Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 32

32

MERYN

ays pass. We share meals. We stop for water and supplies. We turn in forD night after night on uncomfortable cots. The weather gets warmer the farther south we go, and eventually Elias has to venture into the city of Dawnspire to get lighter clothing for all of us. It’s a welcome relief, and yet still not enough.

I’ve never experienced heat like this before, and the way my body is responding is just… rude.

Sweat. Constantly. Without any exertion involved.

Throughout it all, I keep my wrist covered, even in the lighter clothing. I don’t need the Siphons to know about the engagement bracelet—at least not yet. Maybe I can get answers for its removal here. But I want that conversation to be on my terms.

Every once in a while, though, I swear it tightens. And my brain turns unwillingly to Killian. In my daily check-ins with Siegrid, she tells me that we’ve heard nothing from him since the Phylax defection, and I’m on constant edge.

The landscape throughout our journey continues to transform around us, becoming increasingly arid. The lushness gives way, replaced by long stretches of dusty path and withered bushes. The flora changes, too, growing more vibrant—sharp-petalled and burst in shades of reds, oranges, and yellows like resilient flames.

The small towns we pass through are increasingly elaborate and ornamental in their architecture. The building material changes, shifting to red clays, bricks, and tiled roofs.

Stark and I avoid each other entirely, except for when we sleep. It’s been massively uncomfortable, and everyone has noticed. Venna stays by me, and Noemi goes everywhere with Stark.

I wonder if she’s relishing his attention entirely on her, and then I kick my own ass for caring so much. And I wonder what she thinks of the two of us sleeping together. Does she care?

Venna catches me staring at them together and says, “Sheesh, what did Noemi do to you? You’re looking at her as if she mutilated Anassa.”

“She would never get close enough,” Anassa sniffs. “Do not drag me into your unreasonable human drama.”

I make an excuse—sand in my eye, nothing to do with Noemi—and try to shore up the defenses around my heart.

But, of course, I can’t help caring. Not now that I’ve had a glimpse of

everything we could be together.

Stubborn fucking man. Control freak.

Thinking about Stark and control makes my insides twist all over again, the heat building inside me worse than the constant onslaught of the sun.

At one stop, I stumble upon Saela sitting with our father in a quiet corner of the courtyard of the outpost. They’re curled up side by side on a low stone barrier that divides the courtyard from the building shoved up alongside it. They’re deep in conversation, bent toward each other.

I watch them interact, unmoving.

Saela speaks with him openly, her hands fluttering as she talks. Our father listens raptly, nodding occasionally. Saela seems almost like her old self.

Or, at least, as close as I’ve seen her since Killian.

I try to understand the exact composition of the awful swell of emotion inside me. I’m still furious at our father. But there’s something else beneath it, watching them together.

It glints like fresh snow. There’s potential. There’s weight. There’s beauty. There’s quiet.

Saela’s never truly experienced a parent’s undivided attention and interest. Our mother’s mental illness prevented Saela from forming the kind of maternal bond I shared with Mother when I was young, before it all changed. She could never trust our mother and gradually learned to stop going to her for much of anything.

And I tried, but… It’s just good, seeing this. She’s happy, and it’s my job to protect that, even if it also makes my heart heavy.

There’s a shuffling sound, and I glance over to find Noemi passing by.

She notes what I’m observing and says dryly, “Fathers, am I right?”

I let out a tight laugh.

She bites her lip in hesitation and then says, “Look, we don’t know each other well. But from one damaged daughter to another, I can tell that your father is trying. Don’t forgive him if you can’t, but just… keep that in mind.”

Her counsel loosens something inside me.

As Noemi walks away, Saela notices me watching them, and her expression instantly closes off. Her shoulders lift, she ducks her head, and she scoots away from Fredrich as if she were caught doing something forbidden.

It hurts. I don’t want her to feel guilty for finding happiness, regardless of my own complicated relationship with him. It isn’t about me.

“I’m going to see if the wolves want to be brushed,” Saela says to the ground.

They really, really do not. But remarkably, both Anassa and Cratos have given in to Saela’s adoring ministrations. Saela has taken to brushing them daily with horse-grooming tools she snagged from one of the outposts, and so far neither of them has bitten off her hand.

“Primping time,” I warn Anassa, and she growls in my head.

“I shall let Cratos know to go for a run. His patience for this has disappeared. She tried to tie a ribbon on him yesterday.”

As Saela heads off to find Anassa, I move swiftly toward my father.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer honestly.”

