For the Wolf by Hannah Whitten (freda ebook reader .txt) 📕

Roots and vines wound through the rocks at the end of the hall, clusters of moon-colored flowers twisting toward the fathomless twilight sky. There was a tilted beauty to it, the way the Keep and the forest tangled together, like one fed the other. A kind of beauty that made Red shiver, wild and feral and frightening.

Those had been leaves in Eammon’s wound, studding the edges of the cut. Tiny leaves in his green-threaded blood. She thought of the changes she’d seen in him when he worked his strange magic, bark on his forearms and shifting branches in his voice. The Wolf and the Wilderwood, tied together in ways she couldn’t quite fathom, the line between them constantly blurring.

Down by the saplings, Lyra shook her head. “Fife was right,” she called as she trudged back up the hill. “There’s more of them. Kings.” The weight of her sigh tossed one corkscrew curl up from her forehead. “Eammon will be bleeding for days.”

Red pressed her lips together.

Behind them, the door to the Keep banged open, Fife’s hair shining like the sun they couldn’t see. He looked to Lyra, mouth quirked, the first trace of pleasantry Red had seen on his face. “You’re back early.”

“Got hungry.” Both of their manners seemed to relax, like seeing the other calmed their nerves. “Did Eammon get more supplies? He said he was headed that way after healing the first breach this morning.”

“Yes, though his taste in cheese is still suspect. Next time, I’ll go, since he seems incapable of following a list.” Fife frowned down the hill at the saplings. “I told him those should be taken care of first. Before he moves the other.”

Lyra’s brow lifted. “Other?”

“There’s one in the corridor,” Fife answered grimly. “Turned up this morning.”

A pause. Lyra’s eyes flickered to Red, something unreadable in the anxious twist of her lips. “Did you see it?”

Her tone wasn’t accusing, exactly, but there was a strange surprise in it, like if Red had seen the sapling, she should’ve done something about it. The same assumption Fife had this morning.

“I saw it,” Red said carefully. “Should I have gone looking for Eammon, to let him know?”

Puzzlement creased Lyra’s brow. “I suppose you could, but why wouldn’t you just—”

“He told her to stay away from it,” Fife interrupted.

Lyra looked at him, mouth twisted in an expression that was pity and resignation at once. Fife gave a tiny shake of his head, an entire conversation happening between them without words.

Red shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

A moment, then Lyra forced a smile, eyes flickering to Red. “Eammon has a plan, I’m sure.” Her dark gaze went back to Fife, almost like she was trying to reassure him. “Always does.”

“Always does,” Fife repeated quietly.

Red tried to return Lyra’s tentative smile, but her mind was a riot— the Wilderwood coming for her, fangs in the trees, pits of shadow, and Eammon’s bleeding hands.

She shut her eyes, gave her head a tiny shake. Fife and Lyra talked quietly to each other up ahead, an ease between them that was somehow soothing even as her thoughts snared. Focusing on the cadence of their voices rather than the forest and the fog, Red followed them into the Keep.

Valleydan Interlude III

T he empty chair across the table yawned like a chasm.

It had been easier to ignore when Arick ate with them, the few times it happened before Red left. Awkward as dinners with only Arick and Queen Isla were, he’d acted as a buffer when he played the dutiful Consort Elect, a retaining wall between her land and her mother’s cold sea. But now he was gone, fled with his grief and his sudden desire for heroism, and the dining room was a tomb with only two occupants.

No dinner with the Queen had ever been comfortable, really. Neve and Red hadn’t dined with their mother often, but when they did, they sat across from each other, Isla in the middle. Though those dinners had been nearly silent, at least Neve hadn’t been completely adrift. Red had been her anchor.

Now Neve stared into her empty plate, knowing every bite of dinner would go down like lead, knowing an hour here would feel like a day. Since Red left— since Red was sacrificed— time with her mother felt like a penance. Especially since Isla appeared wholly unaffected. If she carried the same ache Neve did, the Queen kept it hidden too deep to show.

The door opened and servants appeared, rolling in a single cart stacked with dishes. Even the smell of food made Neve’s nose wrinkle.

Reverently, one of the servants lit the three tapers in the center of the table— one white, one red, and one black. Isla bowed her head. After a moment, Neve begrudgingly followed.

The Queen’s eyes flickered expectantly to her daughter. Neve’s lips tightened over her teeth.

With a sigh, Isla closed her eyes. “To the Five Kings we give thanks,” she intoned, “for our safety and our sustenance. In piety and sacrifice and absence.”

The candles were snuffed. The servants filled their plates, topped their wine, then left, quick and silent. Neve didn’t touch her fork, but grabbed her wineglass and took a hearty swallow.

“The Rite of Thanks is two sentences, Neverah.” Isla took a dainty bite. “Surely it wouldn’t hurt you to make a show of faithfulness now and then.”

“I’d rather not, thank you.” Neve drained her glass. In the corner of her eye, her mother’s hand tensed on the table.

Isla took a swallow of wine. When she put the glass down, more forcefully than necessary, it made a small, crystalline pop. “I let the two of you grow too close,” she said, so quietly her mouth barely moved. “Back when you were children, I should’ve put a stop to it. I should’ve protected you—”

“I’m not the one who needed protecting.”

The Queen flinched.

The part of Neve that wanted to be a dutiful daughter felt a twist of pain at that. The same