf’s heart, and an abundance of it may ease negotiations.
“Food and alcohol,” Ann says. “While I’m sure many of them would like to add women to that, I would prefer not to have them in the castle.”
“I agree,” Julius says. “Rufus already made that point. If women are brought in for sport, it makes it seem as if all women are for sport, and werewolves lean that way too heavily already.”
“Rufus said that?” Ann says.
“In a much more profane way, naturally. But it’s something Bishop and I have already discussed at length. We need to draw that line more carefully, and we’d like—”
He stops mid-sentence. I go still, fingers rising. We’re in the darkest part of the forest, and I’m ready with a knockback, but Julius doesn’t say a word. I glance over … and he’s gone. I’m staring into a fog-shrouded forest where it had been clear a heartbeat ago.
I spin the other way, and there’s no sign of Ann, who’d been at my other side.
“Julius! Ann!”
“Shh,” a voice says, and a figure steps from the fog. A woman with gray-streaked dark hair and a face that is achingly familiar, reminding me of my aunt and my mother.
“Beryl.”
Her lip curls. “You even sound like them now, snarling words instead of speaking them.”
“Where’s Ann? Where’s Julius? If—”
“Ann is the redhead, I presume? They’re still here, right beside you. A binding spell plus a little cloaking magic, so we can speak in peace.”
“If you’ve hurt—”
She cuts me off with a deep sigh and sweeps her fingers to the left and right. Julius and Ann appear, both locked in binding spells, as she said, their eyes bright—Julius’s with worry, Ann’s with indignant fury.
Another sweep, and they vanish.
“They’re fine,” Beryl says. “They can hear us, which is important, but we won’t be distracted by them.”
“Where’s Bishop?” I pause. “The wolf at the gate. He’s one of yours, isn’t he. You lured Bishop—”
“—away from you. That is all. Bishop is also fine. Busy having a chat of his own, though his will be far less productive.” She frowns. “What is on your head?”
I reach up, and I startle, touching metal. I’d forgotten the crown.
I take it off and clutch it, and Beryl only shakes her head.
Then she glances in the direction of the gates.
“The pup has been busy. Very busy. I’m actually impressed.
” Her gaze swings back to me. “The same way I’m impressed by the bees who start hives in my garden, working so diligently, making me feel bad knowing those hives won’t last. A little fire, and they’re gone. ”
Before I can speak, she says, “And, no, I’m not threatening to burn them out again. That was simply a fitting analogy. Your wolf has been a busy bee. I underestimated him.”
I brace for the mockery that I’m sure will follow.
“What he’s doing, uniting the Packs, is actually beneficial,” she continues. “Strong guard dogs keep the vermin at bay, allowing higher beings to conduct their business in peace.”
I don’t react to the insult. That isn’t a battle to fight tonight.
“If only he wasn’t uniting them to fight me,” she says.
“You just changed his timeline,” I say. “Bishop always planned to unite the British Packs.”
“But having a common enemy does speed up negotiations. Nicely done. I will admit, after he fled Trevelyan, I was ready to chase him down and exterminate the Albion Pack. Calmer minds prevailed and convinced me that doing so risked your life.”
I don’t answer.
“I’m glad I didn’t interfere,” she says. “It’s always nice when other supernaturals do things that benefit my cabal and I don’t even need to pay them for it.”
“Bishop has no quarrel with you or your cabal,” I say. “He understands that what you did to the Pack was Silas’s fault. He also understands that he can’t truly fight you. If there’s any room to negotiate peace—”
“There is.”
I barely dare to breathe. My heart hammers, and I want to ask her to free Ann and Julius because I’m not sure I dare handle this negotiation alone.
It’s as if an axe is poised over all of us, and Beryl is saying there’s a way to make it disappear, but I can’t help feeling as if the slightest wrong move will bring it down on our heads instead.
My fingers tighten, and the metal of the crown bites in, and I feel as if I’m back in that throne room, Bishop putting it on my head, telling me how much I’d done, how he couldn’t have done better.
