Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 43

43

MERYN

eryn?”M My sister pokes her head into my room hesitantly as I finish shoving clothing into my packs.

My heart catches in my throat at the look on her face: vulnerable.

Scared, even.

I understand what Venna was saying, how important it is to see beyond Saela’s changes and accept her as a whole person—one who has a place in this world. How I haven’t been making it easy for Saela to confide in me about what she’s going through.

But that doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking to see the hesitance in her face as she comes in to talk to me.

“Come sit,” I say, hopping up to the foot of my bed and patting the mattress beside me. She does, and I pull her close, ruffling her hair.

“You’re my hero, you know that?” My voice comes out choked with emotion, and I swallow. “You’re brilliant, the way you put things together.

We’d be lost without your help.”

Saela is quiet. I pull back to look at her. I would have thought she’d be excited about putting the puzzle pieces together, figuring out what we have to do next to ensure the rest of the Tears stay out of Killian’s hands.

“What is it, Saela?”

“I know you always want what’s best for me, and you always want to protect me,” she says, and I start to brace myself. She speaks fast. “But I’ve been thinking about it, and I know you might not like this, but I think I should stay here. I… want to stay here in Astreona, at least for a little

while.” She’s staring at her feet now. “I want to learn about what it means to be a Siphon.”

I take a deep, shaking breath. I want to find some way to rationalize around it, to twist reality enough that it would make sense for Saela to come with us.

But I know—I know—that taking her would put her in harm’s way, and I owe her better. I have already endangered her so many times. Taking her to the front with us, and then deep into what I thought to be enemy territory.

I can choose to let Saela stay here, far from the conflict, in the company of other Siphons.

In the company of our father. Whatever my feelings toward him, it’s clear he has a genuine affection for Saela, and she wants to get to know him, too.

I lift Saela’s face. Her eyes are as teary as mine, and I can’t stop the strangling hug that follows.

“I don’t want to leave you,” I whisper to her. Saela lets out a hiccupping cry and hides against me. My shirt quickly wets with her tears. I smooth my hand over her hair and speak to reassure myself as much as my sister, “It won’t be for good. I promise I’ll be back for you.”

Saela nods against me and says, “I can literally wait forever for you, so try not to die. Okay?”

My laughter starts to ease the crushing weight of emotion. “I’ll do my very best.”

Saela pulls back just enough to look up into my eyes. “And Meryn?

Make Killian pay.”

I clench my teeth, cup my sister’s cheek, then say, “I’ll do my very best at that, too.”

By early afternoon, our group gathers in a garden courtyard under the shade of wide-leafed trees. The air is balmy, with a slight breeze that rustles the colorful plants. A fountain with a fish-tailed woman is trickling away, sparkling with turquoise light. The idyllic scene is in sharp contrast with the

mixture of reluctance and urgency twisting in my gut.

Cratos, Anassa, and Ephyse lap from the water as they wait for everyone else before we depart for Bloomfang.

Saela and our father have joined us to say goodbye. I let Saela fawn over Anassa, who is aching over this goodbye almost as much as I am, and level my father with a glare.

His lips thin, and then he nods to a secluded part of the garden. I brush past him, and he follows me there.

When I’m certain we’re out of hearing range of everyone else, I turn on him, my voice a furious whisper. “You’d better be the best fucking father anyone’s ever had for her. You have eleven years to make up for, and she’s really going to need you right now.”

It’s agonizing, leaving her here with him—the father who has been alive and well this whole time, the father who chose not to come back to us.

The lines on his face deepen. “I know that you and I may never… recover. But I take getting to know my other daughter seriously. I’m going to make sure the time we have counts.”

“You promise me?” I tell him. “Because if I have even the slightest sense that you’ve neglected her while I’m gone, you’ll be dead for real and you’ll wish it was as quick as it would be in battle.”

“I promise, Meryn. She’ll be safe and happy here.”

And even though I know a part of me will always resent him, I believe him in this moment. I don’t give him a hug goodbye. I don’t even say another word. I just nod and turn on my heel.

But then he grabs my wrist. His fingers are trembling slightly.

“Please,” he exhales in a rush. He fights to compose himself. “I know you’re eventually going back to Nocturna, to face him. Please try to make sure Ruby stays safe. To the best of your ability. Please.”

I stare at where he’s gripping me, and he hastily releases me.

“She really matters to you, doesn’t she?” The question aches to be asked.

He winces. It’s oddly reassuring seeing my own discomfort reflected in him.

“Ruby has been the most important person in my life for the past twelve years. What we have… it’s not just the sire bond.” He breaks off and looks away.

He’s staring straight into the past, and it clearly hurts him.

