Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 13

13

MERYN

stand at the palace gates, staring at a patch of shadow on the ground andI

willing it to move.

Stretch. Do something. High-five me.

Anassa stirs from where she’s curled up on my left side. “Is it possible that you are getting worse at this? It appears that you have made backward progress.”

Sighing, I lean against her, my legs aching. I squint at the road ahead, which leads downhill to the Northern Quarter and the city I so recently called home. We’re due to greet the Mother Priestess as she arrives at the castle, but apparently the Faceless Goddess doesn’t keep time, because she’s extremely late.

The crown on my head is starting to make my temples throb. Although, everything makes my temples throb these days. I’ve been continually reinforcing the communication wall against Killian and have almost grown used to the near-constant headache.

“No sage advice on wielding this power, then?”

It’s been two weeks of constant practice, and the pack powers have come surprisingly easy—perhaps because of Anassa’s own sheer strength.

It takes little effort to call a shield or throw an impelling blast. I’ve moved past regular rifting and can now pull a mask around a large surface area. We’re still expanding our ability to use foresight, and I can now see snatches of a day ahead, sometimes two—but as Siegrid cautioned, the glimpses aren’t always clear.

But shadebending? That’s another thing entirely. The shadows still

won’t come at my beck and call. I can’t wield them in any cohesive way.

And Siegrid gets more frustrated about it by the day.

“When I want to direct something, I growl at it or bare my teeth, and that usually suffices.”

Experimentally, I let out a low growl at the patch of shadow. You never know.

The castle attendant waiting for the Mother Priestess practically jumps in the air at the sound, and I shoot her a conciliatory smile.

“Sorry,” I say. “It’s a Bonded thing.”

“Do not tell the poor child lies. You should never attempt that again,”

Anassa says with a huff. “You sounded weaker than a pup.”

I’m saved from having to respond as the priestess’s carriage finally rolls up to the inner gates of the castle. It’s flanked by female guards in flowing robes riding handsome dappled horses. Apparently, she’s arriving in ceremony.

The Mother Priestess arrived in Sturmfrost with Siegrid, but she’s been staying at the Sect of the Faceless Goddess in the city. Now, with my coronation just a week away, she’ll move into a guest suite in the castle.

Matron Alienor had some religious icons brought in from the city to hang on the walls to welcome her.

All of them creepy, if you ask me. But in fairness, it’s probably hard to represent a faceless entity in a noncreepy way.

Preparing for her arrival makes me antsy. It’s important that I show respect so that we can count the goddess-worshippers among my supporters. My family was never particularly observant, though, and I’m worried about offending her somehow.

Anassa stays seated as the delegation pulls up, out of politeness. Horses often startle when confronted by massive wolves who could eat them as a snack.

“You need not be nervous,” Anassa insists. “These are followers of the old ways, so they should be your most devout supporters, intent on seeing the old line of queens returned.”

I settle my shoulders and step forward, conscious of the heavy crown bearing down on my forehead. It feels too formal for the daytime, but Matron Alienor insisted it was appropriate for greeting someone of this stature.

“Mother Priestess,” I say with hopefully the right level of respect.

“Queen,” she says shortly as she steps down from the carriage. At first, she gives the impression of fragility. She’s short and wizened, with crepey, age-spotted hands and long white hair braided elaborately around her head.

She moves slowly, as if afraid to fall.

But then she straightens, and I see the fervent light in her green eyes. It sharpens as it drags up my face and locks onto the crown balanced on my

head.

No… this woman is anything but fragile.

She moves toward me with surprising speed, and her gnarled hand reaches for the crown.

I stumble backward, nearly tripping over Anassa, who leaps to her paws and lets out a low warning growl in the priestess’s direction.

The Mother Priestess stills, anger flashing across her face so quickly that I could almost believe I imagined it. Then she raises her hands and says, “My apology, Your Highness. I was astonished to see a Tear.”

“Tear?” I ask, confused.