“Of course I will,” Fredrich says with a softness that pisses me off more.

I run my fingers through my hair and stare down at my boots. “Is there any possibility, any procedure or magic, that could reverse what’s happened to her? Could Saela ever be human again?”

Even as I ask the question, I know its answer. But a part of me just needs to hear it.

For the vibrations of the spoken words to shatter the resistance in my soul.

“I thought that… maybe in Astreona, where Siphons originated, there could be some unknown cure,” I say.

He’s silent. I know what I’ll see, but I lift my eyes anyway. And at the sight of him, my last fragile thread of hope snaps. It’s genuine, unfettered sorrow in his eyes.

“No,” he says. He shakes his head. “No, there’s no way to reverse the transformation. Once you’re turned, it’s permanent and complete. I… searched.”

I shut my eyes and let it kill me a little inside. Just for a few breaths.

And then, because I want to dig a knife into him, I say, “Perhaps you didn’t search hard enough.”

When I walk away, the pounding of my heart in my ears almost drowns out the ache in my chest.

The next day, we finally arrive at the city of Brightbane.

We crest the last hill, and immediately our party stops moving, halting in stunned appreciation.

Brightbane rises from the valley floor like something from a dream, constructed primarily of a distinctive pink-white stone that seems to glow in the sunlight.

Unlike the practical, dark buildings of Sturmfrost meant to keep out the cold and cling to what little sunlight we get, this city features sweeping arches, delicate spires, and ornate facades.

It’s all wide-open spaces meant to catch and channel breezes. There is so little rain here that there are buildings with open roofs. Vast green spaces are sheltered within the city, bordered by protective walls—trees to grant shade and relief from the stony heat.

Through the center winds a canal where people glide in small pleasure boats, the water glistening in the sunlight. The spires scattered around the city would snap under the weight of snow back home or crack off in our blizzards.

Here, they reach up bold and delicate and sew wisps of clouds in the

blue sky.

Dominating the cityscape is the royal castle, built in the same white-pink stone as the rest of the sprawling glory before us. It’s perched atop the highest point, a winding road circling the hill it uses as a throne.

The magnificent structure is surrounded by terraced gardens. Its walls feature countless arched windows and open-air balconies. A moat wraps around the castle’s base, fed by the canal. Three narrow bridges connect the castle complex to the rest of the city.

As we approach the city’s outskirts, Venna blurts out, “This is insane.”

“Is that… a good thing?” Davide asks, a single brow raised high.

“I have no idea,” I reply, raising my eyebrows at my friend. She shrugs.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask Venna mentally.

“That Izabel would have loved this?” There’s a wistful note in her voice, and her lips purse, eyes glistening. “Cities have no right being this beautiful. I think if she’d seen Brightbane, she would’ve insisted on moving here permanently, bloodsuckers be damned.”

“It’s nice to think about it through her eyes,” I reply. “It makes me feel less like a hostage walking toward near-certain death and more like someone on a romantic adventure.”

Venna nods, and I wish we could stay on this hill forever. This is the first moment we’ve been able to reminisce in a bittersweet way since Izabel’s death. The first time we’ve shared a thought about her together and not just smarted at our loss.

“If I may suggest,” Elias interjects, shattering our peace, “it may be a wise idea to leave your direwolves in the wilderness beyond the city walls and proceed on foot. While the citizens of Brightbane are accustomed to many unusual sights, direwolves might cause unnecessary panic among the populace.”

I bristle immediately. There’s a difference between parting with Anassa in a small village. This is the seat of King Lucien’s power. I need my damn

wolf.

Answering violence rises in Anassa.

But Stark speaks before I can. Forcefully. “We will absolutely not be

parting with our wolves.”

Elias shrugs. “Very well, then.”

We make our way through the towering city gates and into the winding

streets. Immediately upon entering, the air cools. The structure of the city works to ease the heat—the stone all around us, the breeze channels, the fruit trees planted for shade, and the sparkling water.

Beside us, Cratos emits a long, weighty sigh of relief. His black fur is probably worse than Anassa’s.

Details reveal themselves that I couldn’t make out from above. Carved fountains on every other street corner, burbling with cool water. Bell towers that don’t seem to mark the hour but rather chime with constant, tinkling sound. Tiles dot many of the buildings and roads, their bright colors arranged in geometric patterns.

