Page 63 of The Wolf Queen

It was too late to worry about that. After the council had decided to back our plan, we’d spent the rest of the day and most of the night talking strategy, debating how best to plan our attack. Now, it was late the next evening and we were about to put it into action.

“The Granians need to know about the crystal caves,” I said, tightening the neck guard on my armour then looking at him. “If I fall—”

“That will never happen,” Axe swore, shoving his weapon into his belt and striding toward me. His hands were heavy on my shoulders, grounding me. “Not while I draw breath.”

“And I’ll be there by your side the whole time. I’ll heal your wounds; keep you whole,” Gael promised.

Despite the lack of sleep, all of us were filled with a restless energy, something that would only be expelled once we reached our destination.

Snowmere.

I didn’t want to go back to the site of my defeat, to that fucking castle that Ulfric and Aurora had ruled like a pair of spoiled children, to the same place where Callum seemed determined to replay the sins of the past over and over. But Tristan had neatly manoeuvred us into this plan of attack.

But Bryson had made sure to do the same to his brother and rival.

Which is why the king was walking into my grandfather’s suite.

“No tin suit, Your Majesty?” Weyland asked, looking him up and down as he entered, then wandering over to investigate him more closely, his professional curiosity piqued. “What is that?”

Bryson bared his teeth and brushed my mate’s intrusive hand away.

“It’s brigandine,” he replied, coming to stand before me. “It’s become fashionable among knights in the empire. It weighs less and affords you greater range of movement than plate mail.” Bryson’s eyes met mine. “I assumed that’s what we’ll need on this mission.”

This was to be a sneak attack, not a battle, and when that had become clear, I’d wanted to exclude all of the Granians I’d incited to join us. Too long between wars, that’s what my father used to say. The longer men went between real battles, the more they overestimated their abilities and underestimated the cost of such fights, making them eager for war.

But they’d all insisted that they had to come.

For the moment, my Strelan contingent and I were tolerated, viewed in an environment of suspended judgement. Enough nobles had seen us in action in the crystal cave against Callum to provide corroborating stories to give credence to my words, but… Pragmatically, the death of the old king had been both a boon and a curse. The leadership of Grania was in flux and, while Bryson may have won the crown by law, who knew who would end up with it on his head once the dust settled? So it wasn’t simply a matter of slinking into Snowmere, past the bands of roaming Reavers, into the palace and lopping off Callum’s stupid head. In order to gain the firm backing of the council, we needed to carry out our foray with half of Grania’s nobility in tow.

Linnea had impressed upon me that the only way through a distasteful meal was one spoonful at a time. I felt like I was being faced with an endless bowl of tripe to consume right now.

“It is,” I replied to Bryson, “but do your lords understand that?”

The pained grimace he shot me told me all I needed to know.

We meton the palace steps, and never before had I seen such an array of magnificently crafted and ornamented armour. Every single southern nobleman shone bright in the last rays of the dying sun, in shades of brilliant silver and gleaming gold. The northern lords were easy to pick out. They all wore brigandine, an armour that was a compromise between Strelan leather and the southern preoccupation with steel plates sewn within layers of leather, reinforcing key areas of the armour.

“You cannot be serious…” I hissed, turning to Bryson. “This is a stealth mission. We need to get into Snowmere undetected.”

The only answer I got was a slow sigh, then he approached the posse of overstuffed knights.

“My lords, I appreciate that each and every one of you has volunteered to join us on this mission to extinguish the grave threat facing us…” Tristan walked up to join those assembled, looking anything but honoured. However, it was telling to see that he and his fellows all wore brigandine armour as well. Bryson acknowledged his brother’s late arrival with a nod. “But we all must be aware that this is a covert mission rather than one where we tackle the threat head on. As a result, we must dress in a way that will help us achieve our objective.”

“To infiltrate the Strelan capital and get the lay of the land for our upcoming invasion?” Tristan asked.

“To be clear on what threat we face,” Bryson corrected. “Only then can we ascertain how we will respond to it.” He clicked his fingers and several knights appeared off to the side, laden with brigandine armour. “My lords, your choice is clear. You can either don the leather armour that has been kindly offered by Lord (name of northern lord)…” The knights stepped forward, presenting the armour in question to those assembled. As the southern lords started to splutter in protest, Bryson spoke decisively. “Or you can remain behind and keep your plate mail for the war to come.”

Would Strelans rush in so needlessly where angels feared to tread? I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that, while we waited for these popinjays to change, we lost what sun we’d had. Their enthusiasm seemed to indicate that they felt like they were being given a chance to revisit history, to measure themselves against the warriors of old. The way they joked and jostled made them look more like a bunch of school boys acting as warriors in a play than actual soldiers preparing for a skirmish. Gael shook his head at them.

“This is never going to work,” he muttered to me.

“I’m with you there, brother,” Weyland said. “So, what’s our plan?”

Ostensibly, we had one. The council had finally hammered out an agreement that we would emerge out into the caves beneath the citadel and hope like hell they weren’t full of Reavers. If they were, we were to fall back, assuming that was possible. But if they weren’t? We’d carry out our reconnaissance; see if we could safely make our way to Callum’s lair where I’d…

Light him on fire; the blue flames of my sword licking over his flesh like a lover? Cut him in two like I’d done to so many of his Reavers? Something—anything—that was what beat hot and hard and true in my heart. We were rushing into things, I knew that, but caution seemed an impossible choice. Sleeping was a fitful thing, because who was to know when and where Callum might emerge again? Under the palace here? Near my father’s keep? To tear through what remained of the population of Snowmere, only to… I shook my head, trying to keep those negative scenarios out of my thoughts. And then my every muscle tensed when Bryson finally announced the Granian force was ready.

“And you?” He moved closer, putting his hand on my shoulder like he might do with any of his soldiers, but it felt wrong—I didn’t belong to him. Bryson wasn’t mine just like I wasn’t his, no matter what he might think and I fought the urge to shake his hand off. “What of you, Darcy? Are you ready?”

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