For the Wolf by Hannah F. Whitten
Chapter Twenty-Six
She didn’t protest when they tightened cuffs around her wrists. Red schooled her face into calm as the guards clustered, murmuring, casting worried glances her way.
“It looks human.”
“Of course it does. If you think that thing is the Second Daughter, or whatever it called itself, you’re a fool. The Second Daughter is long dead. The Wilderwood holds nothing but monsters.”
A scoff. “You believe those stories?”
The first guard jerked a thumb at Red. “I do now.”
“Calm yourself, Coleman. You sound like a maid at a Harvest campfire.” The commander was roughly handsome, with broad cheekbones and a coppery beard. He stood between Red and the rest of the soldiers, eyeing her contemplatively. “The Queen did warn us to watch for her.”
“The Queen, Noruscan? She’s half mad—”
The leader— Noruscan— caught the speaker across the mouth with the back of his hand, the movement nearly nonchalant. “That’s quite enough.”
The other man made a surprised noise as blood trickled from his lip. He shot a venomous glance at Red, as if it was her fault.
Noruscan looked her curiously up and down, like she was a statue. A relic. Red’s stomach sank at that look, the sting of it doubled after so long without.
The commander’s gaze turned to the Wilderwood behind them, tall and dark, and the sight of it seemed to settle some internal debate. “We’ll take her to the High Priestess.”
Red’s brows pulled together. The Neve she knew— the one she’d seen in the mirror, desperate for her return— would want her sister sent straight to her. “Are those your orders, Noruscan?”
The use of his name made the commander recoil, stepping closer to the clustered soldiers.
“Don’t talk to it, man,” the guard with the still-bleeding lip and shaky sword-arm cautioned.
The captain peered at her, assessing her threat, then grabbed her arm. Shackles pinched into her skin, but Red didn’t fight. The last thing she needed was to inspire that shaky guard to a moment of bravery.
“You’ll ride with me.” Noruscan pulled her over to his horse. Before boosting her into the saddle, he reached for the ties of her cloak.
Red twisted from his grip, instinct moving her more than thought. “No.”
“How do you think the capital will react, if you are who you claim?” His face was stern lines, his eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite fear, but skirted close to it. “They sent you to a monster, and the monster gave you back. How will that look, Second Daughter?”
Her pulse thrummed steady against her shackles. As much as it set her teeth on edge, he was right. She couldn’t afford to broadcast her presence to the whole kingdom, and the scarlet bridal cloak would draw undue attention. “Will you return it?”
A moment of hesitation, his ruddy brows low. But he nodded.
Red slipped the heavy fabric from her shoulders, swallowing hard. When Noruscan settled behind her in the saddle, he placed the cloak almost gently in her lap. She twisted her fingers in it as they galloped away.
Two hours’ hard riding, and the gates of the capital shone on the horizon.
“Hide that,” Noruscan said as he sawed on the reins, turning the horse toward the gates. He tapped a fist on her bridal cloak.
His tone held warning. Hide it or we’ll take it from you. Red balled the cloak in her hands as well as she could, tucking the embroidery on the underside.
When they reached the guard tower, Noruscan rode close, pulling up Red’s shackles so they caught the sun. “Thief from the outer villages,” he barked.
The lie made her lips twist, but Red stayed silent. Cooperation seemed her best option here, the surest way to get to Neve.
The guard waved a lazy hand, and the gates opened.
Noruscan’s horse cantered toward the palace. As soon as they crossed into the courtyard, he dismounted, helped her down cautiously. One of his hands brushed the bare skin of her arm, and he pulled back quickly, like her touch might burn.
They were terrified of her. Once, that might’ve hollowed her out, but now Red just wondered how she could use it. Hands still shackled, she shook out her cloak, clumsily fastening it around her neck.
The battalion marched her into the Temple, flanking either side, hands on their blades and eyes pointed away. They entered the hallway that led from the palace gardens, all marble and glass, but stopped at a simple wooden door instead of going all the way to the amphitheater. Noruscan waved a hand to dismiss the others, but he followed Red inside, closing the door behind them.
The far wall was a window, looking out on the gardens and letting in bright, airy light. A lone priestess sat at a desk beside it. She stood slowly, folding her hands into her sleeves. Dust motes like light shards twisted lazily around her red hair.
A new High Priestess, then. Red frowned. It shouldn’t have been a surprise— the other had been getting up in years. But a new High Priestess coupled with what she’d seen in the mirror made her hackles rise.
The Shrine. Whatever they were doing, it was in the Shrine. “Your Holiness.” Noruscan bowed. Red stayed upright. “She claims to be the Second Daughter.”
Calculating blue eyes flickered over Red. “Does she, now?”
“She came from the Wilderwood,” Noruscan said quickly. “But she hasn’t shown any signs of . . . of abnormality.”
Red straightened her shoulders, trying to make eye contact, but the bright light of the window left the High Priestess’s face in shadow. “How would you like me to prove it to you, Your Holiness?” Then, because subtlety was something she’d never been good at, “If you’ll take me to the Shrine, to pray and pay my respects, I’m sure I could answer any questions you have.”
“Don’t trouble yourself.” The priestess moved into the light, hands held loosely by her sides. A strange pendant lay against her breast, a piece of white wood touched with threads of darkness. Red’s eyes narrowed at it.
The priestess noticed. Long-fingered white hands picked up the bark shard, dangled it in the shaft of sunlight. “Familiar, I’m sure. Twisted up in you like rot in a corpse.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But the splinter of magic in her, the shard of the Wilderwood, twined and bloomed around her bones.
