For the Wolf

by Hannah Whitten

  Her steps faltered, stopped. Red’s mouth hung open. “But I thought you said the Kings weren’t here?”

  “They aren’t here. They’re in the Shadowlands. And contrary to current religious belief, I have no way to let them out. Not unless you want everything imprisoned in the Shadowlands to come with them and the whole Wilderwood to fall, which I assure you, you don’t.” Eammon pushed up a branch, holding it out of the way so they could pass. “The Wilderwood and I might not see eye-to-eye on methods, but we’re in agreement on principle.”

  She thought of the shard of the forest in her, the larger one in him, the push-and-pull of fighting against something that was part of you and separate at the same time. “How did they end up there?”

  “They bargained. You know that part. Bargained to make the Shadowlands, to make a place to hold the monsters. The Wilderwood accepted, but in order to accomplish such a thing, it needed an immense amount of power.” All of this in a voice only slightly strained, though Eammon’s shoulders were rigid lines and his hand pressed against his middle as he walked, like something might fall out if he didn’t hold himself together. “Before, magic was part of the world. Just . . . there, to be used by anyone who could learn. To make the Shadowlands, the Wilderwood pulled all that magic inward, trapped it. Created the sentinels, created the Shadowlands beneath.”

  “And the Wardens.”

  “Them, too. The Wilderwood needed help to sustain its new prison. Ciaran and Gaya had truly awful timing.” The hand that wasn’t pressed against his bloody stomach curled into a fist. “Fifty years after they’d made their bargain, the Kings decided they wanted magic back. Tried to unravel the whole thing by cutting down the sentinel where they’d made their deal. Instead, it opened up a hole into the Shadowlands and bound them there, with the monsters they’d banished. The Wilderwood takes its bargains very seriously. That’s when it closed up the borders, too— didn’t want anyone else trying to go back on a bargain, or make a new one.” A shrug, stilted and pained. “There’s a moral lesson in there somewhere. People with power resent losing it, and too much power for too long a time can make a villain of anyone.”

  The beginnings of a headache pricked at Red’s temples. “That still doesn’t explain why Bormain mentioned Solmir, if all the Kings are there. Why him, specifically?”

  The name tensed the muscles in his back, but Eammon’s voice stayed even. “Who knows. Bormain fell through a breach and into the Shadowlands. There’s no way to know what terrible things he saw.” Up ahead, the iron gate to the Keep loomed out of the fog. “Don’t think too much of it. Shadow-infection affects your mind as much as it does your body.”

  Red’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

  Eammon touched the gate. “Stay within the walls of the Keep for the rest of the day,” he said as it swung inward. He gave her a stern look over his shoulder. “I mean it, Red. The Wilderwood has been . . . restless since you arrived, and every time it tastes your blood, it seems to get worse.” The flicker of a tired grin. “I’ve saved you, you’ve saved me, let’s call it even. Don’t get yourself into another situation you’ll need rescuing from, at least not for a day or two.”

  “Same goes for you.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Eammon staggered past the gate, foot catching on a loose rock; he stumbled slightly, clutching his middle. “Kings on shitting horses.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

  “Quite sure.”

  The door to the Keep banged open, silhouetting Lyra’s curling hair and slender figure. “And when were you planning on telling us you got married?”

  Red stopped in the center of the courtyard. “I . . .”

  “Delightful,” Eammon muttered, staggering up the hill with his bloody shirt sticking to his skin. “I’m going to kill Fife.”

  Valleydan Interlude IV

  N o amount of money is going to make that caravan move.”

  Belvedere, the Advisor of Trade, was a prim, ascetic man, with close-cropped dark hair just touched with gray at the temples and a strong, prominent nose, a handsomeness noted by men and women both. His looks were only part of his appeal, though— he had a wonderfully smooth, rich voice, the kind that was easy to listen to even when delivering terrible news.

  As the Advisor of Trade, he did that often.

  “The Alperan Pass is far snowier for this time of year than usual,” he continued. “Still navigable, but it probably won’t be for long. The caravan doesn’t want to risk getting caught in it with no way out.”

