Wren raises his hands to show his compliance. “I have no intention of following Wolf’s orders! Despite my unscrupulous reputation, I do have some standards. Killing children has never been something I could stomach. Actually, I want to help you, but I need to know where your loyalties lie.”
“With him,” Lynx answers immediately, dropping her gaze to her son. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him alive.”
“Even if that means running to Iris and the Ddraigs?” Wren whispers as a fear douses his veins like icy water. The plans taking shape in his mind thrill and terrify him. He’s never had any reason to involve anyone else in his exploits before. Yet circumstances have changed; Lynx and her son need an ally, and Wren could use a scapegoat to his advantage. Accuse Lynx of desertion and spying for Iris, and Wolf will never suspect that I am actually the traitor. He’ll focus his hatred on Lynx. He’s already got a bad taste in his mouth from a woman, so it will be easy to persuade him that this woman is just as bad as Iris. He’ll gain some measure of trust towards me, and I’ll secure my place in his pack…until the time is right.
“If it keeps my son safe, I’ll do it. I mean, I owed Wolf a great debt for killing the monster that gave me my son, but that debt only goes so far,” Lynx replies as emotionlessly as if she were discussing the weather.
“Then slip out tonight, and get as far from this place as you can. I suspect that the Ddraigs will return to a location they know. Go to the Pith,” Wren urges, his hands reaching for bits of dried meat and day-old bread for Lynx to carry on her journey. “Give a message to Mynah for me. Tell her I have joined Wolf’s pack, and I will get her any information I think valuable.”
“You mean to stay and act as a spy? Why not come with me?” Lynx demands, securing her child in a sling over her shoulder. With her free hands, she ties the food into a cloth that can be slipped into a sack on her back.
“I think I’ll be useful here. If I can find out what Wolf means to do, maybe I can get word to Iris so she can thwart his plans. You just be careful, Lynx. Jackal’s men are scouring for nameless unchosen. Do you have a bigger knife than that little kitchen cutter?” Wren inquires as he watches her stow the tiny blade into the top of her boot.
Lynx scoffs at his query, ripping a nasty looking serrated blade from a holster hidden in the folds of her skirt. At least as long as her forearm and shaped like a long canine tooth, this thick steel’s sharp edge gleams hungrily in the light. “After I endured Lion’s attentions, I never left home without this baby. If I run into trouble, I’ll be able to get myself out.”
“Okay. Get whatever else you think you need, and be ready to run at dusk,” Wren reminds her, leaving her to her preparations.
Despite all his years as a clever, cunning spy, never once did Wren notice Jackal’s shadow at the window, a silent observer to their plans.
Chapter 2
Sweat drips off Helena’s chin as she dangles precariously from the highest ramparts of the castle walls. “I can’t do it,” she screams, one hand slipping off the polished marble, her chipped fingernails scraping for anything to cling to as she slips. “I’m going to fall!”
“You made it this far,” Ithel reminds her, his voice as impassive as his next command. “Climb the rest of the way, Helena. Or don’t…it’s up to you, really.”
Her arms muscles twitch and clench, unused to exerting this much effort after all her years of idleness in the palace prison. Helena’s feet swing, toes searching for a foothold along the smooth, sculpted wall. “It’s no use, Ithel! I’m not going to make it!” Helena pants as her fingers begin to go numb.
“Then you fall, and you use your Windwalker magic to soften the blow,” Ithel suggests, leaning over the ledge to smile at Helena’s outraged face.
“You haven’t let me test my Windwalker abilities!” she shrieks, wishing she could punch that smirk off his face. “Who knows if I can still use Windwalker magic at all?!”
“Then I guess you die, and I’ll be straight behind you in death,” Ithel drones on, never moving from his perch as he waits for Helena to finish her climb. “If that doesn’t sound pleasant to you, Helena, then I suggest you move your—”
A groan pours from Helena’s mouth as her left foot finally feels a slight chink in the marble. Wedging her toes into the crevice, she gives a final push with her legs. Helena elbows her way up over the rampart’s last ledge, sprawling on the sun-warmed stone of the infirmary’s patio. She closes her eyes and lets the sweat evaporate from her clothes. Huge blisters ooze on her feet from the friction created by climbing up slick marble. Scrapes and bruises mar her ghostly pale flesh with their vivid colors. A hysterical, laugh-like sob erupts from her lips as tears slip down her face and pool on the stones under her head.
“See there? You made it just fine,” Ithel murmurs, smirking as he paces around her prostrate form.
“You are such a bastard!” she cries, sucking air into her over exerted lungs. Her hair splays out around her
