Gilded Serpent by Danielle Jensen (top 10 novels txt) 📕

Which was perhaps just as well.

“Leave the rest of it. The sun’s getting low.”

Teriana lifted her head from the icebox at the sound of Marcus’s voice, which was raspier than normal.

And as though the pack had heard him, a howl split the air.

“Inside! Now!”

Teriana fitted the lid of the box in place, her numb fingers shaking as she pushed the wooden pieces locking it into their slots. Marcus had already brought the pelt inside, and once she stumbled through the entrance, he slammed the door, lowering the twin beams into their brackets.

“This could be a rough night,” he said, tossing a piece of wood in the stove. “They won’t be happy with what we’ve done.”

She whirled around to face him. “What are you talking about? They’re only animals.”

Before he could answer, the air filled with the soft thud of running paws, then something heavy hit the door of the shack.

Teriana threw herself away from the door, nearly colliding with Marcus, who had his gladius in hand.

From all sides, the wolves attacked the shack, the small structure shuddering with each impact. Claws raked down the walls, then a thud echoed overhead.

“They’re on the roof,” Marcus muttered, barely audible over the noise.

“Are you sure they can’t get in?” She’d had a good look at the shack during the day: the walls were made of thick poles that had been set into the earth, beams running across the ceiling and layered with thick planks. It was about as sturdy as a structure made from wood could be, but right now it felt like they were standing in a house made of paper, flimsy and insubstantial.

“They were built because of these wolves.”

“That’s not an answer!”

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Over and over, the wolves attacked the shack, their snarls filling the air. It made Teriana cringe and want to clamp her hands over her ears like a child. There was a viciousness that hadn’t been there the night before.

A fury.

“They’re angry we killed their pack mate, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.” Marcus pulled another piece of wood from the stack and threw it in the stove. “My men from Sibern told stories. Said the wolves held grudges.”

“Grudges?”

The wolf on the roof started digging, claws scraping across the wood as the others flung themselves at the shack. Each attack was louder. More vicious. From all sides, they tried to tear the walls down. To take their vengeance.

Then everything fell silent.

Teriana clenched her teeth, she and Marcus back-to-back with weapons in hand. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the attack to resume.

Only the crackle of the fire filled her ears, sweat trickling down her back. “Are they gone?”

Marcus took a cautious step toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood.

The bang from a wolf hitting it on the far side sent him staggering, and Teriana caught him before he fell against the stove.

“Not gone,” he muttered. “Merely reconsidering their approach.”

It seemed neither of them breathed, listening to the soft thuds of the wolves circling the shack. But no attack came. Finally, Marcus shook his head. “The walls will hold or they won’t. Nothing we do will change that. We carry on.”

Teriana’s eyes flicked to the chunk of wolf meat she’d set out on the dented tin plate for dinner. The thought of cooking and eating it while the pack circled had a distinct lack of appeal.

“Do you think they’d hesitate, if our roles were reversed?” Marcus asked. He had adjusted the cot so that it was standing upright and was in the process of stretching the wolfskin over the frame, brow furrowed with concentration. “You need to keep up your strength. The day after next, we need to make it twenty miles in about eight hours or they’ll be the ones eating us for dinner.”

As if she needed that reminder.

She picked up the plate and began slicing the meat into thin pieces, the process complicated by the fact her hands were still shaking. Taking several measured breaths, she concentrated on stilling them, flexing her fingers. Stretching them. But the shaking wouldn’t cease.

“Who taught you to cook?”

Her eyes flicked to Marcus, who was now dragging the cot to the opposite side of the shack from the fire, the wood scratching over the dirt floor. “This isn’t cooking. Cooking is an art involving carefully selected ingredients and perfected techniques. This is just taking a raw hunk of meat and”—she floundered for a descriptor—“making it not raw.”

“I believe that’s the definition of cooking.”

“Smart-ass,” she muttered. Her hands had finally steadied enough that she could slice without fear of losing a finger. “Polin taught me.”

“Not your mother?”

A laugh tore from her throat. “Definitely not. Though I suppose she knows how.” She laid the pieces of meat on the pan and sprinkled them with the bit of salt that had been remaining in the shack’s supplies. “No matter whether you’re born into the crew or join it or what your rank is, you have to take a turn doing every job on the ship. Teaches you to respect the work of your crewmates.”

Placing the pan on the stove, she folded up the one remaining blanket and sat on it. “My mum taught me how to negotiate. How to plot a course. How to keep the accounts. How to captain a crew.”

But she had older memories. One that was all sunlight and sea, her mother’s face above her, hands gently holding Teriana on the surface of the water. “Puff your chest out like your uncle Polin does when he’s courting,” her mother’s voice echoed in her head. “That’s it. That’s my girl. You’re floating!”

Her eyes burned as more visions played through her thoughts. Of her mother. Of Yedda and Polin. Of all the rest of her crew, most of whom had been with Teriana for her entire life. Of Magnius swimming watchfully nearby as she and Bait leapt off cliffs or explored sea caves. Memories on the Quincense or home in Taltuga with its white sand beaches and azure waves.

It felt like