The beast—Torrath—snarled but didn’t advance. “The children were not the target. Though they smell interesting too.”

  Brynelle’s wings flared wider, the wind around us picking up until it howled. “What does your master want with them?”

  Torrath’s grin stretched wider, all teeth and malice. “You know, Brynelle. You’ve always known.” His massive head tilted toward me. “But now... now I think I’ll take the human. She smells so very interesting.”

  He lunged.

  But Brynelle was faster.

  Her blade sang as it cleared its sheath, the steel gleaming silver-bright in the morning sun. She moved like liquid death, wind carrying her forward, and met his charge with a grace that was purely predatory.

  The collision was brutal. Torrath’s claws raked across her arm, drawing blood, but her blade found his throat. He twisted away at the last second, the steel scoring deep but not fatal.

  They broke apart, circling.

  “You cannot win this,” Torrath said, voice conversational despite the blood dripping from his neck. “Not against what’s coming.”

  “Watch me.”

  Brynelle raised her free hand, and the wind around us gathered, lashing through the air. Then she released it.

  The gust hit Torrath like a battering ram, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the garden wall with a sickening crunch. Stone crumbled. Dust filled the air.

  But the bastard got back up.

  He shook his head, spat blood, and that horrible grin never wavered. “Lord Ashterion will have what he wants. Today, tomorrow or next week. It matters little. He is patient. And you...” His eyes found mine again. “You cannot run from what you are.”

  Brynelle took advantage of his distraction. She darted forward, and her blade found the soft spot between his ribs before he could dodge, sinking deep.

  He collapsed, massive body hitting the ground with a sound like thunder.

  Brynelle stood in the sudden silence, wings spread, wind stirring around her.

  She turned to look at me. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

  She nodded once, then moved to where Darian lay bleeding in the dirt. Her hands were gentle as she examined his shoulder, but her expression remained granite-hard.

  “Deep, but not fatal,” she murmured. “You’ll live, you damn fool.”

  Above us, Fenric dropped from the sky with both children clutched safely in his arms. Eryx was crying, great heaving sobs that tore at my heart. Mireth was white as a sheet.

  I ran to them the moment Fenric’s feet touched ground.

  “Mama,” Mireth wailed, launching herself into my arms.

  I held them both tight, breathing in the scent of their hair, feeling their solid warmth against my chest.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered, though my voice was shaking. “It’s okay, little ones. You’re safe now.”

  I glanced up at Fenric, about to ask what the hell just happened, when another figure slammed into the ground.

  Varyth.

  His gaze swept over Brynelle first, bloodied but standing. Then Darian, crumpled and bleeding in the dirt. Fenric, standing beside me, protective wings spread wide.

  Then me.

  And the fury that blazed across his features could have incinerated mountains.

  “What the hell happened here?” The words were deadly quiet.

  I clutched my children tighter, rage building in my chest like a wildfire. “What happened,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “Is that thing—” I gestured toward Torrath’s corpse. “Came for my children. It knew me. It could smell me. It wanted to take me to its master.”

  Varyth’s expression went completely blank. “It what?”

  “You heard me.” I stood, carefully extracting myself from Mireth and Eryx’s clinging arms. “Some nightmare wolf came hunting in your precious safe garden, and my children were nearly torn apart because of whatever the hell I am that makes me so gods-damned interesting to you.”

  Varyth’s jaw tightened, and something cold and terrible settled behind his eyes. “You think this is my fault?”

  “I think you promised safety and delivered a teeth-ridden death trap wrapped in rose bushes. So yes. I’m leaning toward ‘your fault’ with a hint of ‘you’re full of it, Varyth.’”

  “You said they’d be safe here.” My voice fractured on it, and gods, I hated that. “Safe. And now my children just watched a shapeshifting demon try to drag their mother off to some Lord With A Creepy Agenda like we’re in a bad bard’s song.”

  “One breach⁠—”

  I stormed toward him. “That thing didn’t trip and fall into your fucking garden, Varyth. It came with intent.”

  “Of course it did.” His tone was low and lethal, the kind that slid beneath the skin. “Because you radiate magic like a beacon. It didn’t come for me. It came for you.”

  “Oh, so now this is my fault for existing?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “You stumble into my court like a feral thing with no leash, hissing and biting at every hand that tries to help you. You think survival makes you special? It makes you reckless.”

  His wings flared into existence with the grace of knives.

  “You arrogant bastard,” I snarled. “You dragged us here, made your little speeches about power and potential, and you couldn’t even keep a single monster out of your own fucking garden.”

  His eyes flashed silver fire. “Watch your tongue, human.”

  “Or what?” I bit back. “You’ll throw me to the wolves? I already know what that’s like.”

  From the ground, Darian groaned. “Not to rush the climactic yelling, but I’m bleeding out, and if I die while you two are having your mating ritual, I will haunt both of you.”

  Neither of us flinched.

  “You are hiding something,” I spat.

  His lips twitched. Maybe amusement. Maybe regret. “I’m protecting you.”

  “No,” I snapped. “You’re stalling. Dodging. Evading. And I don’t know if it’s because you’re clueless or incompetent.”