“The love I had for your mother was meaningful to me, and it was real. I hope you believe that. And I don’t mean to say that what we shared paled in any way because of what I have now. But my connection to Ruby is different. It’s written onto my soul. It’s a type of love I didn’t know was even possible until her.”

It’s hard, hearing those words from his mouth. To me, Ruby is still the bloodsucking Siphon who stole my father away from us at a time when we needed him most. It’s nearly impossible for me to imagine her otherwise.

The emotion in his voice is genuine, though. I gaze at my father’s face, seeing for the first time a person separate from me, who loved me and my mother and who made mistakes of his own.

This man and I may never be close again. But for Saela’s sake, I will do what I can for him. I breathe out, and some of my resentment leaves me.

He may have been a bad father. But he doesn’t deserve to suffer because of it.

I catch his eye. “I’ll make sure our forces keep her well guarded.”

When I get back to the direwolves, Saela pushes the Tear necklace into my hand and gives me a sparklingly hopeful look. I slip it on and have to ask, “Still no sire connection?”

She shakes her head. “The blocker Lucien gave me is working.” She fingers the delicate gold chain at her throat, as if to make sure it’s still there.

I’m relieved to hear that even if I can’t be here to protect Saela, at least Killian still can’t reach her.

Saela turns, opens her bag, and produces the book about the Sturmfrost Queens and our mother’s journals for me. And she whispers, “In case you need Mother with you.”

I take the books and almost start to cry, but the moment is interrupted by Lucien, who comes swanning down the stairs.

“I’ve arrived, you’re welcome!”

Looking up, I scowl when I see what he’s wearing.

It’s a high-necked tunic of dark material—black but with hints of colors when it catches the light, like raven’s feathers—and glittery stitching, the shoulders curving upward like blades. The overall look makes his height and lean build even more striking.

It’s probably the least combat-ready piece of clothing I could imagine.

The only thing it’s missing are billowy sleeves to get even more in the way.

Elias is better prepared, though his tight leather armor is still made to stave off Astreonan heat. Which is to say it’s got gaps in vital places. Even then, he’s still wearing a deep blue shirt beneath it. With billowy sleeves.

Astreonans really do like to wear things that flutter in the wind.

“What is he wearing?” Saela whispers to me.

I smirk. “He looks like he’s ready to dance with our enemies, not fight them.”

Saela giggles, but Anassa says, “Do not underestimate his capabilities.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “Do you at least have warmer clothes packed in your bags?” I ask them both. “If we’re going to be north near Nocturna, you’ll need plenty of layers.”

“Yes, Mother, don’t worry; we won’t catch a cold,” Lucien says, eyeing me sharply. He approaches us with long strides. He clearly expects to ride with me, then.

Anassa snaps at him, emitting a rumbling growl and a loud bark. Lucien recoils slightly and frowns at her.

“Anassa refuses to seat you,” I say, trying not to sound amused. “It’s

nonnegotiable.”

Lucien’s frown deepens. “Fine.”

His blue eyes scan the courtyard. Just as he turns, Venna rides in to join us, moving smoothly with Skaia. Lucien’s lips curl up at the corners, and he glides the tip of his finger over them lightly.

“I’ll ride with her.”

My fingers dig into Anassa’s fur as he approaches Venna. She looks down at him and raises a brow. He stares at her like he wants her throat under his fangs, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Venna doesn’t bat an eye, though. She lets him mount, sighing as if she’s agreed to some mildly unpleasant chore.

Elias looks to Stark, reads his responding scowl accurately, and moves to ride with Noemi. “I promise I won’t stab you,” she tells him sweetly.

Saela and I share one last bone-crushing hug, and then I mount Anassa.

As we turn to ride out of the castle grounds, I look back at my sister, growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

All my instincts yell at me to turn around, grab onto her, and not let her out of my sight.

“Her pack will take care of her,” Anassa says, and the words sink in like daggers.

“But we are her pack,” I protest, heart aching.

“We are,” agrees Anassa. “But she also has a pack here. And where we are headed, we cannot keep her safe.”

Before we go through the gate to the city beyond, I see my father fold his arms around Saela. She leans back in his embrace.

I swivel to face forward once again, doing everything I can to ignore the voice repeating in my head: She’s happy without you. She’s happy without you.

It takes us two days of hard riding at full direwolf speed to reach Bloomfang.

Lucien, despite constantly projecting the appearance of a spoiled king, travels well. He doesn’t complain about his lack of a feather bed and anyone to fill it. He drinks from the jarred blood Elias buys with only a slight grimace.

His self-obsessed comments grow tiring, but his presence keeps Elias in check. And, to my surprise, the company is more pleasant than we had on our ride into Astreona.

