Page 64 of The Wolf Queen

Ready to kill the Reaver king? Ready to eradicate the threat across our lands and live in peace? I nodded sharply, then pulled away, wasting no time in making for the caves. As before, the gloom of the cavernous space was oppressive, made worse by the constant whispering from the gathered lords. I couldn’t tell which sounds were their excited mutterings, and which came from the crystals. When we drew up in front of the altar, however, all conversation stopped.

I watched the northern lords, and several of the southern ones, too, step closer to the massive wolf statue. Cultists, I thought. They gazed upon the huge carving with fervent eyes, fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and touch it. Before any of them could, I stepped forward to redirect their attention.

“I will create a portal between this cave and the one beneath Snowmere,” I said, praying that was the way it would happen. “My men and I will go first.”

“To announce our presence?” Tristan asked, his eyes flashing his mistrust before he shifted his focus to the king. “This could be a trap, brother.”

“You fear that you will be outwitted by wargen scum?”

There was no heat in Bryson’s voice, but his words, and their implications, stung anyway. They implied that we were either inferior—and therefore no threat at all—or we were capable of deceit, the likes of which was only usually seen at court in Aramathia—and therefore equals. There was no other conclusion to come to.

“Not at all,” Tristan said, casting a sideways look at his men. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he began to pull it from its scabbard, and he raised his voice to give a rallying cry. “We will breach the capital of Strelae today, something even our forebears were unable to achieve. For Grania!”

When he lifted his sword aloft, so did his followers, echoing his call. I rolled my eyes at their dramatics and used the distraction to turn away to surreptitiously reopen the cuts on my palm.

“Don’t let them know your blood is what activates the power,” Dane had told me, after we’d returned from the council room to the relative security of my grandfather’s suite. “You’ll find yourself pinned to a table and bled dry if they work that out.”

“And why does it work?” I’d asked him.

He’d shrugged, then shaken his head before taking my hand and leading me out to the balcony so that we could take in some much-needed fresh air, a necessity after being stuck in the close quarters of the Royal Council room for so long.

“Kings and queens—they’re always terribly concerned about bloodlines and their purity. Even commoner fathers refuse to care for children not of their own blood. Blood has significance to humans, beyond our need for survival. It’s become a symbol.” He’d stared out over the city. “Of life, of bonds, of family. So, perhaps that’s why.” Dane had turned to look deep into my eyes. “A monarch has the power to bring people together. Perhaps that’s why your blood is different, to facilitate that.”

Well, now we’d see. Opening my hand wide dragged at the edges of the cuts. The barely-formed scabs cracked and blood began to well in my palm. When it started to drip, I set my hand against the crystal wall. Each time I tried it, I didn’t believe that it would actually melt away and be replaced by a portal. But, each time, it did. I looked into the swirling surface and wondered what our fate would be, this time.

Would we survive this? I didn’t care a fig for the lords of the council or even for their king. I wasn’t a Granian anymore, to be required to bow and scrape before the powerful men of their land. But I wasn’t able to be a Strelan either, not while Callum ruled. My bloodied hand gripped my sword and I felt it flare to life. The crystal glowed, and when I pulled the blade free, blue flames licked along it, ready to burn; to destroy.

“Ready to discover whether or not my words are real?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder. “You want to invade Strelae? Then come and find out just what that means.”

And before any of them could say a word in response, I stepped through.

Chapter36

Chaos. That was my first thought as I entered the triple chapel. Not due to the presence of Reavers, for the chapels were all conspicuously empty. Moreso due to the evidence of their passing in the blood that was throughout, dried to dark brown stains, footprints tracking it through the chapel of the Morrigan and that of the Mother. I saw Callum’s handprint, then put my own hand up as if to compare the size, but yanked it back as the others stumbled through.

“This…?” Tristan looked around wildly. “This is Snowmere?”

“This is the chapel beneath the city,” I reminded. “The reason why the city was built here in the first place.”

“So, a site of pagan worship,” he said, wrinkling his nose. His attitude offended me, and I wasn’t about to let his comment stand. As more people spilled through the portal, men filling a space dedicated to women, I marched up to the prince.

“When I was younger, I spent a lot of time sitting in a pew in my local parish church, listening to different priests expound about their gods—the ones that the empire amalgamated together—and not once did I sense or feel a divine presence.” I looked around at the dark silky shadows of the Morrigan’s chapel. The black shapes shifted in the air, as if alive themselves, setting off the lords with nervous murmurings and furtive glances. “Not so the goddess in her triple forms. I have very personal evidence that she exists, so keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“You’re not here to convert the locals to the faith, brother,” Bryson said, in a dismissive tone. “Keep your mouth shut and observe. You can regale me with your pithy remarks when we return home. If we return.” He turned to me. “Darcy…”

Whatever he had to say, I paid it no heed, for I’d heard a sound. I flexed my arm, the sword blade coming to life, blue flames creating light where there’d been none. That alone was enough to excite the council members, but I paid them little mind as I walked out of the Morrigan’s chapel, following the slight sounds through to the Mother’s shrine.

“Pepin?”

It felt like it’d been years since I’d seen her and I blinked, then squinted, unsure if I could believe my own eyes.

“Darcy…”

She lifted her head and smiled at me from where she was crouched down beside the fallen statue of the Mother. I could see that she was trying to lift it up, from the way her muscles strained, but the statue didn’t move. I sheathed my sword and walked to her side without thought, slipping my hand under the shoulder blades of the effigy When we moved together, this time the statue moved easily. The two of us got the statue upright and then back onto the plinth where it’d been situated when I’d first seen it.

“Figures,” Pepin said, eyeing me then the statue. “I have no sway with the Mother, but you…” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve got some of her power.”

And that’s when I felt my frustration rise, as I considered how ineffectual I had been in the face of everything that had been thrown at me. Power? That was a joke. I felt powerless in the face of so many things—and who had more power than her? Wasn’t she a goddess? Why was she allowing any of this to happen?

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