She points to my crown and says, “May I?”

I look to Anassa for guidance. Something about this just feels… wrong.

“If she tries to run with it, I shall snap her in two. It is safe to let her take a look, if you wish.”

Reaching up, I untangle the heavy golden crown from my hair and pass it gently over to the priestess. She rips it out of my hands greedily, a hint of avarice in her gaze. One finger traces the opal at the center of the crown.

“This is a Goddess Tear,” she says reverently. “It was rumored that a Tear was in the crown of old, but I’d thought it had been lost to the Siphons.”

My brow furrows. Does she mean in Astreona? Or did she somehow know that Killian’s family was all Siphons before I revealed that information?

Her eyes land on me again, and I can’t get in any questions. “Tell me, Meryn Sturmfrost. Are you a true believer?” She strokes the crown lovingly.

I flinch internally. At best, I’ve questioned the existence of the Faceless Goddess, denied it at worst. And this prying seems weighty, intentional— like her judgment of me and my rule will depend on my answer.

But surely I shouldn’t lie to the head of the religion?

“I have found comfort in praying to the Faceless Goddess during times of need,” I answer truthfully, hoping it’s enough.

She sees through me at once. “But you were not raised attending temple services? You have not formed a deep personal relationship with the goddess or any of her stewards? You do not let her grace guide your life in all matters?”

My stomach twists. My first interaction with the woman who is supposed to oversee my coronation, and I’m failing a test I didn’t prepare for.

“No,” I say, mouth dry. “But I hope my lack of a past relationship with the Sect of the Faceless Goddess will not impede my future one. I have an open mind.”

“Hmm.” The Mother Priestess’s hands tighten on the crown, and I get the sudden urge to yank it away from her.

Instead, I hold out a palm. She considers it for a moment and then slowly gives it back. I resettle it on my head.

The Mother Priestess brushes past me, walking swiftly toward the castle with her guards trailing after her. The castle attendant gives me a startled look and then trots after her, shouting, “Let me show you to your chambers, Mother Priestess!”

I let out a tense breath. “What the fuck was that?”

“A zealot,” Anassa replies. “One of the most dangerous types of humans to exist. We must keep an eye on her.”

I nod. Turning back to the castle, I ruefully think of the good first impression I was hoping to make.

Are any of the leaders in Nocturna remotely normal?

The next day, Venna and I have an appointment with a contact she’s found in the Bonded City. He’s a collector; someone who might be able to tell us about the bracelet around my wrist.

Siegrid continues to insist that the engagement bracelet is a nonissue.

Once Tormun captures Killian, we can get it removed and the strangeness that’s been corrupting the pack magic will go away.

And he’ll no longer be able to reach any of the Bonded through our pack communication—though so far, the mental barrier Anassa and I erected has held strong.

The way she tells it makes it sound so neat and tidy.

Still, I need to do something. I’m barely sleeping, so worried I’ll end up back in that shadow realm, trapped with Killian. Every time my eye catches on the darkened ruby, it reminds me of the ruinous mistakes I made with him.

A painful shard of grief, encased in an exquisite lie.

If we can figure out what the bracelet is—or, better yet, how to get it off immediately—we can ensure that something like this will never be used again.

Venna and I meet in the back courtyard that faces toward the Bonded City. Izabel, Tomison, and Nevah join us. When I realized where we were going, I insisted that everyone come along. It’s been too long since my friends have had a break or seen their families.

It’s a quick ride to the Bonded City. Izabel and Tomison lead the way on their direwolves, bickering in a way that is obviously flirting, like normal.

But Asteio and Filikos are standing closely, their tails occasionally swishing together.

And then… Tomison grabs Izabel’s hand, lacing her fingers with his.

Well, that’s not normal.

I look at Venna and Nevah in shock and sign so that I can hide the question from Izabel and Tomison’s ears.

“Are they…” I don’t have the sign language vocabulary for what I want to say. How have I not asked Venna for a crash course in sex terms? “… together now?”