  “Unacceptable.” The word was sharp, but Isla’s voice wasn’t— from Neve’s vantage point at the other end of the long table, her mother was pale as the shaft of sunlight through the window. Golden flyaways haloed her head and dark rings surrounded her eyes. She hadn’t looked well for four days now, since the night she and Neve dined together, and though no one commented on it outright, others were starting to notice.

  It made Neve nervous.

  Next to Neve, Kiri sat silently with the High Priestess, face revealing nothing. Tealia, another Order priestess, sat on the other side, her ostentatious show of listening a contrast with Kiri’s calm. According to Kiri, she desperately wanted to be named Zophia’s heir, and knew that the best way to do that was by making herself seem like an attractive option to Isla. There might be a ceremony of votes, but the position of heir was decided almost solely by the sitting High Priestess and the Queen, and everyone knew it.

  As if she could hear her thoughts, Kiri’s cold blue eyes slid to Neve, then away.

  “The Alperan grain shipment is the largest we receive all year. It feeds more people than every other import combined.” Isla shook her head, but slightly, like movement made her feel ill. “You think we can pass out loads of olive oil and tea to the masses come autumn? There will be a revolt.”

  Belvedere raised his hands. “I’ve told them as much. We’ve offered a massive sum to the Dukes— the Second was going to take it and force the caravan to move on, but the First and Third outvoted him. I proposed crossing into Meducia and shipping from there, but the Cevelden Range is apparently in rockslide season, necessitating sea travel, so that was met with resistance, as well.”

  Neve could’ve told him that. Meducia shipped north by sea during every season but spring, when the growth of trees on the Cevelden Range anchored the ground enough to keep rockslides to a minimum. The range was the only path by land from Meducia into Valleyda, so now, in summer, shipping by sea would be a requirement— a huge cost in both time and money. Valleyda was landlocked, and the grain would have to travel from Alpera all the way across Meducia to the sea, then to the Florish coast, and then across Floriane to finally reach Valleyda. And with the current unrest in Floriane, it was unlikely the shipment would make it all the way to Valleyda, anyway.

  Apparently, Belvedere needed a lesson or two with Master Matheus.

  “The Florish coast, then.” This from Zophia, and everyone sat up straighter as she spoke— even Neve, though she slightly hated herself for it. “It appears to be our only option, whether the Dukes like it or not. Take whatever impressive price you’ve dangled in front of them and tell them to use it to ship the grain across Meducia to the sea, then it can go from there to Floriane Harbor.”

  “Insurrectionists, Your Holiness.” To his credit, Belvedere didn’t let that smooth voice sound irritated, though it sparked in his eyes. Maybe Neve should give him more credit. “Anything we ship to Floriane Harbor will be seized by those who oppose our annexation.”

  “Kill them, then.” Tealia nodded at her own suggestion, that wide-eyed look of feigned interest still on her face. “It’s a holy crime to steal from Valleyda. They should know better, especially since we just sent a Second Daughter. No one would fault us for teaching a lesson.”

  Terrible, and made more terrible because it was true. All of Valleyda’s power lay in religion. The Valleydan priestesses, by virtue of their closeness to the Wilderwood, had greater power of prayer than
any other country. People traveled from all over to beseech in the Valleydan Shrine, and the other kingdoms sent boggling wealth in prayer-taxes for everything from good weather to the birth of heirs. That was enough to make the rest of the continent fall in line, and when one added in the recent tithe of a Second Daughter, it only increased piety. The stories of the monsters who burst from the Wilderwood a year after Gaya’s death and didn’t disappear until after Kaldenore entered the forest were well remembered. Red’s sacrifice hadn’t brought the return of the Kings, but the monsters hadn’t returned, either. Even for those who didn’t fully believe the old tales, one young woman was a small price to pay for complete assurance they wouldn’t repeat. As far as political power went, Valleyda’s was currently at a height.

  Neve’s teeth clicked together, her fists pressing nails against her palms beneath the table. “I won’t allow force to be used against the Florish.”