Stark and I are both sleeping poorly, though. My anxiety over what we’re doing—and the race to beat Killian—keeps my mind working at all hours. Stark spends his nights tossing and turning next to me, but when I press him about it, he shrugs it off. I have a lingering feeling that he’s still working through Siegrid’s death.

The landscape blurs around us as we move. It’s all withered desert and cracked dirt. And then, almost suddenly, the air grows heavier with humidity.

Life starts to return to the land, growing thicker and more vibrant.

By the time Bloomfang reveals itself to us, everything is once again lush and thriving. Anassa slows, and my breath catches.

The city is beautiful, with tall, pale buildings that from afar look like

carved shells. It’s nestled in a lush green cove, with lots of roads winding around the modest mountain it’s tucked up against.

But it’s the sea that stops me in my tracks.

The sea.

I’ve never seen the sea before. It has no end. I knew that, in theory, but it’s different seeing it somehow. It’s a wide-open blue expanse of freedom.

The late-afternoon sun dances across its surface, like a thousand gold

coins caught in a blue-black net.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

“My queen,” Stark says softly.

I look at him and realize there are tears in my eyes.

His jaw tightens. His hair catches in the breeze—a cool breeze off the water, refreshing after our long days of riding in the sun. Even the wind itself smells different here.

I realize he’s asking me if I’m all right, so I smile and give him a hint of what I’m feeling over our bond.

His eyes immediately smile back at me. None of the rest of his face does, but I see it all the same.

We wind our way down into the city as one. Immediately, upon our approach, citizens scramble out of the way and cower from our wolves.

Others must recognize their king traveling with us, because they gather around and stare in wonder. Apparently, Lucien’s presence makes them feel safe enough to stand in the presence of direwolves.

As we draw closer to the harbor, the sound of seabirds crying fills the air. People shout and go about their jobs loading and unloading cargo. Bells tucked into towers ring in the arrivals and departures of ships. I wrinkle my

nose.

“What’s that smell?” I ask.

“Fish,” Elias replies, also grimacing.

“And the sea, Meryn,” Noemi adds. “The salt water itself has a smell.

Seaweed. Fish. But also just the brine of the water.” She would know; Eisenfall is also on the sea.

“And sweaty workmen,” Lucien adds unhelpfully, very obviously ogling one of said workmen as Venna rides past.

She turns to me and sends me is this guy serious eyes, which makes me smile.

“We’ve arrived,” Lucien says. He then unfurls his arm like he’s bestowing a great gift upon me, and I follow the length of it toward the farthest dock in the harbor.

There’s a magnificent ship floating there with a crowd gathered around it, staring and pointing.

It’s not as big as some of the cargo ships, but it’s got razor-sharp sails, a narrow but long hull with a curling prow, and its boards are painted in waves of cerulean, navy, and flashes of silver to imitate the glint of sunlight on the crest of a wave.

It’s large enough to accommodate our entire party, including our direwolves. Yet, to my untrained eye, it also looks as if it were designed for speed.

Noemi twists around, taking in all the sights. She jostles Elias in her excitement, who wobbles and nearly falls off, only managing to grip fur at the last second.

As we board the ship, something settles in me that’s been white-water churning since we left Brightbane. Or maybe even before that.

We’re on the narrow road that leads to Killian’s defeat. The razor-slim path that takes us to the tower and to the next Tear.

This is right. I know it is.

Whatever the cost.

The prow of our boat slices through the water, and I’m bent entirely over the railing, hair clinging to my clammy skin, insides roiling.

I squeeze my eyes shut as nausea gathers again, but I try to breathe

through it.

It doesn’t work. My stomach surges.

There goes another bout of bile over the edge of the ship.

Shadows caress against my face, pulling my hair back so I don’t yak on

the strands.

Groaning, I spit and lift my head.

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” I moan at Stark. “It’s annoying

how good you are at that.”

Stark merely smirks. He’s been the Sovereign Alpha for only about a week, and yet he shortly mastered shadebending—something I still can’t manage with any consistency. It’s as if he got some sort of nefarious tutor while I was left flailing.

Then again, he’s always been a master of control. The thought whispers some heat back into me, and the nausea starts to abate.

“Stupid fucking sea,” I grumble. “Fuck you, waves. Fuck you, boat.”

“You don’t find the sea as beautiful now?” Stark asks.

I wipe at my mouth and straighten. “I’ll never set foot on another ship as long as I live,” I grumble. He chuckles. I frown at him and sniff, “I look stunning, right?”

Stark assesses me for a moment. “I swore I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Lie right now.”

“You are not even slightly green. Very lovely. The sea will settle soon,”

Stark assures me.

I sigh and nod, staggering away from the railing.

