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

said primly. “But a royal marriage is a joyous affair. If at all possible, Neverah should have time to plan it as she sees fit.”

Relief wanted to flood her chest, but worry chased it. Neve watched the priestess with a clenched jaw. Something about all this felt transactional. Whatever help Kiri offered would come with the expectation of being repaid.

The only question was how.

Details were arranged, dates set, and guards appointed. Kiri, Arick, and her priestesses— chosen by Kiri herself, to save the High Priestess the strain— would depart in two days, after an announcement had been sent to Floriane’s capital. The Three Dukes of Alpera were still visiting, having not yet returned home after seeing Red off, so Belvedere could bring the proposal to them before nightfall.

Neve hung back as Belvedere and the priestesses left the room, each of them bowing to Isla and then to her before exiting. Kiri held her gaze as she bent forward, still with that slight, cold smile. “Perhaps I will see you this afternoon, First Daughter. I plan to pray.” Then she glided from the room.

Slowly, Neve stood, walking from her end of the long table to where her mother sat. Up close, she could see a sheen of sweat on Isla’s brow, the way her hands kept twitching on the folds of her gown.

“Mother?” Her voice came tentative. “Do you need me to help you to your room?”

A moment, like she didn’t hear her at first. Then Isla shook her head, standing on unsteady legs. “No. I might be ill, but I’m not an invalid.”

“Perhaps you should get some rest.”

She half expected another caustic answer, but instead her mother just sighed. “Yes. Rest.” She pushed the door open, walking slowly enough down the hallway that it looked like a leisurely stroll instead of a way to keep from stumbling.

Neve watched her go, chewing her lip so hard she almost broke the skin. Then, brows drawn down, she strode toward the gardens.

Despite the pleasant weather— by Valleydan standards— there weren’t many people lingering among the hedges. The few who were didn’t acknowledge Neve other than with dips of their heads as she walked with single-minded determination toward the Shrine.

Kiri waited, hands tucked into her sleeves. Something jutted against the underside of the fabric covering her collarbone. The wood-shard pendant, worn but hidden.

That same sharp smile lifted her mouth as the priestess watched Neve approach. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Stop with the games.” Neve pitched her voice low, made a concentrated effort to unclench her hands from fists for the benefit of anyone who might observe them. “Your plan for Floriane is foolish. The Alperans are probably just holding out for a better price. If Belvedere keeps at them—”

“Your first mistake is to think this is only about grain,” Kiri cut in. “Yes, the Alperans are just greedy. Yes, Belvedere, with all his cunning, could probably make a deal with them in a day or so. But this is a golden opportunity, Neverah. One we would be foolish to pass up.”

There was a subtle heft to that we. Neve crossed her arms. Her heartbeat marked time against her rib cage.

“Zophia is old,” Kiri continued. “Her time draws near. Tealia”— her lips pulled into a grimace— “is currently slated as her successor. It’s not an exaggeration to say her appointment would be disastrous for our . . . experiments.”

Inside the Shrine, mere feet away, the bloodied branch shards of the Wilderwood waited. Neve shifted on her feet.

“Arick and I going to Floriane serves three purposes, all of them necessary for us to continue weakening the Wilderwood’s hold on your sister.” Her hands resurfaced from her wide sleeves, ticking points off on her fingers. “It reinforces our religious power, serving as a reminder to Floriane and everyone else that we are favored, that word from the Valleydan Temple is law. It gets us our grain. And once we’re successful, it might make the Queen reconsider Zophia’s heir.”

There was the crux of it, the repayment Kiri would expect for momentarily weaseling Neve out of her marriage. “The Queen? Why not Zophia herself?”

“She’s set in her ways.” Kiri waved a dismissive hand. “And between the two of us, more concerned with wine than with her devotions, most evenings. She’s made a decision, and nothing but word from the Queen will make her change it, simply because doing so would be an inconvenience.”

“So I try to get my mother to appoint you as the heir,” Neve said, breaking it down to its most blunt terms, “while you and Arick reinforce our religious power by clearing the harbor.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which you seem very convinced you can do.”

“Of course I can.” Kiri lifted her hand and lightly touched one of the leaves on the hedge next to the Shrine. The veins on her wrist went dark, as if shadows ran there instead of blood. An iced, ozonic scent peppered the air— the atmosphere right before a lightning storm, but somehow cold. What emptiness might smell like.

The leaf Kiri touched browned, withered. Fell.

This was what the twisting of the trees in the Shrine bought, the second piece of the dual reward for weakening the Wilderwood. The possibility they could debilitate it enough to let Red go, and this power of . . . of death, of decay.

Seeing that magic at work would be enough to make anyone cooperate.

Neve chewed her lip, not quite ready to give in just yet. “Becoming High Priestess is quite the repayment for nothing more than the delay of a marriage neither party wants.”

“Why just a delay, Neverah? Once I am High Priestess, I will hold quite a lot of sway with your mother. Perhaps enough to get you out of marrying Arick entirely.” Kiri paused. “Perhaps enough to push her toward someone else as your betrothed.”

Something like hope lapped at the bottom of her heart. Neve swallowed. “That would be a pleasant outcome.”

“Quite.” Kiri reached out, touched the hedge again, almost absently this time. Again, the