  “You infuriating⁠—”

  “Enough.” Brynelle’s voice cracked like lightning between us. She manifested in the space between us, wind stirring around her like an extension of her will. “You’re both being idiots. And children are watching.”

  Shit.

  My children were clinging to Fenric, who looked exactly like a man wondering if he needed to sedate one or both adults arguing in the garden. Mireth clutched his sleeve in a white-knuckled grip, her bottom lip trembling. Eryx looked like he couldn’t decide whether to cry or grab a stick and start swinging. Fenric had a steadying hand on each of them.

  “Oh gods,” I whispered, stepping back, my fury dissolving. “No. No—” I moved toward them, hands raised, useless. “I’m sorry.”

  I crouched in front of them, trying to make myself smaller, trying to breathe.

  “I lost my temper,” I said, because I couldn’t lie to them. “I got scared. But it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

  Mireth looked up at me with fear too old for her little face. “Are we gonna have to run again?”

  “No,” I whispered. “Not if I can help it. I swear, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

  I wrapped my arms around them both, pulled them in tight. Held them like they were the only good things left in the world. Because they were.

  Darian groaned again. “Don’t mind me. Bleeding. Still bleeding. Just having an out-of-body experience over here while you all process your trauma.”

  “Shut up,” Brynelle muttered, kneeling to press her hands to his shoulder. “You’ll live.”

  “Tell that to the pain in my soul.”

  I pulled back from the kids and looked over my shoulder at Varyth.

  “The wards will be reinforced. This won’t happen again,” he said smoothly, already turning away.

  I stared at his retreating form like I could set him on fire with my mind.

  “We’re not finished,” I called after him.

  He paused. Glanced back.

  “You are.”

  7

  The marble was unforgiving beneath my bare feet, like everything else in this gods-damned palace of pretty lies.

  I moved like smoke down the corridor, back pressed to the wall, ears straining for the whisper of fabric or the tread of patrol boots. Nothing. Just the distant hum of magic thrumming through the stones, that same cursed melody that had been clawing at my consciousness since I’d arrived.

  Behind me, two doors down, my children slept. Mireth had finally stopped crying an hour ago. Eryx had fallen asleep clutching a wooden horse someone had carved for him—probably Fenric, the bastard was too kind for his own good. I’d left a small dagger beneath Mireth’s pillow. Not much, but enough.

  If someone comes for them before I get back.

  If I don’t make it back.

  The thought carved through me like glass, but I shoved it down. Deep. Where it could bleed quietly without making noise.

  I had a list burning in my head.

  Food. Travel rations. Something that wouldn’t rot in three days.

  Maps. Any maps. Even if they were written in fae script I couldn’t read.

  A cloak. Hooded. Large enough to hide three fugitives stumbling through foreign wilderness.

  A satchel. Strong enough to carry supplies and light enough not to slow us down.

  Anything remotely useful for keeping small children alive in hostile territory.

  He says I’m safer here, I thought, sliding past a tapestry that depicted some long-dead fae lord slaying a beast with too many teeth. He said that before the wolf came.

  No more trusting men who speak like gods. No more waiting for someone else to hold the blade.

  The hallway branched, and I chose left, toward what looked like a service wing. The kind of place where servants stored linens and nobles forgot supplies existed. The stones here were rougher, the magic-light dimmer.

  Perfect.

  I found the door I wanted three turns down. Thick oak, iron hinges, and a lock that looked complicated enough to hide items worth stealing. I pressed my ear to the wood. Silence.

  The lock was trickier than I’d hoped, but not impossible. I’d learned to pick locks in desperate moments, crouched in the ruins of our old estate while soldiers searched room by room. Muscle memory guided my hands now, the tension wire bending just so⁠—

  Click.

  The door swung open to reveal exactly what I’d hoped for, a supply vault.

  Shelves lined the walls, packed with everything from bandages to bottles of wine, travel packs to wheels of preserved cheese. My heart hammered with relief and fury in equal measure.

  “Within the walls, you are safe,” I whispered, mocking Varyth’s smooth, confident voice as I stuffed dried meat into a canvas satchel. “Trust me, Isara. I have no interest in killing you.”

  A wheel of hard cheese vanished into the satchel. Then a pouch of what looked like travel bread. My hands moved efficiently, desperately, grabbing anything that might keep us alive for a few days on the road.

  “Eat a star, you pompous, secret-hoarding bastard.”

  My fingers closed around a small glass vial filled with amber liquid. The label was written in fae script, flowing, elegant letters that meant nothing to me. But the bottle was perfectly sized for poison. Or healing draught. Or liquid fire.

  I didn’t care. I took it anyway.

  Another vial, this one filled with a substance that glowed faintly blue. Into the pocket it went.

  A third bottle, filled with what looked like crushed silver leaves suspended in clear oil.

  “The wards will be reinforced,” I hissed under my breath, snatching a coil of thin rope from a shelf. “This won’t happen again.”

  “Right. Because your track record is so fucking stellar.”