“For at least a week,” Venna signs back, eyebrows raised.

“And they’re being disgusting,” Nevah shouts at their backs.

Izabel’s head whips over her shoulder, a pissy look on her face. “Are you talking about us? You know, you’re being kind of a bitch for someone who kept begging us to ‘just fuck already.’”

Nevah throws her hands in the air. “Yeah, I thought the two of you would get it out of your systems and then move on. But no! It’s Izzy this and

Tomtom that and sex everywhere! I am so tired of seeing your tits, Izabel!”

I burst into laughter. “Izzy? Tomtom?”

Tomison grins slyly, although his face is about as red as his hair. He holds out an arm, beckoning her. “Aww, Nev. Sorry if we’ve been making you uncomfortable.”

Nevah and Agmatta spring toward them, and Nevah gives him a playful shove. Tomison almost topples off Filikos. “I’m happy for you two, I swear, but it would be nice if your lovefest was just a little less in my face at all times.”

Venna and I ride behind them, and my head reels. At least a week, and I had no idea.

Izabel’s supposed to be my best friend. I asked these four to remain behind for me, and now I barely see them except when they’re doing things for me.

“Hey,” I call out to my friends from Anassa’s back as we near the Bonded City. “Venna and I need to run this errand, but then what if I came with you to see your families?”

It would be nice, getting to see where they all come from.

We can have a day that’s not about me for once.

Izabel squeals, and even reserved Venna gives a broad smile at the suggestion. “Father would love that,” Venna says.

I look over to Nevah and Tomison, and I’m met with conflicted expressions.

“It might be best to skip my house for now,” Nevah says slowly. Her expression is shuttered, and Agmatta slows his pace. “My siblings might be busy, and I know my aunt’s home but…”

She doesn’t complete the thought, and I turn to Tomison. “Well?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

“What am I missing here?” I ask, confused. Maybe they just want time alone, and I’d be intruding.

Nevah coughs, then speaks again. “My family… they are struggling a little with the changes. They haven’t fully declared for you. I’m working on them, and I think they’ll come around. But I don’t think they’re quite ready to welcome you into their home.”

My chest tightens. The family of my own friend?

Tomison nods, refusing to look me in the eye. “It’s worse with my

family. My mother and grandmother are staying in the Bonded City for now, but they aren’t supportive. They think you might be a fraud. They’re… they’re talking about heading to Rabenfrost.” His tone is light, but a note of defensiveness is there, too.

“But Killian’s a Siphon,” I exclaim. “I showed everyone that. How could they consider supporting a Siphon?”

He finally meets my gaze, his mouth a thin line. “They don’t believe you, Meryn,” he says plainly, and it hits me in the gut. “It’s your word, your memories, against his. And they think yours are… well, false. Even when I’ve tried to tell them otherwise, they refuse to listen to common sense.”

Head spinning, I reach out to Anassa. “Did you know it was this bad? I thought Siegrid would be able to convince everyone.”

But she doesn’t respond; her mind has turned into an aggressive tempest.

She lunges toward Tomison and Filikos, ears back, and starts to circle them.

Filikos’s lips pull back from his fangs, a low growl starting.

“Anassa, no,” I say helplessly, but her instincts have taken over. “Our friends are not the enemy.”

She ignores me—either by choice or by instinct.

And pounces on Filikos.

“Meryn, stop her!” Izabel shrieks.

My hands are fisted in Anassa’s fur, yanking and yanking as I’m tossed around on her back, but her fury has no ending. Her fangs close on the scruff of Filikos’s neck, shaking.

“Meryn!” Tomison screams, his eyes flickering with fear.

“ANASSA! I command you—stop!”

The wolves break apart, and Anassa takes two tense steps backward, still growling.

“They can’t help how their families feel,” I say sternly. “This is not Tomison or Nevah’s fault, and attacking them for something they cannot control will only further divide us.”

