Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 23

23

MERYN

ooking down at the death sprawled out and waiting for us, one thing isL clear: I can’t take Saela down there without a plan. I’m sure it’s psychological, but I swear I can smell the blood from here.

“No, that is the smell of blood,” Anassa confirms.

Great. Helpful as always, Anassa.

She snorts and shakes her head.

I signal for our group to halt. Venna’s wolf, Skaia, twitches uncomfortably at the sight before us. Anassa gives a low rumble that is somehow both menacing and comforting.

My sister needs to be somewhere safe—both to protect her from witnessing the horrors awaiting us at the front line and to keep her away from anything that might trigger her bloodlust.

I take a deep breath and try to reach for calmness. “Saela,” I say simply.

Stark understands me. “There are some semipermanent tents on the outer perimeter of the base, where soldiers and Bonded can rotate for rest periods. Many of them should be empty right now, considering,” he adds grimly. Cratos shifts beneath him, and Stark’s body tenses to adjust for the displacement of his weight. “She’ll have privacy and security in one of the tents in the Bonded section. It will be comfortable.”

“I can accompany her. Stand guard,” Venna offers immediately. “We can have the wolves procure animals if Saela needs to feed.”

A zing of gratitude moves quickly up my spine. When it reaches my chest, it catches in my heart and seeps strength into my blood. It means a lot that Venna’s taking Saela’s condition in stride.

“Thank you,” I tell them, slipping from Anassa’s back to help Saela down.

She lets me guide her, but when her feet are planted on the ground, she doesn’t let me go. Her hands wrinkle the fabric of my shirt. I recognize the way she stands, folded in on herself. That little dip of her head has always been a giveaway that she’s nervous or afraid.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she whispers. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Mer.”

She’s giving voice to my insecurity, too. I let myself be convinced that the safest place for my sister was with me. But seeing this, understanding what it means to be in an active war zone where my own side is rapidly losing ground… have I made a grave error?

I can’t afford to show doubt. She needs my reassurance, not my insecurities.

Kneeling before her, I reach up to gently hold her wrists.

“Regardless of how we got here, we’re here. And you’re a princess of Nocturna with responsibilities to its people.” Saela’s eyes widen slightly.

“You need to be brave for them. Venna will protect you. I’ll come stay there tonight once I’m done at central command.”

She steps forward and hugs me. It takes everything I have not to burst into tears. I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight.

The embrace is far shorter than I’d have preferred, and then she’s stepping away from me. Venna helps her onto Skaia’s back, and then the two of them ride off in the direction of the tents.

Saela glances back at me, though, with an expression that makes my heart ache.

I stand there for a moment, staring after her. I stare until Stark’s fingertips brush the top of my shoulder. The fingers on that arm twitch like they want to return the touch. But when I look at him, I can’t tell if he’s comforting me or telling me we need to move on.

So I say nothing and continue toward the command center at the heart of the encampment.

As we descend, the stink of too many bodies and too much death becomes undeniable.

The camp is a strange mix of tumultuous triage and eerie emptiness.

Phylax forces have been stationed here on and off for decades. Now they’re

gone, and the reinforcements are still days away.

The empty tents make the place look like a ghost town. Which isn’t exactly reassuring.

We make our way through the medical triage area, feet squishing through deep mud.

I don’t know much about medical care, but even I can see that the workers here are shorthanded.

The few medics rush back and forth without stopping to rest. And to our left, a wagon that holds several bodies just… lies there.

I’m sure someone is going to come back for them, make certain they get home to their families so they can properly grieve. Still, the sight of them waiting is unsettling.

I look again as we pass closer to the dead, and my breath catches. I recognize one of them.

Roddert. He was Strategos. From my training cohort.

He sat at breakfast with us. I remember him staring at Izabel as if she were made of diamonds. I remember him sparring with Nevah. She said he had an uncannily good grasp of parrying.

Guess it wasn’t uncanny enough.

It hits me. Actually, it rolls over me like a snow squall. I’m drowning and burning at the same time. Because they’re not just anonymous casualties. Being here, seeing it, feeling it. Knowing it.

It’s impossible to put distance between myself and the lives being lost.

How many familiar faces will I never see again?

Izabel’s name rings in my ears.

“Meryn.”

I lift my head and see we’ve reached the central command tent. Stark holds open the door flap, waiting for me to enter first.

I exhale deeply and duck inside. The interior is dark, save for a few streams of light from slits in the tent’s canvas, a handful of lanterns, and a single brazier billowing smoke up into a ventilation channel.

