A few curious critters rustle through the underbrush as the hours pass, but Suryc chases them away before any damage can be done. Satisfied that he will not die by animal attack, relief gives way to exhaustion. Well past midnight, the air rapidly cools as Cyrus waits for sleep to finally claim his weary bones. As the moon drifts high overhead, two long-loved faces appear in his mind’s eye: the first is Mynah as a child, her long white hair gleaming in the full moon’s light, and the second is Iris, the powerful, hardened warrior that girl has become.
Cyrus speaks of these faces aloud as though Wren or Suryc is standing beside him. His voice is a whisper, the words slurring as his eyes drift closed. “Though she is alive, she haunts me. She is a beautiful phantom that captivates my eyes. I know she hates me, but I cannot escape her…nor do I wish to.”
Chapter 2
Murmuring voices pull Cyrus out of his fitful sleep the next morning. Sunlight glares in his eyes as he drinks in the sight of the other members of Wolf’s pack. None of them, however, are focused on the captive. All eyes are frozen on the empty bindings where Falcon’s body once was tied. “Where did she go?” someone asks fearfully as Jackal and his other guards inspect the scene.
Did Wren return after I fell asleep? Cyrus calls out to Suryc in amazement. His movements had been so stealthy that even Cyrus hadn’t heard him.
Yes; he wanted to give the Pack of Wolves something to chew on…besides you, Suryc mutters, not even attempting to hide the irritation in his voice. Cyrus, let me get you out of there!
Cyrus does not respond; his eyes are too bewildered by the scene that Wren has left for everyone to find. Wren replaced the ropes that he cut off Falcon’s ankles and wrists. Now, the new—albeit bloody—ropes in the traitor binds appear to have been untied by Falcon’s own decaying hands. Wren had found another use for Falcon’s blood and gore as well. Carefully coating the soles of her shoes, Wren created bloody footprints leading off into the forest.
The sight fulfills its intended purpose, but it is the hastily written parchment tacked to the crossbar of the traitor bonds that really strikes terror into the hearts of the pack members. “I will return,” Jackal reads, eyeing Cyrus’s binds for any signs of foul play. “How did she get loose?”
“Search me,” Cyrus cackles madly at Jackal. “Falcon must have walked away while I was sleeping.”
“But she was dead,” someone shouts over the hasty murmurs of the onlookers.
“Well, she and I ran the House of Vultures together for many years. Maybe our bond was strong enough to revive her,” Cyrus mocks, staring at the mumbling horde as they shy away from him. None are willing to look him in the eye. Sensing their superstitious natures, Cyrus preys upon their worries. “Maybe I used Ddraig magic! Maybe I am such a powerful leader that I can raise the dead that are loyal to me! Maybe—”
“Enough,” Wolf snaps from behind the fence. “I don’t know how you did this, little brother, but it solves nothing. What were you trying to prove?”
Cyrus howls with maniacal laughter, thrashing against his bonds just to show the rest of the pack that he is still tightly bound to the fence. If they think that I have supernatural powers, maybe they will heed my commands about Iris and the Ddraigs. Wren truly is a genius! Rather than answer his brother, Cyrus shouts, “Be ready! Soon the skies will be filled with Ddraigs! They seek their warriors from among this pack. When they appear, remove your masks! Tell them your true names when they ask. Join them before the war reaches Cassé—”
Wolf sneaks close so quietly that Cyrus never sees him coming. Wrapping his clawed fingers around his brother’s throat, Wolf hisses, “Shut up, or I will tear your vocal cords right out of your neck!”
Cyrus’s does not finish his herald to the people, but smiles wildly as he declares, “I don’t care what happens now. Iris wanted the people to hear that she was coming with the Ddraigs. I’ve delivered the message. What will you do, Brother Mine? Will you let your pack be claimed by the Ddraigs? Or will you force them to remain at your side? Just because you didn’t get a Ddraig doesn’t mean someone else—”
Wolf’s claws dig into the side of Cyrus’s throat, dangerously close to the arteries. Cyrus feels his blood’s sticky warmth oozing under his tattered shirt collar as Wolf leans close and whispers, “Do you have a death wish? Are you trying to provoke me into killing you?”
“Maybe I just like carrying your scars,” Cyrus quips, trying not to shiver and show his fear. “Or maybe I want to get away from her.” Maybe the only way I can ever be free of her is in death, he laments to himself, clenching his eyes shut as his heart burns in his chest.
“It must kill you to know that she chose me,” Wolf snarls, pushing Cyrus’s head back against the fence. The hard metal points bite into the base of Cyrus’s skull. “Does it keep you up at night? Do you spend your days wondering just how far I got with your long-lost love?” Despite his best efforts, Cyrus cannot hold back the groan that rumbles through his chest. Wolf laughs when he hears it, knowing he’s under his brother’s skin. “I have to give you credit, brother; you do have good taste in women. Iris is a wildfire. Her kisses are as soft and supple as a rose’s petals. And when she touches your skin, it’s like a furnace boils to life in your blood.”
“It must kill you to know