“Pack is pack,” Anassa replies, her anger leaking through the bond.

“Loyalty must be absolute, from everyone. Or what good is it?”

“We aren’t the zealots, remember? That’s the weirdo priestess and her flock. I know the wolves have their own dynamics, but we cannot attack our own for having questions. That will only drive them away.”

Anassa lets it go, but she sulks the rest of the way to the Bonded City.

Conversation is muted after that, and I’m guiltily relieved when Venna and I part ways with the rest of them for our errand.

I thought that keeping my friends here would be a source of comfort.

Maybe queens don’t have that luxury.

My boots have started to pinch my toes, and I kick them off when I enter my room. They land in a pile of discarded shoes that I know I should put away but can’t quite bother with.

I’m collapsing into an armchair when Saela comes out to greet me. I straighten, suddenly alert again.

I’m glad to see her up. We’ve been leaving Saela’s door unlocked recently; Anassa’s kept her fed on animal blood, and Saela’s shown no sign of mindlessly attacking anyone, so we’re reasonably confident she’s not a danger to us. Helene and Grigore are still doing guard rotation, of course.

We tell Saela it’s to keep others out, not to keep her in. I can’t tell if she believes us.

“Back already? How did it go?” Saela hasn’t shown interest in much since… since Killian did what he did. But she’s been darkly fascinated by the engagement bracelet.

Perhaps its removal will be one small victory over the shithead who ruined her life.

I hope it’s not more; that it’s not some part of her sire bond leaking through. Is Killian in her mind, directing her to pay attention to the bracelet? I can’t start thinking that way, or I’ll never be able to relax in her presence.

I beckon her over to the seat beside mine, and she gathers up the stack of clothing on the cushion and moves it to my bedroom before sitting.

“You can just throw that on the floor,” I say.

Saela rolls her eyes.

“Well, he confirmed that it looks like Siphon-made magic, which we basically already knew.” I sigh and stare at the bracelet, holding my arm out in front of me so we can both look at the ruby’s ominous sparkle. “He had

no idea how to get it off, and he said I shouldn’t do anything drastic like cutting off my hand, either, because the magic could backfire anyway and kill me.”

Saela screws up her mouth, thinking this over. Her feet come up to tuck beneath her body. I hold back a smile. It’s good to see her engaged in

something.

Even something so grotesque.

“And what about the sword?” Saela has been equally fascinated by my tales of the Dire Blade, asking Aldrich to bring her any legends he can find about it. She’s convinced that it’ll be important to my rule.

We all hoped we could find someone to reforge the blade from the shards that remained. However, just like with my bracelet, all the local smiths have turned us away, mystified. Now the shards just sit in a dusty sack shoved under my bed.

“This collector guy, Jorgen, said it doesn’t look like human-forged metal.” I chew on my lip, staring toward the window and the view of the pine trees beyond. “Seems like we don’t know much about anything anymore, to be honest. A lot of knowledge was lost because of the blood curse.”

Saela fusses with a loose thread on the arm of the chair, flattening it down only for it to bounce back up when she moves her finger. Her face, hopeful when she thought I was bringing her new information, now holds a detached expression that’s starting to be all too familiar.

I frown, wishing I could do more to bring her back out of her shell.

She’s been so focused when she has some kind of problem to think about, like finding out more about the Dire Blade.

My eyes fall to Mother’s necklace around her neck. The gem seems to have a soft glow even when the light isn’t hitting it.

Just like the opal in my crown… Could it be the same kind of opal?

A Goddess Tear, the Mother Priestess called it.

I haven’t been able to get any more information from her about what that means. In fact, we’ve barely even met to review the rituals for the coronation. I get the distinct sense that the priestess is avoiding me since I don’t meet her standards of a “true believer.”

I study Saela’s face. Perhaps another area where research would help?

It can’t hurt. I’d do just about anything to draw Saela out of her grief and depression.

“Saela… I need your help with something.”