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

“She’s alive,” Neve whispered to their tangled hands.

“Even if she is, she’s bound to the Wilderwood. She’s lost to us.”

So close to the truth, myth and fact a nimble dance.

Raffe’s grip tightened. “You have to stop trying to lose yourself, too.”

Neve was already lost. Her mind was a forest, full of deep shadows and tripping vines, a labyrinth of regret. And now that their plan had failed, that she’d been the one to fail . . . She didn’t realize a tear had fallen until she tasted salt.

He caught her tear on his thumb, his palm cradling her cheek. “What would you want her to do? If she’d been born first, if you’d been for the Wolf, what would you want her to do?”

“If I’d been for the Wolf,” Neve whispered fiercely, “I would’ve fought. I would’ve run. If I’m going to give myself over to some magic woods, it’s not going to be for something useless.”

“But she didn’t run.” Raffe tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Her choice was to go. And you have to find a way to live with that.”

Neve’s mouth pressed to a bloodless line, her eyes closing as her forehead tipped against his.

“Cozy in here,” said a voice from the doorway.

Her eyes snapped open; Raffe dropped her hands and stood, straightening his coat.

Eyebrow cocked, Arick lounged against the doorframe, wine bottle in hand. He swaggered into the room and offered it to Raffe, tripping slightly on the rug’s edge. With a tight smile, Raffe waved it away, but the look he shot Neve was edged in apprehension.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Arick slumped into the chair across from Neve. His hair was a scattered mess of black across his forehead, his eyes bloodshot and bruised. He held his bandaged hand close to his chest. “Things took an interesting turn this afternoon, didn’t they?”

“Maybe you can get through to her,” Raffe said, crossing his arms. “Tell her she has to let this go.”

“Perhaps I can.” Arick took a long drink. “I’m her betrothed, after all.”

Raffe’s jaw clenched.

“Or perhaps,” Arick said, swirling his remaining wine, “I can support whatever decision Neve makes.”

The flash of Raffe’s teeth was too sharp to be a smile. “Even when those decisions are dangerous?”

“What’s life without a little danger, Raffe?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I imagine you two would have a better time if you followed suit.”

“I’d have a better time if you stopped talking about me like I’m not here.” Neve pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the pounding in her head. She’d thought Arick might come to discuss an alternate plan. Instead, he seemed focused on nothing but drinking to forget, and it made rage stoke deep in her chest, the quiet kind that could be dangerous.

The kind that made her think about shadowed veins and called-up power, and how using it would be so easy.

Raffe sighed. “Neve . . .”

“Leave me, please.” She took a deep breath, raised her face. “I’m tired.”

Raffe’s mouth twisted like he might speak. But his eyes darted to Arick, and he stayed silent.

Legs unsteady, Arick stood, clapped Raffe chummily on the shoulder. “You heard the lady.”

Stiffly, Raffe turned to the door. Arick followed. But when he reached the threshold, he looked back at her, jerked his chin toward the bottle he’d left on her desk.

“Might help you sleep.” The bandage on his hand stood out stark against the shadows. “It’s helped me.”

Neve frowned. “Have you had trouble sleeping?”

He didn’t smile, though his mouth spasmed like he might’ve tried. “You could say that.” Arick stumbled out. “Don’t worry, Neve,” he murmured, slurred but earnest. “All isn’t lost yet.”

She frowned, watching him lurch into the hall, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Neve grabbed the bottle by the neck and took a long drink. The wine was strong enough that her head felt light after one swallow, but it was preferable to the crushing weight of failure. She took another drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

In minutes, she’d drained the bottle, leaving her thoughts pleasantly fuzzy and filtering the edges of the day to a warm, blunted glow.

A flash of white in the hallway, seen through the still-open door. Neve stood on legs like a fawn’s, rolling her eyes. If some maid was trysting with a courtier, she didn’t want to hear it. She went to the door, taking a few tries to make her hand actually connect with the knob, and peered down the corridor.

A familiar white robe disappeared around the corner, a familiar flash of ember-red hair. Kiri?

Whoever it was, they were gone by the time she reached the hall. Neve pulled the door closed and fumbled out of her gown, finally falling into sleep.

Chapter Seventeen

T he closet smelled like dust. Not an uncommon scent in the Keep, where the forest was as close as your next breath, but usually it was chased by other smells— greenery, dirt. This smell was, simply, dust. The smell of something left so long all other features had bled out.

Red waved her hand to keep drifting grit from her eyes. “It seems like it’s been longer than a hundred years since this closet was opened.”

“Take it up with Fife,” came Lyra’s reply. “Though in his defense, the Keep became much harder to clean once the forest started breaking in.”

Eammon’s stolen belt slipped toward Red’s hips; grumbling, she pulled it back up. “Anything will be an improvement, I guess.”

When the corridor collapsed, it took all Red’s clothes with it. In the weeks since, she’d made do with the nightgown she’d been wearing, and Eammon’s shirts in a pinch— they reached almost to her knees, and if she stole a belt, too, they were serviceable. Fife barely noticed, but the first time Eammon saw her in the makeshift gown, the tips of his ears turned scarlet.

Sharing a room was the only facet of their convenient marriage they adhered to, and even that was by technicality.