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

truncated, like there should be more tacked onto the end, but the Wolf didn’t offer anything else, face turned slightly away so she could see only the line of his profile.

Red frowned, scrubbing a spot of dried blood off her wrist. “Probably something about it being upset, too.” Meant to be leading, but the only sign that Eammon might take the bait was the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “The Wilderwood doesn’t seem pleased that we haven’t let it do . . . whatever it is it wants to do.”

The Wolf still didn’t look at her. “That, too.”

Hands mostly clean, Red crossed her arms, arched a brow. “Does it hurt you that badly? Every time?”

“It used to.” With a grimace, Eammon pushed away from the tree trunk, took a lurching step forward. “Come on.”

Red fell into step behind him, and for a minute, the only sound in the Wilderwood was the unsteady tromp of their boots. “He mentioned the name of one of the Five Kings,” she said finally, because she couldn’t think of a way to finesse her confusion into delicate questions. “Solmir. The one who was supposed to marry Gaya. Why?”

Ahead of her, Eammon half turned to fix her with one amber eye. A long sigh, then he pivoted to weave through the underbrush again. “How much do you know about what’s in the Shadowlands?”

“Nothing. Much like every-damn-thing else, I know nothing other than the myths, and thus far, it seems like those are mostly horseshit.”

“They get the broad strokes, but yes, mostly horseshit. The Shadowlands imprison shadow-creatures and mythic beasts and the Old Ones— those are the things that were more like gods than monsters.” He discussed monsters so mildly, did the Wolf, pushing aside branches to clear their path through the dark wood. “But the Five Kings are in there, too.”

Her steps faltered, stopped. Red’s mouth hung open. “But I thought you said the Kings weren’t here?”

“They aren’t here. They’re in the Shadowlands. And contrary to current religious belief, I have no way to let them out. Not unless you want everything imprisoned in the Shadowlands to come with them and the whole Wilderwood to fall, which I assure you, you don’t.” Eammon pushed up a branch, holding it out of the way so they could pass. “The Wilderwood and I might not see eye-to-eye on methods, but we’re in agreement on principle.”

She thought of the shard of the forest in her, the larger one in him, the push-and-pull of fighting against something that was part of you and separate at the same time. “How did they end up there?”

“They bargained. You know that part. Bargained to make the Shadowlands, to make a place to hold the monsters. The Wilderwood accepted, but in order to accomplish such a thing, it needed an immense amount of power.” All of this in a voice only slightly strained, though Eammon’s shoulders were rigid lines and his hand pressed against his middle as he walked, like something might fall out if he didn’t hold himself together. “Before, magic was part of the world. Just . . . there, to be used by anyone who could learn. To make the Shadowlands, the Wilderwood pulled all that magic inward, trapped it. Created the sentinels, created the Shadowlands beneath.”

“And the Wardens.”

“Them, too. The Wilderwood needed help to sustain its new prison. Ciaran and Gaya had truly awful timing.” The hand that wasn’t pressed against his bloody stomach curled into a fist. “Fifty years after they’d made their bargain, the Kings decided they wanted magic back. Tried to unravel the whole thing by cutting down the sentinel where they’d made their deal. Instead, it opened up a hole into the Shadowlands and bound them there, with the monsters they’d banished. The Wilderwood takes its bargains very seriously. That’s when it closed up the borders, too— didn’t want anyone else trying to go back on a bargain, or make a new one.” A shrug, stilted and pained. “There’s a moral lesson in there somewhere. People with power resent losing it, and too much power for too long a time can make a villain of anyone.”

The beginnings of a headache pricked at Red’s temples. “That still doesn’t explain why Bormain mentioned Solmir, if all the Kings are there. Why him, specifically?”

The name tensed the muscles in his back, but Eammon’s voice stayed even. “Who knows. Bormain fell through a breach and into the Shadowlands. There’s no way to know what terrible things he saw.” Up ahead, the iron gate to the Keep loomed out of the fog. “Don’t think too much of it. Shadow-infection affects your mind as much as it does your body.”

Red’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

Eammon touched the gate. “Stay within the walls of the Keep for the rest of the day,” he said as it swung inward. He gave her a stern look over his shoulder. “I mean it, Red. The Wilderwood has been . . . restless since you arrived, and every time it tastes your blood, it seems to get worse.” The flicker of a tired grin. “I’ve saved you, you’ve saved me, let’s call it even. Don’t get yourself into another situation you’ll need rescuing from, at least not for a day or two.”

“Same goes for you.”

“I’ll do my best.” Eammon staggered past the gate, foot catching on a loose rock; he stumbled slightly, clutching his middle. “Kings on shitting horses.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Quite sure.”

The door to the Keep banged open, silhouetting Lyra’s curling hair and slender figure. “And when were you planning on telling us you got married?”

Red stopped in the center of the courtyard. “I . . .”

“Delightful,” Eammon muttered, staggering up the hill with his bloody shirt sticking to his skin. “I’m going to kill Fife.”

Valleydan Interlude IV

N o amount of money is going to make that caravan move.”

Belvedere, the Advisor of Trade, was a prim, ascetic man, with close-cropped dark hair just touched with