Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 38

38

MERYN

t takes begging, and a little bit of humiliation for all of us, to get LucienI to accept Noemi’s apology. Eventually, he relents and sends us all off to bed. I can tell he’s going to hold this one over me, though.

He seems like the kind of person who enjoys having an upper hand.

Stark and I collapse into the bed in my room, and I expect sleep to take me quickly after all the events of the day.

It doesn’t, though. There’s too much on my mind.

The thrall bracelet and everything I’ve learned about the Siphons. The possible alliance with Astreona, and what Lucien might gain from it. The Tears.

My thoughts keep returning to the Goddess Tears. How did Lucien and I end up with matching jewels in our crowns? Something about it feels very

much by design.

And then back to Killian.

I’m going to need all the power I can get if I’m going up against him, if Alistair is as strong as Lucien claims.

Which then brings me full circle back to the Tears, and the one hanging around my sister’s neck.

At some point, the sun rises, and I’ve still barely slept. A finger traces my jaw.

“Something is bothering you,” Stark says.

How long has he been watching over me as I tossed and turned? I curl closer to him.

“I think I need the Tear that Saela is wearing,” I whisper. I wish I could

bottle the peace of this moment, vulnerable but safe in his arms. “The Tear in my crown made me so much more powerful on the battlefield, and when I put the necklace on for that brief moment at the war camp, I felt it amplifying my power, too. But…”

“It’s protecting Saela,” Stark supplies.

I fiddle with the button on his shirt. “I can’t let Killian’s influence reach her, but I need that power if we’re going to defeat him. Before we left the front, Ruby said there were ways to block the sire bond.”

Stark’s brow just barely tightens. “There is one person here who might have some answers for you.”

I roll over onto my back with a groan. “I know, I was thinking the same.

But I’m not sure how eager he’ll be to help us this morning after we just tried to assassinate him last night.”

We both contemplate the absurdity of that statement for a moment.

“He let Noemi live,” Stark points out. “He made you grovel for it, the bastard, but still. That’s not the action of a monarch who’s willing to walk away from this peace negotiation.”

I turn that over in my mind. “You’re right,” I admit. “He’s been insufferable and insulting, but he’s actually been fairly cooperative so far.

Ugh, I was really hoping to go a few more hours without seeing his dumb face.”

Stark gets out of bed, and I follow him reluctantly, throwing on a set of clean clothes.

I need to talk to Saela. She should be the first to know what I’m thinking since the necklace is in her possession—and keeping her safe.

My eyes are bleary from lack of sleep as I push open the door to our shared living room and then stop dead in my tracks.

Saela and Venna sit on the couch, speaking slowly but conversantly in sign language. Saela looks so comfortable—or at least she did until I arrived.

I didn’t realize she learned so much sign language, and so quickly. Then again, she’s always picked things up fast.

“Good morning, you two.” I try to remember the signs I saw before they cut off their conversation, but there were too many words I didn’t

recognize.

Saela looks up at me, blushing.

She’s clearly hiding something, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it is. What were she and Venna talking about?

Venna rises. “I’ll let you two get ready for the day,” she says, moving to leave.

“Wait. Venna, can we talk first?” I say. “Walk with me?”

She nods and follows me away from my sister’s prying ears, into the palace corridor. I aimlessly turn us left.

“What was that? Is Saela okay?” I blurt out. “It felt like she was hiding something from me just now.” I glance sidelong at Venna’s face as we walk.

Venna presses her lips together, inhaling deeply. “That’s between the two of you, Meryn,” she says. “I don’t want to get in the middle of this.”

I stop short. So I am missing something here, after all. “If she has something she needs to talk about, she should talk to me. I’m her sister! She shouldn’t sneak around, keeping secrets by using a language I can barely understand.”

Venna sighs in obvious irritation and turns to me, eyebrows raised.

“Well, Meryn, whose fault is it that you haven’t moved past basic signs yet?”

I bite my lip and pivot to look out the window behind me, studying the courtyard just beyond. My body burns with shame. I know she’s right. It’s not something I’ve prioritized enough, not like I should have.

“Look,” Venna says from behind me, voice kinder than I deserve. “Saela is going through some things that she feels like only I will understand.”

My eyes flood with tears unexpectedly, and I blink rapidly to clear them.

“What things?! She should know that she can always talk to me about anything!”

“Can she? Be honest with yourself, Meryn.” Venna puts a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to meet her gaze. The look she gives me is piercing, but not unkind. “Do you know what it feels like to be marked by difference? To be made to feel like some essential part of you is unwanted? Can you put

yourself in that perspective?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

Venna lets her hand drop from my shoulder, taking a step back. When she speaks again, her voice is weary.

