Page 61 of Wilds of Wonder
Maverick pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What?” Driscoll threw out his arms. “I’m just trying to make sure he feels comfortable.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m less concerned with him feeling comfortable and more concerned with who he is and why he just shifted from a wolf!”
“I agree with Emory.” Maverick rubbed the back of his neck.
The man’s brows furrowed. “I have to admit, I don’t understand this situation.” His pale blue eyes shifted from Driscoll to Maverick to me. “You three shouldn’t be here.”
“We shouldn’t be in a crypt full of bones and dead people?” Driscoll asked. “Yes, I would tend to agree.”
“Let’s give the man a chance to explain,” Maverick said.
“How did you get into the Wilds?” the man asked, brows knitted in confusion.
I threw up my arms, growing increasingly frustrated with the way this conversation was making less and less sense. “What are the Wilds?”
The man scratched his head. “It appears you three are not from here.”
“Of course we’re not from here,” I said. “Are you from here? You fell in the same hole that we did.”
The man’s frown deepened. “A hole?”
Maverick stepped forward, holding out his hands. “Okay, let’s just start from the beginning. We’re not from here.” He gestured between himself and me. “My name is Maverick Von Lucas, and I’m from the fire court. This is Lady Emory from the frost court. And that is Driscoll Bayliss from the earth court. We were in the Glacier Mountains when you chased us, making us fall into a hole in the mountains that led us to this place, which we call the Deadlands since the Shadow War that happened sixty years ago. You do know of the Shadow War?”
Understanding lit the man’s eyes. “Ah. I’m sorry.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “It appears there has been a grave misunderstanding.”
At that, my anger ebbed away. He was clearly as confused as we were and doing his best to figure this situation out. “I’m sorry for yelling,” I said. “I’m confused and overwhelmed and a little frightened, if I’m being honest.”
Maverick stepped to my side, his hand coming to my shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. Our gazes locked. He gave me a nod, none of the anger or hatred that I had been so used to seeing these last few days etched across his face.
“My name is Aron.” We jolted, both our gazes snapping to the man as Maverick stepped away from me. “I do not know this Deadlands of which you speak, but we call this place the Wilds.”
“Who is ‘we’?” I stepped forward.
A ribbon of green swam across the crypt, highlighting Aron’s face and hair with an emerald shade.
“Those of us who live here, who survived the Shadow War.”
“There were survivors?” I breathed.
Maverick and I both shot each other glances. My stomach turned. The courts had closed off the Deadlands after the war, believing everyone dead. The frost queen had been the one to lead the endeavor, insisting it must be done. Under her guidance, they’d put up walls, actual borders. She’d sent teams of frost elementals to explore the Deadlands, to see if anyone was left. None of them returned, so she’d called a conclave, gone to extreme lengths over the years to tell everyone that entry to the Deadlands was forbidden, that if you chose to come here, you wouldn’t live to make the journey back.
Of course there were those who didn’t listen, who were curious or greedy or just plain stupid, and decided to come here anyway, and just as promised, no one ever returned. But this whole time, there had been people trapped here.
I squinted at Aron. He couldn’t have been much older than me. He looked to be mid-thirties at the most. Which didn’t make sense. “The Shadow War happened sixty years ago. How are you so young?”
It felt like something in my brain was permanently broken.
“I don’t have my shadow,” Aron said, then his blond brows furrowed together as he stroked his clean-shaven jaw. “Well, that’s just one part of it. I’m also cursed. Like everyone here who survived the Shadow War.”
The room started spinning, and I stumbled into a wall, having a hard time breathing. None of what he was saying made sense, and I couldn’t catch my breath enough to ask the other two if it was just me or if this was getting really weird. By the look of shock on Maverick’s face and the way Driscoll’s mouth had dropped open, I was guessing they were feeling about the same as I was.
Before I could ask any more questions, clothes fluttered down through the opening of the crypt, the green ribbons casting their light through the thin fabric. I peered up and realized a woman’s face scowled down at us. Cascades of black hair fell over her shoulders, almost raven in the light.
Aron looked down at the clothes, then up at the woman. “Ah, El is here at our meeting place. She might be better at answering your questions than me. I, admittedly, need some work in the communication department.”
Driscoll pointed at the brown tunic and trousers. “Are those for you? Because if you’re not comfortable putting them on?—”