  Five pairs of eyes snapped to her, surprise in every gaze but Kiri’s. Isla, across that long table, stared wide-eyed at her remaining daughter.

  Belvedere cleared his throat, recovering before anyone else. “The First Daughter is correct,” he said. “We want the Florish to work with us. If not happy to be part of Valleyda, at least willing. Killing civilians will only turn public opinion even more sour than it is.”

  Tealia looked cowed, but Zophia only waved a hand, as if the murder of Florish insurrectionists was of little importance to her either way. “Then we marry Neverah off to Arick. Make Floriane’s provincial status official, so the harbor becomes ours. The people loved his parents before they passed, so it’s possible him marrying into the Valedren line might change minds, or at least distract them with a spectacle.” Rheumy eyes turned to Neve. “Within the week.”

  Her mouth was too dry to say anything, consent or denial or otherwise. Neve’s marriage was something she’d been able to push off for four years, far longer than she should’ve been allowed to, but with the encroaching sacrifice of her sister to the Wilderwood, no one had paid the preparations much mind. It seemed an abstract and distant thing, something to be dealt with later, always later.

  Later was now, and Neve wanted to do nothing so much as bolt from the room and keep running.

  “Let’s not be hasty.”

  Kiri’s voice was quiet, but it echoed against the walls. She sat with her hands folded in her wide white sleeves, her head deferentially tilted toward the High Priestess. “I understand your reasoning, Holiness, and in any other circumstances, I’d agree. But Tealia is correct, at least on one thing.”

  The other priestess’s cheeks colored.

  “Piety is higher now than ever before,” Kiri continued. “After the birth of a Second Daughter, after sending her to the Wilderwood as intended. And look!” She spread her pale hands. “No monsters. Once again, we’ve kept the continent safe.” Her hands folded again, eyes glittering. “Perhaps the sacrifice didn’t bring back the Kings . . .”

  Neve thought of the Shrine, of branches and blood, and the bark-shard pendant hidden in the drawer of her desk.

  “. . . but still, her birth was a sign that they are listening. That they long for freedom, that they send us sacrifices in the hope that one will be enough to placate the Wolf. And they trust Valleyda— trust us— with that holy mission.” Fervent words, but delivered evenly. Kiri’s cold eyes slid once more to Neve. “If we remind them of that, effectively, Alpera should do anything we ask. And so should everyone else.”

  Silence as they all weighed Kiri’s words. The High Priestess shifted in her seat. “True enough, Kiri,” she conceded. “But how do you propose we remind them?”

  For a stretching, awful minute, Neve imagined the possibilities, the things she knew could be done with the strange yielding of their time in the Shrine. Magic. Magic Kiri claimed they pulled from the Shadowlands itself.

  It was still hard for Neve to swallow— even with proof staring her in the face, years of quiet agnosticism were hard to overcome— but there really wasn’t any other explanation, and the results were undeniable. The small experiments she’d seen were convincing enough. With that power, trees could be withered, fields stricken dead, fertile farmland turned dark and cold.

  Kiri’s lip rose in a smirk. “Prayer, of course.”

  The tightness in Neve’s chest eased, but only slightly.

  “Since his return, Arick has been far more pious,” Kiri continued. “He spends many nights in prayer in the Shrine, meditating on how best to help our countries. I believe he would be glad to help us, even before his marriage to Neverah.”

  Tightness, coiling again.

  “I propose that Arick accompany me and a selection of others to the Florish coast,” Kiri continued. “We will hold a prayer to clear the harbor.”

  Widened eyes all around the room. Floriane’s harbor was in a picturesque bay, and the mouth of it often became choked with seaweed in the summer, sometimes so much that it blocked traffic. When that happened, workers had to dive in and clear the mess by hand. The Order prayed for it to remain clear at the beginning of every summer, for the Kings to somehow prevent the seaweed from overgrowing and blocking the ships. Some summers the growth was a problem, and some it wasn’t. Neve thought the prayers had very little to do with it one way or another.

  Zophia raised a grizzled brow. “Prayers are most effective in Shrines, Kiri, not harbors. And the prayers for a clear sailing season were already made weeks ago, when Floriane sent their tax.”

