Page 230 of Of Empires and Dust

Ella nodded and turned to leave. Just the mention of Farda’s name had conjured a rage within her, the wolf snapping and snarling in her blood.

“You wish him dead.” Another non-question.

“Should I not?” Ella snapped, rounding on Ilyain. She hadn’t wanted to unleash her anger on him, but it was uncasked now, and it would burn whichever way it desired. The wolf was part of her, and she it. “Should I forgive him? Should I stroke his fragile ego, mend his broken heart? Should I wash my mam’s blood from his hands?”

Faenir snarled at Ella’s side, a deep growl in his throat.

“No. But I suggest you talk to him. And maybe don’t kill him quite yet, even if he asks you to.”

Ella could smell the sorrow in Ilyain’s smile.

She glared at him, finding herself increasingly frustrated at the realisation that the elf couldn’t see her face. She turned and stormed off down the corridor.

“Which room?” Ella pushed at each door as she walked, finding them locked. She twisted to face Gaeleron, who followed her with Faenir at his side. She roared, “Which room?”

Gaeleron looked at the floor for a moment, then lifted his gaze, lips pursed, and inclined his head towards another corridor. Ella turned the corner and found two elves in steel plate stood on either side of an iron-banded door.

She stopped at the door, her blood pounding in her veins, the wolf baring its teeth. She was equal parts rage and fear. One she understood, the other she didn’t.

“Stay out here,” she said to Gaeleron through gritted teeth. “Faenir. Come.”

The guards attempted to stop her, but she snarled, her fangs long and sharp, then slammed her palm against the door, which swung inwards and crashed against the wall. The warm glow of those same beeswax candles illuminated the room.

A wooden bed sat in the far right corner, a small desk and chair on the left, an arched window at the back.

Farda sat on the ground with his back to the far wall, his knees pulled up, his arms hooked around them. He looked at the ground, unflinching at the slamming door.

Ella stared down at the man, her hands shaking at her side, the wolf within her yearning for blood. Her teeth lengthened into fangs and pricked at her lips, the nails on her hands darkening and forming into claws.

She’d never felt a rage like this. So all-consuming, so raw in its power. She could smell the sweetness of his blood, hear the slow beating of his heart.

All she wanted to do was walk across the stone and drive her claws into Farda’s belly, rip him open, and leave him there todie in his innards. But she fought that desire, fought that lust for death. She had made that promise to herself long ago, before the battle at the Three Sisters.

I am in control.

The wolf howled back in answer, and Fenryr’s words echoed in her head. “You conquer the wolf by becoming it.”

The words set a growl in Ella’s throat. She was the wolf. She was of the blood of Fenryr. The voice that left her lips was cold and calm. “Has your courage deserted you? Will you not look at me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Look at me!”

Farda lifted his head. Four pale scars ran from the man’s ear across his cheek and jaw. His skin and hair were clean and washed, and he looked far better than he should have.

“The wounds healed well.” Ella squeezed the fingers of her right hand into a fist, her claws pricking at her palm, blood trickling. She held the wolf at bay, feeling it loom over her like a spectre.

“I’d have left them to rot and fester, but they insisted.” He traced his fingertips along the scars, his gaze never leaving hers. “It’s good to see you well. Truly.”

Ella ignored him and walked further into the room and over towards the desk. A journal, a glass inkwell, and a pen sat beside a half-burnt candle. She peeled open the journal to find empty pages. As she did, Faenir padded over to Farda and pulled his lips back in a snarl, hackles raised. “And they insisted you bathe as well? You’re very well looked after for a traitor, a coward, and a liar.”

“That was Hala who insisted. Said I smelled like ‘twice-excreted shit’, if I remember correctly. Can’t argue with her.”

Ella tapped her claw against the journal, then grabbed the inkwell and smashed it against the opposite wall. Faenirsnapped and growled, his body rigid. The fury came in waves, ebbs and flows, the wolf breaking through, then Ella, then the wolf.

“I trusted you,” Ella whispered, her voice trembling. “Everything in me told me not to. But I did.”

“I know.”

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