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“Oh no,” Philippa says from behind her. She practically pushes Marybell out of the way. I can tell she wants to come in, but my wolves are covering every inch of the ground. “Oh no, is it Spence?”
I nod.
Philippa starts moving forward, tripping over the wolves, who growl in annoyance as she stomps over them in her haste to get to Spence. When I lift the blankets, she kneels near him, and it’s only then that it hits me I have a healer in the village now. A healer who could possibly help my brother. Lycans self-heal and can’t stand the magic of the fae or any other species being used on us or around us.
We dislike blood magic, but I don’t care. Philippa’s crying, frantically seeking the source of blood under Spence’s thick fur. She lifts him, but when blood gushes out, she lays him down again.
“Oh, my king.” Philippa calls out to their dead king. Old habits die hard.
“Please.” She looks up to me with bloodshot eyes, pleading with me to let her try to save his life. I know what she is asking of me.
I nod. “Close the shrine doors.”
Marybell stands outside, her eyes locked with mine. I imagine all the things going through her head, but I can’t explain anything now, because my brother is dying, and if I have to use Kilseleian blood magic that breaks all the unwritten laws of proper magic wielding, then so be it.
“Don’t,” Marybell shouts as the doors close. She bangs on them. “Blood magic is unstable. It can kill the source and the person it’s used on.”
“It’s true,” Philippa says. “He’s lost lots of blood, and I’ll have to use your life force to bring Spence back from the brink of death. It might kill you.”
My clan mates murmur, disagreeing about using blood magic to save Spence, but they don’t tell me what to do.
“Hey!” Marybell is banging on the door. She’s something else. Stubborn as an ox. A fighter through and through. She likes me.
“Marybell is into me,” I say to Philippa as I slice my palm with my claw. “Better return me back to her alive.”
17
MARYBELL
Irealized my mistake right after I asked about Gloriana.
Wincing as I remember what I asked Seith while one of his clan mates lay bleeding at his feet. It makes me wish I could go back and ask about the wolf and then hopefully have the patience to hear about my princess as the story of how the wolf got hurt unfolded.
While I wish no harm to come to anyone, even the traitor lady, Gloriana has been in my life since I’ve known myself, and every spare thought has been about her and how I could comfort her. It wasn’t just a job for me, but a duty. As a person from a Hanna family, I took pride in caring for Kilseleian royalty.
I chew my lip.
I worry about Seith.
The Kilseleian people come from Stenan lands and aren’t born with magic. But the former king of Kilseleia, Gloriana’s father, figured out a way to draw magic from ancient creatures called medeisars, who are actually magical creatures with three different forms. In that way, lycans are like medeisars more than they are like us.
Seith took in Philippa for me, but using her healing on a lycan male or himself is a different matter. Philippa is a blood mage, and, judging by the folks I saw in the village, not the only one who can use the dead king’s seal to draw magic from a lycan the same way the dead Kilseleian king drew from medeisars.
This type of magic is disliked by all magical creatures, and a creature born with magic should never ever allow another person access to their magic. The Summer king repeated that nearly every time I was around him, and I know enough of the lycans to know they can’t stand the idea of a blood mage.
And yet Seith allowed a mage access to his magic. He’s an alpha, so he’s powerful, and since I’ve seen what happens to medeisars after the dead king’s drawn from them, I know Seith will come away weak, if not dead.
Even knowing this, I couldn’t convince him otherwise. Not after I asked about my princess first.
Moreover, I couldn’t stand at the shrine door for the duration of the night and wait with the wolves. Or with the Kilseleian people, who gave me looks I couldn’t interpret. Most of them know who I was because Gloriana and I were rarely parted when she went into town in Lyan city, where we grew up. People saw us on the streets together many times.
Those are all traitors anyway, so why should I care about them?
It’s late in the night.
I scoot toward the fireplace and lay my head on the fur coat Fleur forgot on the floor. I run my fingers through the fur, wondering what kind of animal it’s made of, and hoping it’s not a red-haired wolf at the same time that my fingertip bumps into something. I poke it and it crunches under pressure.
Sitting up, I grab the coat and search the pocket holding something. It’s sewn inside the coat. I’m sure of it. What could it be?
