The guards exchange a look, unwilling to take orders from a foundling, and then glance back through the gate.
“Do as she requests,” comes the High Ecclesian’s voice from outside. “She is on an errand by command of the High Ecclesia.”
Only then do the guards acquiesce. The taller one turns and slips through the gate, hopefully on their way to fulfill my request. A flash of gold catches my eye, and I look closer to find the High Ecclesian shutting the prison gate, locking it from the other side. Unease slides through my veins, cold as seawater.
I swallow hard, facing the Lupa Nox again. One of the Fallen.
I can barely believe such a thing, even though the words came from the mouth of the High Ecclesia itself. The information absolutely terrifies me, unsettles me beyond comprehension—but it also makes a terrible sort of sense.
How else had this Lupa Nox bested so many of our Holy Guard and Host Knights, sent so many people I know home in pieces? Of course she is Fatum. No mortal is capable of such things. How many times did I heal the wounds this very knight had created, set the bones she’d broken, complete the funeral preparations for the corpses she’d left in her wake?
I shove the memories aside, grateful to find the soldier returning with the items I requested. I thank them, arranging everything in the space as well as I can. I’ll have to stoop and pick up items from the floor more than I really should with my leg, but I don’t dare ask for a stool or side table. I brush the bronze Saintess Lucia medallion strung on a chain around my neck with my fingertips, speaking a silent prayer for her protection before I begin.
At some point, I fall into the familiar work, forgetting it is the Lupa Nox’s body I’m tending to. I find that she’s in worse shape than she first appeared. Bruising across her abdomen makes me worry about internal bleeding, and when I pull back her eyelids, she is clearly concussed. As I spend more time in the room at her side, I begin to sense the sedation Blessing, the protective one on the restraints, and then the echo of powerful healing Mysterium, all woven together like a textile beneath my fingertips.
A concussion this severe, the broken finger, all the bruising on the abdomen—the knight must have been near death when she was captured. It makes sense to task someone like me with her ongoing care. I will have to spend a good deal of time with her, and if I were working the Mysteries the entire time, the risk would be too great that the Lupa Nox could corrupt and pervert the Saint-given magic. Especially considering she’s Fatum. No—Fallen, I remind myself.
Strange that such a beautiful thing can be filled with so much violence, so much hate. As I bandage her head, my fingers diving into her hair to wind the gauze around her temples, I find my gaze drifting. Even unconscious, the Lupa Nox is magnetic. No matter which part of her body I’m working on, my eyes seem to slip to her face—those severe angles, a full, shapely mouth that, even in sleep, speaks of wickedness.
I flush, unsettled that such a thought crossed my mind. My fingers tremble nervously as I glance over at the Holy Guard stationed inside the cell with me, but they both appear too disconcerted by the Lupa Nox to be paying much attention to me.
My left hip smarts from compensating for the dead weight of my right leg. At least the dirt floor is a bit more forgiving than the usual marble throughout the Cloisters, but not being able to sit or use my cane much is certainly taking its toll. I sigh and then hobble along the side of the table, pulling up the compressI applied to the knight’s ribs. It doesn’t look much better; she needs to take a draught to prevent internal bleeding. It would be helpful to know what Mysterium healing has already been performed.
Nearly done, I tell myself, limping back to the head of the table, wanting to ensure her cut hasn’t already bled through the bandage. Head wounds always bleed so much. Unsurprisingly, blood has already seeped through a few of the gauze pads I packed under the main bandage. I peel them away carefully, preparing more.
As I lean over the most dangerous creature I’ve ever been in a room with, the Lupa Nox’s eyelids flutter open. Her thunderstorm gaze locks onto mine. I freeze. And then, like a predator sighting a rabbit in the grass, she lunges for me.
Chapter 4
Even in that violent act, the Lupa Nox is so striking I find myself half-mesmerized. She moves with a fearsome elegance, reminding me of the wolves I’ve only ever seen depicted in books by an artist’s dark brushstroke.
But my senses prevail and I stumble back, catching myself on the edge of the table near her muscular thigh. She lets out an unearthly snarl, the angle of the candlelight turning her face into a mask of shadow and hatred.
“You’re all right,” I say, trying for a soothing tone, but my voice comes out high-pitched and strangled. I remember the guards at the gate, but when I turn to call out for them, I see that they’re pressed against the wall, eyes wide with fear. An uncharitable thought crosses my mind until I remember they’ve faced her on the fields of battle in a way I will never understand. Of course they’re frightened.
“Just kill me,” the Lupa Nox snarls in a low, hoarse voice that might’ve been melodic were it not soaked in rage. “Whatever you want, you won’t have it. Kill me, or I will devour your precious city from the inside out.”
My hand trembles on the edge of the table, but I flex my fingers harder into the wood, knowing it’s the only thing keepingme upright. The guards start yelling for someone Sainted, the taller of the two taking measured steps toward us.
“We don’t want to kill you,” I say. Getting the words out feels like climbing a mountain. It seems as though her restraints are holding just fine, even if the sedation Blessing wasn’t strong enough. “We healed you. And we’re going to continue healing you.”
To my horror, the Lupa Nox throws her head back and laughs. It’s a wild sound, full of bloodlust and iron-willed promise. “All the better,” she replies, relaxing against the table, “to destroy you, then.”
I only say these next words because she is restrained, because we are not on equal footing, because the wolf cannot open its jaws. “How dare you!” I cry out. “We used the sacred Mysteries to heal you. My people do nothing to warrant your attacks, and even though you murder our loved ones, still we have brought you back from the brink of death.”
Then the prison gate opens and someone rushes into the chamber; I feel them pulling on the Mysteries. But before they can strengthen the sedation Blessing, the Lupa Nox lunges forward again, an impossibly elegant contraction of well-developed muscle. “Little dove,” she says, her broad shoulders straining, “IamDeath.”
Something I do not quite recognize coils low and tight in my belly, hot and damp as a greenhouse. Then there are firm hands on my arms, leather armor pressing into my back, and my legs leave the ground entirely. Before I understand what’s happening, someone pulls me bodily from the chamber. I’m swept out into the corridor, where a small commotion is developing: the High Ecclesian rushes into the Vincula from the front gate with two Knights of the Host in tow, the charge of Mysteries palpable in the air.
Whoever yanked me from the chamber is still holding me tightly to their chest, saying my name. I very much wish they’d release me. I can hardly breathe as it is. But as the fog of fear dissipates, I realize the voice is familiar, the smell of teak and clean soap sweeping over me.
“Renault,” I breathe. “I’m all right.”
He finally loosens his grip, keeping a hand on my elbow, since my cane was left behind in the Lupa Nox’s chamber. “Ophelia,” he says, coming to stand in front of me, the candlelight gilding his auburn hair. “Thank the Lord. I heard what the High Ecclesia asked of you and came straight away.”
“It would’ve been fine,” I say, wishing fervently for my cane, “if the sedation Blessing had held.”
Renault examines me, his features shadowed in the gloom of the Vincula. He has a face that resembles the countenances depicted in the marble statues adorning the Cloisters: tall and strong with a straight, noble nose, square jaw, high cheekbones. He’s everything a man of the Host aspires to be—a knight and scholar, third son of one of the most respected Apostle families.