The High Priestess— Kiri, Red remembered now, the name she’d heard Neve say in the mirror— flicked the corner of a cold smile, letting the pendant drop back against her chest. Slowly, she approached, close enough that Red had to fight the urge to step back. The priestess’s gaze was searching, like if she looked hard enough she could see into Red, into the hollow places between her organs.
“You arrival might derail us,” she said, nearly speaking to herself. “But perhaps you’ll be a useful pawn.”
Red’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion eclipsing the manufactured kind. “I don’t understand—”
But before she could finish, Kiri’s hands shot up, crooking into tortured shapes, and icy cold slammed into Red’s body.
Red’s own hands rose, like the invasion was something she could fight off, but all the power she’d learned to control was nowhere to be found. Whatever the High Priestess was doing, lacing ice through her veins, seemed to make her own power wither and hide, canceled out. It felt like being crushed, ground under some cold heel— the Wilderwood’s magic, taken and inverted, crawling through her as if searching for something.
It made a twisted sort of sense. Freeing Red would’ve been cause enough for Neve to weaken the forest, but not the Order. They had to have more of a reason, more of a reward.
This cold, awful magic must be it.
When the icy onslaught was done, Red was on her knees. She didn’t remember falling. Breath rattled in her lungs, and her throat felt thorned with frost. Blood dripped from her nose to pool on the marble.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Noruscan flinch.
The veins on the High Priestess’s wrist were ink-dark, wet with crystals of melting frost. One long finger dipped into the blood on the floor, brought it to the light.
“Scarlet,” the priestess whispered. “Only scarlet.” Sunlight flashed off bared teeth. She looked to the commander. “Leave us.”
Noruscan slid his gaze between them, almost regretful, before turning toward the door. It closed with a sound like a sepulcher.
When Red wiped her mouth, her hand was shaking. “I just want to see Neve.” The tremble in her voice wasn’t artifice. She felt like she’d been turned inside out, every secret thing beneath her skin bared to terrible light. “Just take me to the Shrine, and let me see Neve.”
She had to see what was in the Shrine. She had to see what Neve had done, and figure out how to fix it.
Especially if it birthed this power, this twisted darkness that made her weak, made the Wilderwood in her recoil. What would it do to Eammon, if it did this to her?
Kiri eyed the blood on her finger. “You’ll see the Queen when I deem it safe.” She stood, wiping a red streak on her white robe. “There’s something there, some remnant of the forest’s binding. You’re just hiding it. Rest assured it will be found.”
“I don’t understand.” Red sat back on her heels. “I’m here. You weakened the Wilderwood for me. Isn’t this what you were working toward?”
“Stupid girl. This is so much bigger than you and your foolish sister.” The High Priestess circled like a carrion bird. “You’ve served one purpose. Perhaps you’ll serve another. It’s not for me to decide.”
Red swallowed. Neve and Kiri had two different perspectives on what was happening here, she was sure of it. Their methods might align, but their objectives didn’t. At least, not completely.
She hoped.
“Neverah is beginning to understand,” Kiri continued thoughtfully, almost to herself. “She knows she needs me to disentangle you fully.” A thoughtful pause. “Something could always go wrong. She wouldn’t know.”
A shiver worked its way down Red’s spine.
“Red?”
The High Priestess’s hands, once again crooked in preparation for cold magic, instead disappeared into her sleeves. Stumbling to her feet, Red whirled toward the door.
Neve, thinner than Red remembered, black hair held by a silver crown. Neve, rushing toward her, hands outstretched. Neve, solid and real.
“I did it.” Neve wavered on her feet, her face a mix of joy and awe and, almost, fear. “I did it.”
Red collapsed into her like a rag doll, breathing her sister’s rain-and-roses scent, clutching her like someone returned from the dead. “Neve,” she murmured, and couldn’t make herself say anything else. “Neve.”
“I knew it.” Neve’s arms held her with strength their thinness belied. Tears ran warm onto Red’s brow. “I knew you’d come back. I knew you’d escape.”
The word escape coiled uneasily in her stomach, but Red ignored it. She pulled Neve closer, letting her spine go crooked, letting the tears gathered behind her eyes fall into her sister’s hair.
It was almost enough to make her forget why she’d come.
Neve leaned away and tucked Red’s hair behind her ear. She wound their fingers together, turning toward the High Priestess. “Kiri. I hope you’ve greeted my sister properly.”
Something odd in her voice, something hidden. The High Priestess bent another slight edge of a smile. “As properly as time allowed,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get better acquainted.”
Neve tightened her fingers around Red’s. “Quite.” She shifted on her feet. “You’ll tell the others, then? Let them know that all our work has come to fruition?”
An unreadable expression flickered across Kiri’s features. “Not full fruition,” she said quietly. “Our work is not yet done. Majesty.”
The honorific was clearly an afterthought, meant to convey more in tone than words. Red’s brow arched.
“I’m aware, Kiri,” Neve murmured, something dark flickering in her eyes. “But let me enjoy one victory before we plug away at another, please.”
Apprehension tempered Red’s joy at seeing Neve again, the reason she was here staring her stark in the face. Neve against the Wilderwood. Neve caught up in schemes Red didn’t entirely understand.
Her sister was warm beside her, the scent of her hair familiar and comforting. Still, when Red blinked, she saw Eammon’s dirt-streaked face, saw green-and-amber eyes.
“Come.” Neve pulled her toward the door. “I’ll have dinner brought to my chambers. You look exhausted.”
Right before the door closed, Red glanced over her shoulder. Kiri’s face was calm, but her clenched jaw spoke of something deeper than displeasure. Her eyes met Red’s, blue and cold enough to burn, then the door slammed shut.