Page 47

Beside her, Percival clapped his palms to his ears. ‘You know,’ he yelled over the screeching, ‘you would think with how sensitive elven ears are, they would take more care—maybe even raise the gate a few inches off the ground so it wouldn’t make that dastardly wailing sound.’

With the sound rattling around her head, all Areanel could do was shrug. ‘Masochism? Perhaps they find pleasure in pain,’ she chuckled, quietly taking note of how Sevain and Nymlaris followed her. At least those two had the sense to wait for her instruction. Unlike Elmrynn, whose horse stomped its feet in agitation.

Percival’s bright smile was contagious. He looked goofy and childlike, hands pushing into the side of his head, shit-eating grin on his face. Areanel had missed the way he joked; it had been so long since she had seen him smile as he did now. After two long decades of healing, his emotions and cavalier attitude were slowly returning. Hope bloomed in her chest—he was getting better.

‘Or they’re just idiots,’ Percival stated, no longer having to shout as the unpleasant screech came to a sudden end, gates clanging into place.

Raising her hands to her ears, Areanel walked while rubbing her tragi in an attempt to clear the ringing. When her boot stepped over the threshold, a wave of something uncomfortable washed over her, like oil sliding along her skin. She reached for her pendant, seeking to ground herself in something physical, and felt a slight hum against her collarbones.

Dread. The feeling clung to the recesses of her mind.

Failure was not an option when it came to the missions her father sent her on, and, whenever she left the bounds of the castle, a sickly feeling often overtook her. Self-inflicted? She didn’t know. But whenever she visited the palace healers about her sudden illnesses, she found they did not believe her.

Areanel wasn’t sure why, but a nagging tug in her mind that told her not to trust them. She had, at first, assumed it must be her mind’s way of protecting her—because her father would make them erase her scars—but over time, she’d begun to wonder if she was just like her father. Paranoid.

‘You coming, Rea?’ A voice called from up ahead. Sevain fidgeted in the saddle of his tawny gelding. Areanel had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realised he’d mounted his horse, or that they were now waiting for her.

Wiping the sudden bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, Areanel nodded to her waiting brothers. The heat from the scorching summer sun beat down, making her already form-fitted leathers stick to her like a second skin.

Reaching within, she called upon that powerful bond that connected her to her wolves. Each was different and unique, but Areanel didn’t need to sift through her mind because the familiar snowy white thread was already there at the forefront, like she knew exactly what Areanel needed.

The corners of her lips pulled at the familiar feeling of another consciousness brushing along her mind. Strong, fierce and loyal.

But most importantly—love.

The sensation wrapped her in a blanket as Winter’s answering howl echoed through the forest. Her wolves—though bonded—were wild creatures, coming and going as they pleased; they did not conform to the rules or laws of mortals, but when Areanel needed them, her wolves would answer. Always.

She felt her first before her eyes landed on the blur of snowy fur, shortly followed by an enormous black wolf just behind. Winter was like a blotch of white against a colourful canvas as she bounded towards Areanel.

The sound of clanking armour told Areanel that the soldiers were shuffling anxiously. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed how they gave her a wide berth, opting to stay far away from the General and her wolf.

Leaping in excitement, Winter came to a sliding stop, but her movements didn’t halt entirely. As soon as she had reached Areanel, the wolf nuzzled and licked at her face, yipping in joy.

‘Winter!’ Areanel giggled at the feeling of the wolf’s wet, rough tongue tickling her face. ‘I missed you too, buddy.’ She reached around Winter’s massive form to scratch behind her bonded’s large ear.

A flurry of gravel and dirt shot in all directions when Winter’s hind leg kicked up, shaking in excitement. And this was supposed to be a trained killer.

‘Areanel.’ Elmrynn’s tone was short, clipped.

Areanel sighed, and ensuring her exasperated tone reached the others, she called over her shoulder, ‘Come on, girl, let’s not keep Prince Impatient waiting any longer.’

‘I heard that!’ Elmrynn grumbled.

‘You were meant to,’ Areanel repeated Percival’s words from before, and a smile brightened her twin’s face. When she threw her middle finger up in Elmrynn’s direction, a chorus of laughter had the rest of her brothers almost tipping out of their saddles. The soldiers glanced away, uncertain.

Huffing, Elmrynn kicked the side of his horse, and the steed snickered, attempting to move far away from Winter’s large form. Trotting to the front of their group, Elmrynn started giving them and the small unit of soldiers his orders. ‘Nymlaris will take us as far as he can, making small trips from here to Vennedove.’

Winter dropped her shoulder so that Areanel could climb onto her back. Muscles stretching, she gripped the white fur at the nape of her neck and hauled herself up. Turning to her older brother, she said, ‘He will tire too quickly.’

‘Aw, are you worried about me, sissy?’ Nymlaris moved his horse closer to her.

On Winter, she towered over him—she towered over all of them besides her twin. Percival sat upon his own bonded wolf, Ilymathar—a beast covered in black fur so dark it seemed to consume the light. He was the eldest of the four bonded wolves.

When he got too close, Winter snapped her sharp teeth at Nymlaris’s horse. She preferred her personal space. The motion sent the horse rearing back, and Nymlaris desperately clutched the pommel of his saddle.

The soldiers around them gripped their weapons tightly, looking at each other with confusion evident on their faces. Areanel knew they were wondering whether they were supposed to intervene if Winter harmed any of the princes.

Before they could make any rash decisions, however, Sevain reached out a hand, placing his palm on the horse’s flank. Pressing into the horse’s side, the space around them suddenly calmed. Magic hummed along Areanel’s skin, and a fresh, sweet floral scent, like lavender, permeated the air around them, slowing and deepening her breath. She felt relaxed. And, by the looks of it, so did everyone else: the unit of soldiers loosened their grips, shoulders dropping. Nymlaris blinked away the frantic look in his eyes, and Percival, calm as ever, smiled and lovingly patted his wolf’s enormous head. Even Elmrynn seemed to deflate.