  Kiri dipped her head. “True. But I believe that the Kings will see the need for a miracle in this tumultuous time, and grant one. Mark me, when we make our prayers at the harbor, the mouth of the bay will be entirely cleared, and there will be no question that it was our beseeching that made it so.”

  Another, longer pause. Zophia’s mouth drew to a pucker, her face inscrutable. “Such faith,” she murmured.

  “A pretty idea, but unrealistic.” Tealia didn’t stick her tongue out and wag it, but her tone was the same as if she had. Her eyes darted from the High Priestess to Kiri. “Even if the Kings grant your request, who’s to say the Florish insurrectionists won’t kill you before you’re able to make your prayers? You’re putting quite a lot of faith in their piety.”

  “To the contrary.” Kiri’s smile could cut glass. “I’m putting quite a lot of faith in the Five Kings. Or do you not think them capable of keeping us safe from a few unhappy rebels, Tealia?”

  The other priestess shut her mouth, cheeks burning. Zophia looked between them, frowning, then to the Queen.

  At the end of the table, Isla sat still and quiet, her eyes far away. The fist of fear closed tighter around Neve’s heart.

  “Your faith is admirable,” the High Priestess said finally, when it became clear Isla wasn’t going to respond. She turned to Kiri. “And I think it’s worth a try, though I’m sure the Queen and I are in agreement that guards should accompany you as well.”

  “One or two, perhaps.” The cut-glass smile didn’t quite meet Kiri’s eyes. “Truly, I don’t think more will be needed.”

  Zophia made an unconvinced sound but didn’t press further. “I’ll approve it, but we must move quickly. Sending the shipment through Floriane will add days to its arrival. If after your vigil things still seem unstable, we can always go back to marriage.”

  “I don’t see why we don’t anyway.” Belvedere, cutting back into the conversation after minutes of silent listening. “Surely it can’t hurt.”

  His eyes were on Neve, expecting her to answer, but Kiri did first. “Of course not,” she said primly. “But a royal marriage is a joyous affair. If at all possible, Neverah should have time to plan it as she sees fit.”

  Relief wanted to flood her chest, but worry chased it. Neve watched the priestess with a clenched jaw. Something about all this felt transactional. Whatever help Kiri offered would come with the expectation of being repaid.

  The only question was how.

  Details were arranged, dates set, and guards appointed
. Kiri, Arick, and her priestesses— chosen by Kiri herself, to save the High Priestess the strain— would depart in two days, after an announcement had been sent to Floriane’s capital. The Three Dukes of Alpera were still visiting, having not yet returned home after seeing Red off, so Belvedere could bring the proposal to them before nightfall.

  Neve hung back as Belvedere and the priestesses left the room, each of them bowing to Isla and then to her before exiting. Kiri held her gaze as she bent forward, still with that slight, cold smile. “Perhaps I will see you this afternoon, First Daughter. I plan to pray.” Then she glided from the room.

  Slowly, Neve stood, walking from her end of the long table to where her mother sat. Up close, she could see a sheen of sweat on Isla’s brow, the way her hands kept twitching on the folds of her gown.

  “Mother?” Her voice came tentative. “Do you need me to help you to your room?”

  A moment, like she didn’t hear her at first. Then Isla shook her head, standing on unsteady legs. “No. I might be ill, but I’m not an invalid.”

  “Perhaps you should get some rest.”

  She half expected another caustic answer, but instead her mother just sighed. “Yes. Rest.” She pushed the door open, walking slowly enough down the hallway that it looked like a leisurely stroll instead of a way to keep from stumbling.

  Neve watched her go, chewing her lip so hard she almost broke the skin. Then, brows drawn down, she strode toward the gardens.

  Despite the pleasant weather— by Valleydan standards— there weren’t many people lingering among the hedges. The few who were didn’t acknowledge Neve other than with dips of their heads as she walked with single-minded determination toward the Shrine.

  Kiri waited, hands tucked into her sleeves. Something jutted against the underside of the fabric covering her collarbone. The wood-shard pendant, worn but hidden.