Several people are gathered around a table. Goblets are scattered about the surface, as well as maps and figurines meant to represent the current strategic situation. A dagger juts out of the table’s wood, like it was plunged there in the middle of an argument and forgotten about.

As always, Siegrid cuts an imposing figure. She’s bent over the maps,

her expression dark as she receives reports from soldiers. Her arms are spread, scarred, and tattooed. Her head is bowed. She’s listening to them like each word they say might be their last, depending on her mood.

Stark and Noemi duck into the tent after me, and the three of us wait for a break in the briefing. A stir moves through the tent as people realize I’ve arrived, and Siegrid lifts her head.

When she sees me, her posture doesn’t change. She remains with her hands braced, her wide shoulders on display, her biceps tightening.

And then, rather than addressing me, she looks past me and says, “Noemi, it’s so good to have you with us.”

Turning to the rest of the pack leaders gathered, she explains: “Noemi resisted the Phylax defection and refused to follow her pack when they declared for Killian.”

Noemi’s eyes turn to storm clouds. Her body is taut like a bowstring.

A Kryptos Gamma gives Noemi a frankly assessing look. Something in the way he stares at her makes me bristle.

I don’t have a chance to think about it anymore before Siegrid dismisses her officers with a stern command.

I turn toward her as the rest of the men and women file out. A few of them glance at me or Noemi before looking away quickly. Not one of them looks at Stark.

Then it’s just the four of us in the commander’s tent. And suddenly I remember all the things that Stark told me about Siegrid. The woman she is.

My blood heats with anger, shadows starting to stir, and I have a ridiculous urge to step between her and Stark.

Protect him. Guard his throat. Punch hers, maybe.

Her throat is so fucking punchable right now.

“The situation here has never been this dire,” Siegrid says plainly, pulling me out of my violent musings.

Right. Dire straits at the war front. Maybe don’t punch your chief commander… yet.

Siegrid clasps her hands behind her back and rounds the table to stand before us.

“The Siphons have made several deep incursions into the farmlands, as you could probably see from your approach. Our original perimeter, maintained by the Phylax pack, is just gone.”

She draws a deep breath, showing a rare moment of unease. It shakes me to see her so unsettled.

“Your Highness, as you know, our plan had been to use your strength as a last resort to shore up our second line of defense. But things have changed.” She visibly gathers herself, smoothing her face back to her usual impassiveness as she delivers the worst of the news.

“As of now, the town of Weisenstat and the largest of our farming areas remain intact. But we got intelligence last night that Astreona has sent reinforcements—a very powerful Siphon general, with a whole host of new forces. This isn’t just a defensive mission anymore. The Siphons have noticed our weakness here, and we anticipate a major attack.”

She doesn’t voice the obvious conclusion, but I can tell we all think it: It’s going to be a bloodbath.

Ironically, the news that we’re outmatched gives me a funny sort of calm. It’s like the buzz I’d get before a difficult fight in the underground rings, I realize. Facing up against someone bigger and badder than me.

Knowing that this might be it, the time that I’m finally outmatched.

Now, just like then, my resolve hardens into something steely, edged

with anticipation.

I live for dangerous odds.

Stepping up to the table, I study the battle diagrams. “What are your plans so far? Will it still work to leverage my shielding power until we can get reinforcements in place?”

“No,” Siegrid says flatly. “There’s just too much area to cover, and with the forces we’re facing now, it’s likely the Siphons will strike in multiple places. But we’ll be spread too thin if we try to anticipate every potential target. Plus, the farmers are refusing to abandon their land and seek refuge elsewhere—even if we had the extra troops to help them get out, they won’t go.”

She scrubs a hand over her face. “There’s something else. Queen Meryn, the corruption in the Bonded magic seems to be getting worse.”

My stomach drops. We were keeping an eye on this ever since it was first noticed. But Siegrid was so confident it would clear up once Tormun caught Killian. Once this wretched bracelet was off my wrist.

So much for that.

I’ve heard more mention of Daemos riders getting blowback when they

impel like what happened to that boy in the arena, although Stark hasn’t experienced it. Noemi mentioned casually on the ride down here that her shields had become too strong on occasion, blocking Bonded out.

Not that we have that many Phylax left to worry about.

“Does the added strength in the magic help at all?” I ask. Since I put the crown on, everyone’s magic has surged.