“Saela is excited to be in a place where she fits in, where she’s not seen as a problem but as something common. And she doesn’t know how you’d

take that.”

It stings. I’m such a fucking asshole.

I’ve been holding so tight to the idea of the future that I’d imagined for us, one where we grow old together. One where we pass through all of life’s important moments at each other’s sides.

It’s everything I strived for with the Trials. Finding my sister and returning our lives to normalcy.

But Saela’s normal has changed. And instead of accepting that, I rejected her new existence. Over and over and over again.

Venna turns back toward our rooms, then looks over her shoulder to see if I’m coming. “I’m always happy to talk, Meryn. But if you want to hear more from your sister, you need to have that conversation with her yourself and be open to her. See her for who she is, not who you want her to be.”

Goddess, I hope I can heal our relationship. That she’ll forgive me and

learn to trust me again.

“Understood,” I say.

Venna stops dead in her tracks, and spins back toward me. “Wait, before we’re in front of innocent ears… you and Stark? I know you didn’t cut yourself out of your dress last night.”

My face heats. I didn’t tell Venna about what happened between Stark and me outside of Grunfall, or everything afterward. It felt like it would betray him to gossip about it, at least until he’d decided one way or another.

Well, his decision is made.

“Yep,” I say. “That’s happening.”

Venna smirks. “Nice one.”

I pat her on the back. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from the Kryptos Killer.”

Venna and Saela both want to come with me to ask Lucien about how to block Saela’s sire bond. It doesn’t surprise me: They’re alike in many ways, including their desire to learn everything they can.

I could probably benefit from being more like them.

Stark is torn between joining us and staying with Noemi, who is still recovering from her adventures of the previous night. I assure him that we’ll be safe without him and that I’ll call him mentally if we sense the slightest bit of trouble.

I’m glad when he acquiesces. Something tells me we’ll get more out of King Lucien without him there.

Saela’s interest turns to full-on excitement when we hear where the king is spending his morning: the Astreonan Royal Library. I smile, watching her light up at the news, but I can’t shake my undercurrent of guilt and sadness, too.

When it comes to Saela, all I’ve done lately is make mistake after mistake. What would it look like to get it right?

Felippe shows us the way to the library and throws open the massive wooden doors with exaggerated pompousness.

My amusement is cut short, though, when I see the room beyond the doors.

Calling this a library seems like an understatement. It’s a damn temple to books. Saela gasps next to me as she leans back to take it in.

There are multiple stories of books and scrolls—connected to one another by tall, narrow spiral staircases—all packed into shelves carved right out of the castle’s pale stone. The massive space is ingeniously lit, with high windows above the books. Then lower, where exposure to sun would tarnish the pages, a system of mirrors has been set up to reflect off one another, bouncing light around the space in a way that protects the books but still floods the rooms with sunlight.

Lucien’s earrings glint in that light as he leans over the large, polished wooden table at the center of the room. Old books and scrolls are laid out before him.

“I didn’t take you for the studious type,” I comment as we step close enough for his proximity to start to drain my joy.

His smirk holds strong. “Normally, I’m not. After all, what else is there to learn after a millennium?” He sighs and slides a book toward me. Saela leans in with me to study the sweeping handwriting while Venna just studies him, frowning.

“These are documents about the creation of thrall bracelets. I’ve been attempting to determine why yours works so differently.”

“And?” I ask.

He caresses a page lightly. “The answer still evades me. I suspect it may have something to do with your direwolf bond. These have only ever been tested on humans. Or perhaps he designed it in some way I don’t understand, with the intention of targeting your powers.”

“So there is something you don’t know,” Venna says lightly.

“Ha,” he says, shooting her a look before turning his intense gaze back to me and my sister.

I wrap an arm around Saela’s shoulders, pulling her in close. “Speaking of uncomfortable connections with Killian and Alistair, there’s something you need to know. My sister has a sire bond with Killian. He’s the one who turned her.”

Lucien’s upper lip curls, and his fingers tighten around the manuscript.

“And you chose to keep this information from me?” There’s thinly veiled wrath in his voice. Venna moves closer to me and Saela, hovering protectively.

Lucien’s sharp blue gaze darts toward my sister. “Can you hear him?”

Saela shakes her head as I pull the Tear from the shelter of her top. “This necklace seems to have some sort of protective power,” she explains. “It blocks the connection.”

