“Good luck,” Zani said. “I’m sure you can find your way to the Pools from here.”
I nodded. “I’ve snuck in and out of Moondaj many times.”
She took my arm. “Are you sure of this?”
“Completely,” I said. “You have figured out the anti-song?” She nodded. “Then there is no issue. With your power, you will block out any melody within the walls of Moondaj, and tonight we can save whoever is left.”
She nodded, then stepped over to Feyra and hugged her. “I knew we were friends in the small amount of time we shared. Now I am proved right. Be careful.”
We brought our hoods up and descended out of the wagon and into the shadows. The village was quiet. The streets were empty save for the few guards stumbling about. The haunting tone of the Siren Singer floated through the air, but its power was muted. As Zani would continue to sing, it would become harmless. It was perched up above the entrance to the Pools of Prophecy, where the last of its kind was still marked by the spear I had thrown.
We made our way for the Pools and the Singer. I felt sick seeing the village. Lady Skol had wasted no time in moving on the Warlands. She’d brought an army of merls and the hideous creatures from Jebra. No one had stood a chance. My father—Marcus—had been the only pack leader in the village at the time. After the dispute with my showing and Locke’s attempted betrayal, the packs had well and truly divided. But he’d refused to surrender, and led what Whiteclaws he had against the horde…
But the packs were all one now. All imprisoned and powerless against the Siren Singers while awaiting execution. I had to find Marcus and we could lead our army against Lady Skol together.
We came to the square and I could see the Singer. I could throw another spear again… But Feyra held my hand. She shook her head. We continued on in the shadows, the anti-melody of Zani’s singing was protecting us, it would be foolish to waste it.
Feyra and I had become even closer since our mating. We spoke for hours in our mental connection. She’d taught me how to use the wolf sense without shifting, along with many other things. And I had taught her just as much about the Singing and other useful skills Roman—my real father, had passed onto me. We shared everything. Well, I shared everything except the dreams I’d begun to have.
The ones that drove me insane every night. The ones–
I pushed them away.
I still couldn’t really understand how we’d managed to survive all those months. I suppose it hadn’t felt like months in truth. We scavenged what we could, and hunting as a pair of wolves did have its benefits. We stopped at each watering hole and oasis that Roman had taken us to. I began to have the feeling that his route had been deliberate, that he’d known we would be traveling back without him. All my life, for that matter, felt like that. It was like he’d prepared me for when he wouldn’t be there to guide me. He hadn’t left my heart.
But there were other heroes in all this. Marcus, who I believed to have been my father my whole life, was also playing a part of sacrifice. He knew the truth along with Roman, and had defended its secrecy to the end. The wolves that had charged with him believed they were avenging my death—in a way, they were.
“Come on,” Feyra said, pulling me along towards the entrance. “The distraction.”
An eagle’s call went up, the Singer paused and looked into the sky. It licked its lips—a meal was always welcome. It took off in a greatwhoompfof power, as it spread its wings in a heartbeat.
We crossed the square quickly, seeking the shapes of wagons and the protection of the well. When we reached the entrance of the pools, it was too late to see the sleeping guard.
I tripped over his stretched out feet. He awoke in a yell. Feyra dropped on him immediately, pressing a hand over his mouth and quieting his strangled cry.
My dream flashed into my mind. Feyra and a man over her…
“If you value your life, you won’t move,” she uttered. The whites of the man’s eyes shone in the light of the full moon. He stank of alcohol and was no doubt still drunk, but there was no mistaking his eyes, he recognized who we were. “Ghosts,” she whispered.
Feyra let the man go. He stumbled to his feet, collapsed again as he tried to run, and then finally found his feet as he scrambled into the night.
“You should have killed him,” I said.
“No one will believe him.” Feyra rose and threw her hood back.
“Someone will.”
Feyra shrugged. “They are about to find out anyway. But none will believe him with the drink upon him. If he’d seen it in the day? Perhaps killing him would’ve been an option.”
“Perhaps?” A smirk on my face.
“I am not the monster that they are,” she said. Then took my hand and led on. “Come.”
We entered the Pools of Prophecy from the entrance that had been built before even the village had. It was only the second time I’d entered from this entrance, the first had been as a child when I was being given to Roman to spend the rest of my life with.
The Pools began to glow as we entered. It was something I was used to, but seeing Feyra experience it for the first time was a joy. Her face lit up as the water did. The glowwithinthe water lit up at her reaction. She laughed and the waterlaughed.
“These are the pools?” she asked.
