“Are you okay? With the bonding, I mean?” I question, unsure how Bittern, of all of my housemates, will adjust to her new Ddraig.
Bittern nods, and I see what I think is a glimmer of peace and admiration in her eyes. “Nepsa is amazing. She understands me in a way that no one ever has before. She knows that I still miss my family, but she…she fills some of that void somehow. I think that she can make me happy.”
I nod, completely understanding what she means. “Any sign of Wren?” I ask before our conversation can grow stale.
Bittern shakes her head, and I startle as a hand tentatively touches my shoulder from behind me. “Suryc and I saw him a few times in my brother’s camp. I’m pretty sure he came into the tent and tried to encourage me to hold on to my sanity.” Cyrus offers me a sheepish smile that does not quite reach his haunted eyes. “I can’t be sure if it is a memory or a hallucination. But I know he wasn’t there when Suryc rescued me.”
“So, we left Wren to die then,” I murmur, stepping out of Cyrus’s reach. “I should have known. We should have found a way to help him.”
“Wren can fend for himself,” Bittern interjects before Cyrus can speak. “He’ll find a way to survive. Right now, you have bigger issues, don’t you?” She points to the Cadogans and Ddraigs ambling around the woods close by. “Your nomad leader Drake tried to show the others a few pointers on how to work with the Ddraigs, but everyone refused. There is a strong layer of tension among the formerly masked Cadogans and the nameless.”
“Most of them are still in shock or grieving all that they’ve witnessed. Social barriers and prejudices are going to have to come down slowly. They need training, mentoring, and lots of emotional assistance.” Cyrus moves closer, tentatively holding a hand out to me. “Can we do this, Iris?”
I stare at his outstretched hand until I see his fingers quiver. My hand moves to accept his touch, even though my heart still aches over all that we’ve endured. “Call Siri and Suryc. We need to start as soon as possible.”
***
Wolf sits on his broken throne, staring blankly at the empty corral. In his hands he holds the tatters of the tent where Cyrus had been captive. Bits of canvas are clenched so tightly that they slice into his palms. “Fox abandoned me, my brother escaped, and now Iris. What happens now?” He whispers to no one, failing to notice the border guard from Déchets that stands like a wraith in waiting.
Matthais clears his throat as he announces himself. “I was coming to see if you’d bargain for the rest of the slaves, but I see that trouble has fallen on your camp.”
“I have no one to trade,” Wolf mutters, his simmering rage threatening to boil over at the brazenness of this border guard’s approach. “You should address me as Highness or Sire too. After all, I will soon be named king.”
Matthais snorts in derision, but does not comply. “While I was travelling back here, I noticed what appeared to be a tornado on the horizon.” His words, though innocent enough, cannot hide the fact that he knows it was a Windwalker.
“She’s already disappeared.” Wolf dismisses the guard with a flippant wave. “You’ve returned for nothing.”
A bag of gold plops onto the edge of the dais, almost touching Wolf’s booted toe. “On the contrary, news of a rogue Windwalker will pay nicely in Déchets. The king will find favor with us both for such information.”
Wolf raises his eyes to the border guard, a cunning smile bursting to life on his face. “Be sure to make it known that Cane, first king of Cassé, was the one to give you that information. Let him consider it an apology and repayment for the death of the Vibría while he was under my command. And please give my most sincere compliments to your ruler. Explain to him that I would like to meet him in person as soon as possible; he and I would be of similar mindset when it comes to the Ddraigs, I’m sure.”
Matthais tries to hide his smirk as he bows, backing away from Wolf’s throne. “I will share your message by the next full moon.”
As he moves away, another cloaked figure approaches Wolf’s throne. This one wears a dark, mottled mask that Wolf instantly recognizes.
“What? You failed to join my horrible brother, Wren?” he sneers, curious to hear what the famed master of disguises has to say.
Wren’s voice does not waver as he smoothly replies, “I go where I think I can survive, and right now, I believe my best chance is with you.”
“That doesn’t inspire much confidence in me. You’ve the same as said that you are disloyal. So why should I let you into my ranks at all?” Wolf assesses the man, waiting patiently for a response.
“I can’t give you any good reason. You know of my reputation, of the things that I can do. Are my talents worth the gamble?” Wren replies stoically, standing silent as Wolf considers his request.
Such a clever spy could be useful, Wolf decides, recalling all the ways Wren proved his mettle under Condor’s control. How much more could he accomplish under a true leader like me? “Jackal! Take our newest soldier into your ranks, and see that he is properly fed and clothed. Welcome to the Pack of Wolves, Wren.”
Epilogue
“On your feet,” the frigid as a snowstorm voice of the Déchets’ guard demands as he rattles the lock of a grimy cell deep in the palace’s dungeons. “You have a visitor.”
A lithe form shifts in the darkness, a mass of frizzy dark hair covering her face. “Who seeks me now after all this time?”
“You could have spent your days by my side had you chosen to share your memories with me,” a muffled voice replies as Alaric