I’m distracted by the sights, at first, but I soon realize that we’re getting a lot of attention. Citizens gasp in fear when they see us coming. Mothers pull their children behind them and hurry away. Shopkeepers hurriedly close their doors.

I feel as if I’m a walking nightmare, back to being a scary story in

someone else’s mind.

I ignore it as best I can.

It helps that Anassa doesn’t even slightly care that these people are afraid of her. She bares her fangs at them as we go, reminding me that it doesn’t matter what they think. They’re the enemy.

After a punishingly slow procession, we finally reach the castle’s main entrance. Elias halts his horse before the beginning of the bridge. The water of the moat trickles gently, fish flashing close to the surface.

“I will lead you through the gates, and then we will part for now,” Elias says. “It was not as awful as expected, traveling with you.”

Stark’s mouth twists, and Noemi just stares at him. I sigh, wishing we could have ended the journey on a high note.

“Ready, Sae?” I ask, rubbing her arm to distract myself from the awkwardness.

“Yeah,” she says, leaning forward so she can peer down into the sparkling waters as Anassa pads after our guides.

The tall gates loom over us. They’re covered in swirling gold patterns and glinting precious stones. There’s a symbol above them—that sun with wavy rays again.

Waiting for us in the center of the open gates is a gathering of people.

Siphons, most likely, judging by how pretty they are.

Is one of them this King Lucien? I scan the crowd, but nobody looks more regally decked out than the rest.

A man steps forward with his hands clasped neatly before him. He’s tall, immaculately dressed in a long, flowing robe patterned with cherry-colored blossoms. There’s even a ribbon tied around his throat.

Actually, a lot of them have ribbons. Astreonan high fashion, maybe.

The man’s pitch-black hair gleams in the light. He arranges his face in a polite smile, then bows only his head. Shallow. “I am Felippe, the Royal Chamberlain of Brightbane Castle.”

Royal Chamberlain. King Lucien sent the chamberlain to greet me rather than greeting me himself. A gaggle of politicians and servants stares up at us like they have no idea how insulting this is.

I scowl. “And where’s your king?”

Felippe presses his lips together like he’s restraining a smile, and his voice twists with something close to amusement. “The king wouldn’t personally greet visitors at the door. You will see him when he summons you to his presence.”

His choice of words, particularly summons, immediately sets me on edge. Anassa silently growls over our bond.

I can’t figure out if they’re intentionally offending me.

Elias lets out a piercing whistle. It startles Felippe, who scowls at Elias.

Our guide spins his finger in a circle. “Our job is done.”

Then Elias turns to look at me, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he bows entirely at the waist. Low and deep. When he rises, his eyes linger on me. Then he and the others march their horses through the gates and into the castle courtyard beyond.

Felippe looks disoriented. Whatever just happened—whatever Elias just did—it meant more than I entirely understand.

“He showed respect where it was deserved. When you required it,”

Anassa tells me.

I slowly smile. Felippe’s confusion makes more sense. Elias elevated me when Felippe was closing me into a box. My smile drops when I realize that my father is still here, lingering at the back of our group.

Maybe they’re not sure what to do with him, either.

Stark strides forward on Cratos. A few of the people skitter back out of teeth-range. “We need accommodations for our direwolves. Are there suites

with connected terraces or a similar space where our wolves can stay close with easy outdoor access?”

One of the women in Felippe’s entourage titters. “We don’t keep pets indoors here.”

Cratos lurches forward, snapping his teeth. His fang catches the very edge of the woman’s neck-ribbon, unfortunately dyed a deep crimson color.

As the ribbon flutters down, it looks almost like blood.

The woman isn’t the only one who shrieks, and I note that Stark takes his time calming Cratos and urging him back a step.

His expression darkens as he coldly says, “Direwolves are not pets. The failure to consider appropriate accommodations for the wolves shows disrespect not only to them but especially to Queen Meryn and Anassa, who have traveled all this way at Astreona’s request.”

Stark’s voice carries with it a threat. Respect or decapitation. Your choice.

At the severity of Stark’s tone and the wolves’ reactions, Felippe quickly bows in apology—much deeper than before. It makes me think he never actually intended to insult me.

He might just be ignorant, which is easier for me to forgive.

“There is a back garden adjacent to the castle that leads to the mountains beyond. We will immediately prepare it as suitable accommodations for the direwolves, with direct access to the Nocturnan quarters,” Felippe says hastily.