When I turn, my eyes naturally settle on Lucien, and I’m immediately queasy again. He’s sprawled prettily across the helm of the ship, one hand on the ship’s wheel. Yet again, he’s wearing flowing clothes that ripple in the same breeze that fills our sails. Looking at him, we could all be on a

pleasure cruise.

“Don’t,” I warn him.

His eyes light with amusement. He doesn’t listen. “The mighty queen of Nocturna brought low by simple waves.”

I glare at him through my misery. Stark strides past me, glower set on Lucien, and I have to catch him. “Stark,” I say weakly.

He pauses. His anger seems to amuse Lucien further.

“I said don’t, Lucien,” I remind him. “I want to let him kill you. And I think I might’ve vomited up whatever organ it was that produced all my restraint, so my reserves are dwindling.”

Lucien chuckles. “You’re fun.”

I sit on the deck, and Stark follows, arranging himself beside me. “We need his cooperation. None of the Nocturnans know how to steer this damn thing. You’ll have to settle for imagining his disembowelment,” I tell Stark over our bond.

He turns to stare at Lucien. Then, a second later, I sense the edges of his thoughts. Immensely violent thoughts. And slowly, still staring at Lucien, he starts to smile in a terrifying way that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Lucien’s own smile drops, and he moves as far from us as he can while keeping a hand on the helm, eyeing Stark like he’s worried he’s about to

pounce.

“Sturmfrost, make him stop that.”

“No.” I settle my head against Stark’s shoulder.

Just then, Anassa completes one of her pacing rounds of the deck. She pauses before me, sniffing, and touches her nose to my cheek.

“I’m still okay,” I tell her. “And before you complain some more, I know you hate this.”

She huffs warm air at me, nudges me with her nose, then sets about pacing some more. She hasn’t settled once since we’ve been on the ship, except for maybe when she has to lie down to get some rest. And even then, she can only manage it curled up against Cratos.

We really are more similar than I ever realized.

Cratos, to his credit, is a lot more composed than she is. He’s laying near the masts where the rocking of the waves is less acute, his green eyes scanning the waves like he’s expecting a sea serpent to jump onto the deck for an easy snack.

I tried to convince Anassa that being at the middle of the ship would help ease the unsteadiness and let her relax, but she growled at me, at Stark, and then snapped at Cratos.

It’s midafternoon and I’m considering sitting down with Venna and Noemi for another sign language lesson. I’ve spent all my nonvomiting time on the boat concentrating on studying and improving, and Venna’s been a patient teacher. Noemi asked to join, too.

But before I can go find them, Lucien calls out from his position at the helm. “We’re approaching the coordinates!”

I grunt and sit up. Stark helps pull me to my feet, and I keep hold of his hand for a moment as I stare out at the endless blue.

Only, it isn’t so endless any longer.

The others all gather at the rail. We shade our eyes against the glare of the sun on the water. And it’s just… there.

A dense fogbank hangs over the sea. The sky around it is crystal clear up

until a point, and then it darkens significantly.

There’s a strong wind. Our sails flutter, and the rigging whips as we’re carried closer to the fog. And yet that thick mist doesn’t move.

It’s as if someone pulled a cloud down from the sky and tied it to the waves. No, to the island.

A chill streaks down my spine, and my grip on Stark’s hand tightens.

“Haunting,” Venna says as she steps onto the deck, voicing what we’re all thinking.

That wall of white stretches endlessly across our path, and we’re about to be swallowed up. I swear I can hear whispers in the wind. Moisture

gathers on my skin, cold and clinging.

“Do you… feel that?” I ask Stark.

It’s strange. The seasickness that has followed me since we left the harbor is gone. It eases up the moment the first tiny droplets meet my skin.

Now, I have a growing sense of awareness. Alertness. It’s like an instinct I didn’t know I had, pointing my eyes in the direction of the fog, willing me

to listen to the wind.

“Yes,” Stark confirms.

Something pulls my eyes from him. I press against the railing, staring, waiting.

Out of the endless white comes the tower. We’re drifting closer to the edge of the fog now, close enough that the sun is lost behind its looming wall and our ship is drenched in shadow.

Even still, I can see the island. It’s a dark mass waiting for us, the jut of the tower unmistakable—as are the pack symbols carved into its face.

Elias gazes in wonder at the sight. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen his expression lack all artifice.

“It’s like legend brought to life,” he murmurs to himself.

We all stare at the foreboding tower in front of us as the mists around the top begin to clear. The black shape grows larger and larger, until it looks impossibly tall, like something from a fantastical story.

“Oh shit!” Lucien shouts. Sudden cold air rushes around us. I gasp and whirl. He yanks the wheel as hard as he can, spinning it so fast that the

spokes blur.

“BRACE!” he screams.