Page 116 of The Onyx Covenant

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Is that what they taught you in priestess training? No wonder the Elios rituals were always so chaotic.”

“Like the Umbra ones were any better?” I scoff.

“Fair point,” he concedes, his hand finding the small of my back. “Though I think we’ve improved things considerably.”

He’s not wrong. The platform we’re standing on—constructed at the center of the massive clearing specifically for this celebration—gives us a perfect view of what we’ve accomplished. Across the field, cooking spits turn with the day’s hunt—deer, boar, and wildfowl harvested by joint hunting parties of Umbra and Elios. For the first time in generations, the meat is being divided equally and shared without suspicion or fear of poisoning.

Children from both packs race through the gathering, playing games that would have been forbidden just months ago. A group of youngsters has set up an elaborate obstacle course using logs and stones, competing to see who can navigate it fastest while carrying a wooden ball in their mouth. Others play a game involving a leather sphere stuffed with dried beans that they kick back and forth between goals made of bent willow branches.

Near the eastern edge of the clearing, a group of teenage wolves tests their skills at archery, the targets illuminated by hanging lanterns. I spot my cousin Noah among them, laughing as he shows an Umbra girl how to correct her stance. Three months ago, he would have been more likely to shoot her than help her.

“We should mingle,” Theron says, nodding toward the crowd below. “Let them see us up close, not just looming over them like judgmental deities.”

“Speak for yourself,” I say. “I make an excellent judgmental deity.”

He laughs, the sound still rare enough to make my heart skip. “You’re terrible at looking intimidating. Everyone can see right through you.”

“That’s patently untrue,” I protest. “I scared that messenger from the southern territories so badly yesterday that he practically fell over himself backing away.”

“Because you threw a book at his head when he suggested women couldn’t understand border treaties.”

“A small book,” I clarify. “And I missed. Intentionally.”

Theron’s hand slides down to intertwine with mine. “Come on. Your father’s been trying to catch your eye for the last ten minutes.”

Sure enough, when I scan the crowd, I spot my father standing near one of the larger cooking fires, deep in conversation with Elder Maren from the Umbra pack.

“Fine,” I sigh, feigning reluctance. “But if one more person tries to feed me theirspecialfamily recipe for blessing bread, I might actually scream.”

We descend the platform steps together, our movements automatically syncing after months of living in each other’s space. The crowd parts respectfully as we move through it, wolves from both packs offering quick bows or the traditional heart-touch of greeting.

A small girl—no more than six or seven—darts in front of us suddenly, her eyes wide with wonder. She’s clearly Elios with her blonde-toned hair, but the intricate beads woven into her braids are distinctly Umbra craftsmanship.

“Are you really her?” she asks, staring up at me. “The wolf-who-walks-with-moonstone?”

I crouch down to her level, ignoring how my ceremonial robes pool ridiculously around me. “That’s what some call me,” I say, smiling. “But my friends call me Lyra.”

She nods solemnly. “My mama says you killed three monsters in the maze and took their hearts as trophies.”

Behind me, Theron makes a sound that might be a hastily suppressed laugh. I shoot him a warning glance before turning back to the girl.

“Your mama’s stories sound much more exciting than what actually happened,” I tell her. “Though there was definitely a maze, and it was plenty scary without adding heart-stealing to the mix.”

The girl looks vaguely disappointed. “Oh.” Then she brightens. “What about him?” She points at Theron. “Did he really turn into a giant wolf and eat his father whole?”

This time Theron does laugh, a sharp bark of genuine amusement. “Not quite,” he says, kneeling beside me. “Though that’s a much more interesting story than the truth.”

The girl’s mother appears, face flushed with embarrassment. “Nessa! I told you not to bother the Covenant leaders.” She grabs her daughter’s hand, offering us a flustered bow. “I’m so sorry. She’s been obsessed with the stories since the Harvest Ritual.”

“No bother at all,” I assure her.

We continue through the gathering, stopping frequently to speak with members of both packs. I’m surprised to find how many names I now know, how many faces have become familiar through our work at the Covenant. There’s Eldon, an Umbra blacksmith who’s teaching metalworking techniques to Elios apprentices, and Jera, an Elios healer who saved an Umbra child from a wasting sickness last month.

Small victories, building one atop another.

As we near my father, a familiar voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd.

“Well, look who finally decided to join the commoners!” Aria appears in front of us, hands on her hips, wearing a dress of such deep blue that it looks almost black in the firelight. Silver bracelets jangle on her wrists, and her chestnut hair has been elaborately braided with azure ribbons. She is beautiful like always.

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