Siegrid purses her mouth. “No. The troops have had no time to learn the scope of the changes or adjust our battle maneuvers to compensate for the

differences.”

We’re all quiet, considering that.

My instincts are trying to tell me something. What would I have done in the fighting ring when the odds were so clearly against me?

I almost always managed to win. No matter how formidable the opponent.

It was because I could surprise them. They looked at me, and they thought they knew me. Thought I was a weak little girl who would fold easily, barely put up a fight.

What surprises do we have up our sleeve now?

“I should use foresight,” I murmur, growing more confident of the words as I say them. “We don’t need to accept defeat before it happens.

Nothing is inevitable. Maybe I’ll get a glimpse of a path to success.”

Siegrid nods slowly. “It’s worth a try, Your Highness. Do you have the strength to attempt it now? We anticipate their attack coming tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

I swallow hard. I’m worn out from our travel, and from fighting off the deserters who attacked Saela. But what other choice do I have?

“I’ll do it.”

Stark finds me the most comfortable chair in the tent, and Noemi posts herself by the entrance as guard. Siegrid seats herself across from me, gathering ink and parchment so that she’ll be ready to make note of anything that I relay.

I pull the crown out from the pack at my waist and settle it onto my head. The rush of power it gives me is heady, dangerous. It’s unnatural, thinly papering over my exhaustion. I could get myself in trouble by relying on this strength too often.

Closing my eyes, I sink into myself. Even in the best of moments, it’s

hard to trigger foresight. But I focus on the feeling I get when I glimpse what’s ahead—like the hazy image on the back of your eyelids when you

accidentally look at the sun.

The magic pulls me under.

Battlefield. Siphons everywhere, bodies, blood. Smoke rising off in the distance—from farms burning, I realize. Anassa and I are still standing, maintaining a Phylax shield with the last of our energy—but it’s not enough.

The reach of the shield is failing, and I can see many of our best warriors already dead on the ground. The faces stare up at me, blank.

Noemi. Beautiful red hair flaming around her, eyes unseeing.

Venna. So like her sister in death. Face beautiful, frozen like ice.

Siegrid, dismembered. Her fearsome direwolf, Genicos, curved around

her, as if protecting her even now.

Stark. Stark.

My eyes flutter, and I pull away from that thread, heart pounding. I reach out again, follow a different path forward.

Death.

Fire.

Destruction.

Each path ends the same.

Until… Shadows. Anassa and me, and shadows everywhere. The Siphons in retreat.

I gasp and wrench myself away from the visions.

“I need to ride out and meet the Siphons head-on. Unleash my shadebending on them,” I say, voice shaky. “It’s the only future where we

beat them back.”

Siegrid’s response is instant. “No.”

I bristle. Don’t punch her throat. Don’t punch her throat. Don’t— “If you’ll recall,” she says dismissively, “military matters fall under my authority as Sovereign Alpha. I cannot allow the queen to risk herself in direct combat, especially when you lack battlefield experience beyond the controlled environment of the Trials. You have no control over the shadebending, even still. You could get killed—and you could kill our people, too.”

I straighten my spine, lift my head, and lock eyes with Siegrid. “You and

I both know that foresight is imprecise, but over and over again, all I saw was death and destruction. This is the only possible solution that was offered to me.”

I pull the crown from my head and study the opal, gleaming in the firelight. The nightmare of my visions presses in again, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of tiredness washes over my body.

Silence, as the group takes that in.

“I’ll go alone,” I offer up quietly. “That way, no one else will get hurt if my powers are out of control.”

“Meryn,” Noemi says on a soft gasp. “No.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Stark snaps. “You cannot be serious. You’re the queen. Alone on the battlefield, facing down our enemy?”

I look at him imploringly. “Stark—if we lose this whole area, our nation will starve. What is one woman compared with the hunger of thousands?”

“You’ll go with her, Stark,” Siegrid says tersely.

We both turn to stare at her. “What?!”

“You know that the Sovereign Alpha has the ability to shadebend, too,”

Siegrid says. “Because of our family’s powers, Stark will be protected. He cannot be endangered by your strength.”

A dark look comes over Stark’s face. “How do you know that for

certain?”

“I just do,” Siegrid says snippily.

Another terrible thing about Siegrid: She deliberately withholds information from Stark. I’ve had enough of secrets and information withheld for a hundred thousand lifetimes.

“While Meryn wields her shadebending,” Siegrid continues, “you will keep an eye on the Siphon movements. If you sense that the queen is outmatched, you will protect her and bring her back to our camp immediately.”