I wrap my hands around the crown and lift my chin, just a bit. Strong, but not defiant. “Thank you. That’s what we all want. Peace. A chance for the Packs to rebuild and return to…” I swallow my distaste. “Keeping the vermin at bay for other supernaturals.”
“That really is best for all. Of course, there’s still the matter of the debt.”
My throat goes dry. At Trevelyan, she’d demanded Bishop’s death. Surely she won’t now that she sees how “useful” he can be. But what if she demands Julius’s? Or some other wolf’s?
“Back at Trevelyan,” she says, “you made me an offer, Cordelia.”
My stomach freezes.
No.
Gods, no.
She continues, “You offered to go with me if I’d leave the Pack alone. I presume that still stands?”
My heart stops. I can’t breathe, and I want to claw at my throat, as if she’s cast the suffocation spell. Panic rocks through me, every fiber screaming no, that I will not do this, cannot do this.
I won’t leave Bishop. I won’t leave the Pack. I won’t leave my new life, this precious gift the gods have given me after ripping away everything else.
I have found a place, and all I want is to stay and make it truly mine.
But even as the panic howls inside me, a voice whispers, “Would you rather he died?”
Because death is the alternative. Even if I could protect Bishop, other werewolves will die.
I see Claude, clutching my hand, begging me to watch out for Felix.
I see Jacques and Miles and Charlie and all the others who’d been killed at Trevelyan, and I know there will be more.
Even if the Pack somehow survives Beryl’s next attack, there will be deaths, and they will be my fault, because I could have stopped it.
All I need to do is rip out my heart and my dreams and my hopes for the future. Throw them into this forest and go to a life I don’t want, with a woman I despise.
“Cordelia?” Beryl sounds strained, as if she’s trying to be kind with a voice that doesn’t know how.
She moves toward me. “You’ve developed feelings for him.
I can see that. He’s handsome and he’s clever and he’s exciting and I have no doubt he’s shown you the pleasures between a man and a woman.
But there’s a reason why witches don’t marry. Even kind masters are still masters.”
I look away so she doesn’t see the spark of defiance. I understand what she’s saying, and I also understand that if I say Bishop is different, she’ll only hear a silly, lovesick girl.
“I’m offering you power,” she whispers. “Power beyond measure. I have no heir. I need you.”
That’s supposed to sway me, but it only makes my stomach tighten.
“The Levines have magic you can only imagine,” she says. “We can teach it to you. I saw that show of power back at Trevelyan. You have something incredible inside you. I would love to say that your werewolf blood is useless, but it has given you power, and we can help you harness that.”
And there it is. The one thing that might make me believe this isn’t the small death it seems. Not the promise that I’ll become her heir, but that I could learn how to use what I have. Harness my power, hone it, control it, and use it … to defend my Pack against Beryl herself.
Right now, the Pack is fighting blind, desperate for any scraps of information about the Levine Cabal. I could get inside it. Learn how we can protect ourselves against it and learn how to become the dark witch I need to be.
If this were truly a choice, I don’t think I could do it, even with the incentives. But it’s not a choice. For Bishop, for the Pack, for their new allies, I need to go with Beryl, and the only thing that will keep it from crushing my soul is knowing I can find a way to resolve this.
Resolve it and come back to him.
If me leaving Bishop—walking away without a word—isn’t the thing that breaks us.
I need to trust it won’t be. He will be hurt. He will be furious. But I must trust that we can get past it because he will understand, however much he hates it.
“Cordelia?” Beryl’s voice is sharper now, all her compassion already consumed by her few words of kindness earlier.
“What’s the trick?” I say.
“Trick?”
“You wouldn’t take me in exchange for peace the last time. Why would you do it now?”
“I explained—”
“I don’t believe it. I’m a werewolf’s daughter who can’t change forms. A witch’s daughter who can barely cast compared to you. You say I’m powerful, but I don’t feel it.”