Her Majesty? That’s what they call her? Bard told me she was important, but he didn’t give me any details.
Before I can make sense of it, the vólkin’s claws dig into my skin as he lifts me high enough that my feet dangle above the ground. Panic seizes me. I struggle to breathe, and my vision blurs.
“You donotcall Her Majesty by her name.” His claws press deeper. The pain shoots through me as his eyes burn with fury. “That honor belongs to her mate only.” He pulls me even closer, his fangs dangerously near my face. “You would do well to remember that.”
I nod frantically, the pressure on my throat making it impossible to speak. Tears sting my eyes.
I just can’t take it anymore.
I hear more footsteps, and another vólkin joins them. “I smelled piss from a sprint away. Who’s guilty this time?” He chuckles. “Oh, what’s that in your paws? Is this part of the trial?”
I can feel his gaze on my back.
Great, another one. Why are the gods never on my side?
“I don’t think so,” the first vólkin replies, loosening his grip on me.
“Though this human claims he’s met Her Majesty.”
The newcomer hums in amusement. “Should we bring him to her and let her decide?”
“What about the trial? I don’t feel like hunting for the feast.” The second vólkin sighs.
Feast?
The one holding me leans in, a vicious smile creeping across his face. “I think we’ve got a pretty good excuse to skip out.” He looks me over with narrowed eyes. “We can’t present you to Her Majesty like this, though.” His grip on my throat tightens again, sending a fresh wave of fear through me. “Let’s get you cleaned up first. You stink worse than a boar’s corpse.”
The vólkins lead the way to the nearest stream, their massive bodies moving easily through the forest. In contrast, each of my steps feels like it’s echoing through the trees as my weakened body struggles to keep up with them. Every bruised inch of me aches, and my ribs scream with each breath.
I can feel their eyes on me, watching, studying. It’s like walking with predators, and I know full well that I’m the prey. They don’t need to bind my wrists or tie me up—they know I’m no threat. I can barely walk, let alone try to escape.
“We’re almost there,” one of them grunts, not even sparing me a glance.
My legs feel like they might give out any moment, but I nod and try to keep my balance. The only thing keeping me moving is the knowledge that if I stop, they won’t help me. They’d probably laugh.
42
AMIDST THE TRIALS
“Your daughter was never meant to walk through gardens. She was born for fire, shaped by silence, sharpened by loss. The world will bleed before it bends to her, but bend it will.”
—Láda Veléša, to Eyleen Ársa
Noël
“One, two, one, two,” I call aloud as the sound of claws striking fills the air.
Walking through rows of female vólkins, I keep an eye on each one of their movements, scanning for any mistakes.
“If the enemy ever reaches you,” I say as I stop to adjust Naïa’s stance, “you need to be ready and know how to defend yourself.”
She straightens under my guidance and nods.
The children wanted to join today, so I’ve modified the training. For now. The trials began hours ago, and most teams have already found at least one item. The males are making progress, and while they push themselves, we train here.
“Your Majethty, am I doing good?” a small voice calls out. I turn to see Árne, a tiny vólkin with wide eyes.
Kneeling to meet his height, I lift his paw and press on it to extend his tiny claws, then smile and say, “The enemy should be afraid of these,”