  I found a leather water skin and three more travel packs, smaller ones, sized for children. My throat tightened as I imagined Mireth and Eryx wearing them, trudging through unknown forests while I led them toward gods-knew-what.

  But it was better than staying here. Better than waiting for the next monster to find us while Varyth played his political games and hoarded his precious secrets.

  A soft sound from the corridor made me freeze.

  Footsteps. Measured. Deliberate.

  Shit.

  I crammed the last of the supplies into the satchel and eased toward the door, listening. The footsteps were coming closer, unhurried, but purposeful. Someone making rounds. Or someone who knew exactly where they were going.

  I pressed myself against the wall beside the door frame and waited.

  The footsteps paused just outside.

  Breathe, I told myself. Slow. Quiet. Like you’re not here.

  A shadow moved across the gap beneath the door.

  Then the footsteps continued down the hall, fading into distance.

  I counted to thirty before I moved.

  Slipping out of the vault, I eased the door closed behind me and turned the lock with fingers that barely trembled. The hallway stretched empty in both directions, moonlight spilling through tall windows to paint everything in silver and shadow.

  Three more items to find. A map, decent daggers, and a cloak.

  But as I moved deeper into the castle’s heart, a sliver of golden light caught my attention, spilling from beneath a door that stood slightly ajar.

  Voices. Low, urgent, male.

  I pressed myself against the wall and crept closer, pulse hammering in my throat.

  “—growing bolder.” Varyth’s voice, tight with something that might have been worry. “The attack today proves it. Ashterion isn’t content to wait in Nyxaria any longer.”

  “He’s testing us,” Darian replied, and I could hear the exhaustion bleeding through his usual swagger. “Seeing how far he can push before we push back.”

  “No.” Fenric’s was quieter, more controlled. “This wasn’t a test. It was reconnaissance. That thing wasn’t trying to kill her, it was trying to take her.”

  Her. My blood turned to ice.

  “He cannot learn of what we have,” Varyth said, and there was steel in those words. Final. Absolute. “Not until we understand it ourselves.”

  I pressed closer to the crack in the door, straining to hear more.

  “The humans are settling in Edrithas well enough,” Darian was saying. “The children seem⁠—”

  “The children are not the concern.” Varyth snapped. “It’s the mother. She’s... volatile. Unpredictable. And if Ashterion gets his hands on her before we can properly assess what she’s capable of...”

  My stomach dropped. They were talking about me. About my capabilities.

  About whatever the hell was wrong with me that made monsters want to steal me in broad daylight.

  “We move the military outposts closer to the western border,” Varyth continued. “Double the patrols between here and Nyxaria. And someone needs to keep a closer eye on our guests.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Fenric said quietly.

  “See that you do.”

  Footsteps. They were moving.

  I scrambled backward, pressing myself into the shadows of an alcove as the door swung wider. Three figures emerged. Varyth leading, shoulders tense with authority; Darian favouring his wounded arm; Fenric bringing up the rear, those red wings tucked tight against his back.

  They moved down the corridor away from me, their voices fading to murmurs.

  I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore. Then I waited another thirty seconds.

  I slipped through the door they’d left behind.

  The room was clearly Varyth’s study—all dark wood and expensive leather, papers scattered across a massive desk, maps pinned to the walls.

  I moved quickly, quietly, scanning the desk for anything useful.

  Letters. Several of them, written in a flowing fae script I couldn’t understand. But one caught my attention, a map spread beneath a crystal paperweight, marked with what had to be military positions. Red pins scattered along borders, concentrated heavily to the west.

  Nyxaria. Where the Lord of Murder Wolves lived.

  I memorised the layout as best I could, then carefully folded the map and slipped it inside my cloak. West was definitely not the direction to run.

  Another letter lay half-finished on the desk, this one written in script I could actually read.

  Lord Ryleth,

  Your reputation for crafting weapons precedes you. I have need of your services for a project of the utmost discretion

  The letter cut off there, ink still wet on the final word.

  I turned to rifle through the other papers scattered across the desk, searching for anything else that might tell me what I was truly dealing with⁠—

  A throat cleared behind me.

  Every muscle in my body went rigid.

  Slowly, I turned.

  Brynelle stood in the doorframe, arms crossed, those iridescent wings folded neatly behind her back. Her expression was unreadable in the moonlight.

  “Looking for something specific?” she asked, voice silk-smooth and deadly calm. “Or just practicing your burglary skills?”

  I straightened, forcing my shoulders back, trying to look like I belonged here. “Maybe I’m just organising.”

  Brynelle’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “Maybe you’re terrible at lying.”

  The bluff crumbled. I let it.

  “I’m not waiting for another monster to walk through the walls,” I said flatly. “Your precious lord made promises about safety, and this morning my children nearly became wolf food in his secure garden.”

  Brynelle’s expression shifted. “Varyth doesn’t make promises lightly,” she said quietly, stepping into the room. “When he says he’ll protect someone, he means it. He just won’t say why or how.”

  “And if his silence gets my children killed?” The words came out sharper than I intended, edged with all the fear I’d been swallowing since dawn. “What then?”

  For a long moment, she stared at me. As though she was looking at something she recognised.