Lucien and Venna both study the necklace. A spark of recognition lights Lucien’s eyes.

“Interesting,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t have thought… but then, how can you know for sure?”

“We do,” I interrupt. Saela doesn’t look nervous when I glance at her.

“She was without its protection briefly. It’s been tested.” I can tell he’s trying to determine whether he should believe me, but I don’t have the patience. “What do you know about the Tears, Lucien?”

Lucien shuts his eyes and runs a fingertip along his brow as if smoothing away a thread of pain. Then he reaches down beneath his own clothes and lifts the chain around his neck with that same finger.

At the end of it dangles another Tear pendant, glittering with power. It’s a reflection of Saela’s, just as our crowns mirror each other.

A disbelieving noise escapes me. “I guess I wasn’t the only one withholding information. You didn’t feel like revealing this at dinner last night, when you were crowing about how the jewels have power?”

His smile turns sharp, and I know I’m going to hate what comes out of his mouth next. “I only like to show you mine when you show me yours.”

Venna rolls her eyes.

Childish prick. How did he make it a thousand years without someone getting irritated enough to cut off his head?

Ignoring his teasing, I ask, “Are you more powerful when you wear it?

Does it enhance your Siphon magic?”

He rubs his thumb over it and bows his head in a nod. Then he speaks under his breath. “I wonder…”

Unexpectedly, he grips the stone, lifts it over his head, and holds it out to

me.

Hesitantly, I take it.

The moment the jewel settles against my palm, my power rises in a writhing answer to the stone’s silent call, just as it did when I tried on the other necklace at the war camp.

“Your intoxicated expression tells me it works for you,” Lucien says.

His head is tilted to one side like he’s trying to find the right angle to see into me.

Saela, wide-eyed, is too busy digesting this new information to notice the interested gleam in Lucien’s eye. Venna clocks it, though. I make a mental note to discuss that with her later.

“So your crowns help you control your respective powers, the necklaces give you protection, and both of the Tears make your magic stronger,” Saela recites. “I wonder how strong a person would be if they had all the Tears on them at once.”

There’s another Goddess Tear, though. The one the Mother Priestess wears. Probably worth keeping that a secret from Lucien—for now, at least.

I hold Lucien’s necklace back out to him reluctantly. “I’m going to need Saela’s Tear if… if we’re going to face off against Killian and Alistair.”

We haven’t discussed his proposed ceasefire yet. He doesn’t know I’m going to accept it, although surely he must assume I will, given how favorable the terms are for me. Either way, when we meet Killian on a battlefield, I know we’re going to need all the strength we can get.

Lucien smiles as he slips his Tear back on. “If only you had a millennium of experience at your disposal to solve this little problem for you.”

Venna rolls her eyes again, and Lucien sees it this time, looking at her in curiosity. I get the distinct feeling he’s not used to people being unimpressed by him.

“Siphons tend to be particular about consent,” Lucien continues eventually. “Over the years, we developed items capable of blocking a sire’s power. Most commonly fashioned as jewelry, actually. Saela can simply trade what’s around her neck.”

“Another necklace?” Venna looks doubtful. “What proof do we have that this will do what you say?”

“Not to mention, I don’t know if I’m comfortable handing my sister enchanted Siphon jewelry she might never be able to take off,” I add, lifting my bound wrist for demonstration.

Lucien shrugs. “Consult your father if you require reassurance. They’re quite commonplace.” He leans his hip against the table, and the smirk comes back out. “It seems to me this is the only way for you to get your Tear back.”

“Is that what your ten centuries are telling you?” Venna says dryly.

“Loudly and clearly,” he confirms, and turns away from us, reaching for another manuscript.

But nothing about Lucien’s motivations is clear at all.

In the same breath I have that thought, pain gathers at my temples.

It’s a normal headache, at first.

Then Lucien says something, and I can’t hear him even though he’s just across the table from me.

Saela says my name, I think, and Venna dashes toward me. But they both seem far away.

It’s coming from the mental bonds—a scream that’s growing progressively louder by the second until my vision whites out and the noise and pain disconnect me from my body entirely.

Suddenly, I’m looking at the world through Siegrid’s eyes. I’m in her head somehow. There’s a swirl of fury and confusion. Despair. Hate. Such burning hate. She’s atop her massive wolf. And she’s in severe pain.

A lance pierces her side, the shaft of it deep in her body. She’s struggling to stay astride Genicos. He’s attempting to heal her, but the wound can’t heal while the weapon is still lodged in her body.

Siegrid gives another scream of anguish and rage. All around us,

Nocturnan forces are engaged in a desperate fight. Nobody can stop to help

her.