Noemi steps in then, dismounting Ephyse. She flashes her pearly, beautiful smile and says in the tone I now recognize as coaxing, “Thank you for your solution, chamberlain. If you would be so kind, my friends and I would appreciate being shown to our rooms. We’ve been traveling for many days and would like to refresh ourselves.”

Felippe straightens and nods. “Yes, of course.” He lifts his hand and snaps loudly.

One of the men behind Felippe steps forward hesitantly. “I can… lead you there. To the gardens,” he says. “The wolves, I mean.” He’s clearly terrified.

Venna leaps from her wolf’s back before reaching to help Saela down.

Stark swings from Cratos as gracefully as ever, but even that does little to distract me. I slip from Anassa’s back and share my unease.

She turns her head and nudges her nose against my chest. “I will be moments away, should you need me. Always.”

My jaw is tight as I watch her go. Cratos catches up to her and presses against her side, and their tails brush together with their steps. At least they’ll have each other.

And as for me? Stark is already at my shoulder, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the group of Astreonans like he’s daring one of them to try to throw a punch at me.

He still wants to protect me—even if he doesn’t want me. I sigh.

Felippe leads us through the elaborate courtyards and corridors, and I can’t shake the sense that despite coming here voluntarily, we’re essentially

hostages.

It doesn’t matter how lovely it all is.

It doesn’t matter that there’s a waterfall inside or that the architecture casts delicate shadows and reflects off the water.

Prisons can be pretty.

The Astreonans’ attitudes suggest they view us as barbaric curiosities. I can’t imagine what they’d have thought if we’d shown up in our furs.

Moments after I have that thought, Felippe confirms my worries in a notably condescending tone, as if he were speaking to children.

“We’ve done our best to set up the rooms to your liking, but I’m sure things are a little different here than what you’re used to back in Nocturna.

Here, we sleep in beds, not in the woods with our animals.”

I let out a scoff. When I look at Stark, he seems just as disbelieving.

What fucking stories have they heard about us?

I consider correcting him but decide it’s not worth the effort at the moment. I’m used to shrugging off condescension, so I do what I always do. I absorb the blow and store it for later, in case I need this little twinge of pain to add some extra force to my own strike.

We arrive at a spacious suite of rooms designated for our party. There’s a large, lushly furnished common area surrounded by adjoining individual bedrooms. A huge rectangular skylight streams light down over woven rugs.

A shallow pool of still water is carved out of the stone floor. The archway that leads to a balcony reflects perfectly on the surface of the pool.

There’s even delicate tilework in the basin.

“The sleeping arrangements will be as such,” Felippe tells us, unfurling

a scroll. “The first room will house Venna. The second, Noemi.” He pronounces her name entirely wrong—Nummy. “Third, er, Stark. And the last two will belong to Queen Meryn Sturmfrost and Princess Saela, respectively.”

Felippe turns to my father, who has remained silent since we arrived at the castle. And he dismissively says, “You may now return to your home in the city.”

My father bows deeply, and Saela lets out a shocked, “Oh!”

She looks at me, eyes wide and pleading. Her hands come up to her chest, clutching just over her heart.

I’ve never been good at denying my sister something she wants. And to my great annoyance, I find that I can’t even deny her this.

“Wait,” I say begrudgingly. My father startles as he looks at me. “Do you… can you stay? Are you free to stay?”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish searching for air. Eventually, he says, “I have no other obligations at the moment.”

Ugh. That settles it, I guess. I look to Felippe and say, “My father will remain at the castle as an official emissary between our kingdoms.”

I can’t watch him walk away. I can’t have that happen to Saela, knowing intimately how it feels.

“I will arrange accommodations for him as well, then,” Felippe says.

“You will be summoned for dinner later.” He moves to the door and pauses there before turning back. “I almost forgot to ask. Do you eat your meat raw like your animals do?”

Confirmed that he’s just an ignorant piece of shit, then.

Stark’s hands curl into fists, but before he can snap like Cratos, Noemi steps forward to defuse the situation. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she explains, “We eat our food just like any other humans.”

She emphasizes the word humans, intentionally highlighting the distinction between us and the Siphons. The implication is clear—they should serve us like they do any of their nonbloodsucking guests.

That is, assuming they ever have humans here as their guests, instead of just as subservient staff members or willing blood bags.

Felippe informs us that servants will arrive within the hour to help us prepare for dinner, then he finally takes his leave.

The instant the door closes behind him, Venna’s polite mask drops. She

turns to me with a glint in her eye.

“Can I please go spy on these assholes?”