“Of course she’s going to be outmatched,” he barks at her. “One woman against an entire regiment of Siphons and their immensely powerful

general?”

I hold up a hand, stilling him.

While the foresight visions are hard to parse, I know what I saw. And I know I’ve barely dipped a toe into the deep, spiraling pool of darkness that lives inside me. It’s begging to be unleashed, whispering at me to open

myself up to it and let it take control.

“I can do it,” I say quietly.

His jaw ticks. “Or you die.”

“Or I die,” I agree. “Maybe we both do. But if I don’t attempt it, our deaths are a certainty.”

“In that case,” Siegrid says, now fully won over to my side of the argument. “Shall we discuss details?”

Stark shakes me awake before dawn, just as planned. The tent is dark and cold; the fire in the brazier burned down to just coals. He heads out to ensure that Cratos and Anassa have everything they need, and I dress hurriedly, pulling on layers to ward off the chill.

I slip into the other room of the tent, stoking the fire there with extra logs, then turn to wake Saela.

I can’t go to battle without saying goodbye.

And there’s something else I need, too.

“Saela,” I whisper, lightly touching her shoulder. “Wake up, sis.”

Her eyes snap open, and she yawns, sitting up. “Meryn?”

“I want a hug before I go,” I say, keeping my tone light and refusing to let my fear or my nerves about the upcoming battle show. Not to her. “I have to go fight. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Venna and I had a long talk last night, and she promised to look out for Saela, however she can, should the worst happen.

Saela nods, and in the dim light, I can’t quite make out her expression.

I pause before my next question, wishing I didn’t need to ask it.

“Saela, can I borrow Mother’s necklace? Like with the crown, I’ve felt it amplify my powers before. I think it would be helpful for today.”

Saela nods and slips the teardrop gem out from under her shirt. She wraps her hand around it once as if for luck before unclasping it and handing it to me.

As it settles around my neck, my hands twitch with an electric burst of energy. The shadows surge in my veins, ready to be directed. With the

necklace and crown combined, I’ll be a force to be reckoned with.

Saela gets out of her nest of blankets on the couch and stands. Then she moves quickly to our pile of bags and scrabbles through them, casting things to either side.

“Saela?” I ask, brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t stop, just says in a monotone voice, “I must go to him.”

“Go?” A chill runs down my spine. I cross to her in two big steps. “Go to whom, Saela?”

She stands, slinging a pack behind her. “Killian. He calls me.”

I freeze in shock and then lunge forward to grab her hand. She’s trying to slip out of the tent flap and into the cold.

“What the fu—what are you talking about?!” I hiss.

My heart leaps into my throat. Not now, not after all this time. Not when he’s finally gone silent in my own mind.

Saela pulls against me, struggling mindlessly. My arms tighten around her, and I want to scream.

The sire bond. It must be the sire bond that Aldrich mentioned finally

affecting her. Because of… The necklace.

I’d put it on her almost immediately after she turned, hoping it would protect her. And it did, it seems—in a way I’d never predicted.

I wrench the necklace from my neck and force it over Saela’s head.

The moment the opal touches her skin, she sags in my grip and then turns to me, confused. “Meryn? What happened?”

“I—” Horror stifles my words.

Killian. That fucker.

My breathing returns to normal as Saela’s expression remains unmistakably her.

“Saela, listen carefully. I need you to keep that necklace on at all times, all right?”

Her eyes widen in fear, and she swallows.

Taking a deep breath, I lean down so that our eyes are level. Then I tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her on the cheek.

“Just promise me, okay? I’ll explain everything later, but I was wrong about me taking the necklace. You need it. Do not take it off while I’m gone.”

She nods in silence.

After another tight hug, I force myself to leave. As I go, I reach out mentally to Venna, letting her know about the necklace so she can keep an eye on it.

Then I catch up with Stark where he’s waiting with our wolves. Anassa greets me with her teeth bared—she’s edgy, riled up, and desperate to get out on the field.

Stark sits astride Cratos, decked out in full battle leathers. The layers of leather and padding emphasize his muscular arms and shoulders, the broadness of his chest. The two of them together are an inky black silhouette against the dawning light. A vision of strength and power.

“You ready?” I ask both him and Anassa.

Stark merely scowls at me. I know he’s still furious that I won the argument, that we’re charging off on this possibly foolhardy mission.

But I also know that he won’t let anything happen to me—not while he’s still standing.

“Let us go rain death upon them,” Anassa growls.