She hates the pain clouding her mind.

She hates her own weakness, letting herself fall into so much danger.

But more than anything, she hates herself for failing to anticipate this.

Him.

This is not a Siphon attack. In the sea of churning, struggling, and dying bodies, I see that our forces are fighting against… Phylax. They have plenty of commoner soldiers on their side as well.

Siegrid grits her teeth through the agony and orders her troops to

regroup. If the defensive line falls…

Well, they’ll lose the whole front.

They’ll lose the kingdom to him.

Wind picks up, blowing smoke into Siegrid’s face. She stares through it, watching a figure emerge as the smoke clears with the wind.

Tormun, the Alpha of Phylax. He’s massive on his wolf, rippling, hefting an enormous mace that shouldn’t be possible to wield on wolfback. His arm strains under the weapon’s weight as he lifts it, his oddly dulled gaze set on Siegrid.

His wolf crushes a Strategos wolf under its weight. That mace comes down on his opponent’s skull, killing them instantly, the wolf’s rider screaming under their own mount’s corpse. Tormun is going to break through, and Siegrid will not allow that to happen.

With a shriek, she rips the lance from her side, the pain rushing in like wildfire. Genicos howls at the shared pain, even as he strains to heal his rider.

He’s trained for this. He’s healed her a thousand times, and he will again, she knows it.

Tormun is almost upon them. And there’s a pest at his side.

Fucking Jonah.

Everything sinks into the blur of mounted battle. Siegrid’s wolf collides with Tormun’s, snapping and lashing out. Her blade deflects his first strike, and the shock wave vibrates up her arm, jarring the wound in her side and making her cry out.

She may not be physically stronger than Tormun, but she’s far more skilled. And now, Genicos’s magic is working on her; her flesh knits

together, her strength returning.

Siegrid strikes out savagely, scoring a long wound across Tormun’s massive thigh. He falls back with a shout. His wolf is panting and bleeding.

Pressing her advantage, she gathers her Daemos magic and pushes it out toward Tormun with a shout. But the corruption in the pack magic hits her then—I can feel her pain and confusion as the impelling blast doubles back on her, rebounding and sending even powerful Genicos reeling.

Siegrid struggles to right herself on Genicos’s back, keeping her eyes locked on Tormun, who is closing in once more.

But then. Jonah. She wasn’t paying attention to him; she dismissed him as inconsequential.

He follows the powerful motion of his wolf’s body and brings his sword with him. It slots beneath Siegrid’s armor, and white-hot agony explodes as

the steel pierces through vital organs.

I feel it all.

Siegrid’s blood floods her mouth. She wonders, in a moment of bizarre silence when all the shrieks and howls around her fall away, whether her son taught the boy how to angle his blade just like this.

Genicos attempts to heal her, but his strength is depleted from healing her previous injury, and the blade is still deep inside her.

The wound is mortal. She’s going to die.

She knows it, too. In her final moments, she wonders if she taught Stark enough about everything that comes next for him. If he’s prepared to become the Sovereign Alpha and for what—who—comes along with that role.

Siegrid looks down at the blade. She grips the hilt weakly like she means to draw it and use it. But she can’t find any more strength. She’s

spent it all.

She regrets it, their relationship.

She thought if she kept him at a distance, she could shield him from it

somehow.

She hopes she made him strong enough.

Siegrid slides from her wolf’s back and lands in the bloody muck on her side, the sword still stuck in her. Her wolf howls in anguish. The sound echoes over the battlefield, and devastation echoes back over the bonds. Her fading consciousness registers one final, ruinous sight.

The central command post is up in flames, cinders disappearing into the

sky.

Everything goes black.

I’ve never been so close to death before. Never.

I gasp. Air pummels my lungs painfully. My hand whips up, searching for the blade I so clearly felt enter my body, but there’s nothing there.

There’s nothing.

My eyes dart around. I’m looking for Siegrid’s wolf, Genicos, where he fell next to her, his life snuffing out.

All I see are the scattered documents spread across the library table. A sob tears out of me, and then I’m on the floor. My entire body shakes with the aftershocks of Siegrid’s death, like I’m experiencing her death rattle for her.

Saela drops onto her knees next to me, grabbing my hand, her face pale with fear.

“Meryn, talk to us,” comes Venna’s voice, as if from far away.

“What happened?” Lucien says, tone urgent. “What happened?”

Through my tears, I struggle to form words. My voice breaks pathetically as I finally manage to force it out.

“Nocturna has fallen.”