Gavriel and Elide had moved to where Fenrys lay, the battlefield healing the former had done on the warrior likely not enough to keep death at bay.
Gavriel said to no one in particular, “He doesn’t have much longer.”
He’d broken the blood oath. Through sheer will, Fenrys had broken it. And would soon pay the price when his life force bled out entirely.
Aelin’s gaze shifted then. From her hands, her horrifically pristine skin, to the wolf across the clearing.
She blinked twice. And then slowly rose.
Unaware or uncaring of her nakedness, she took an unsteady step. Rowan was instantly there—or as close as the flames would allow.
He could push through, shielding himself in ice or simply by cutting off the air that fed her flames. But to cross that line, to shove into her flames when so much, too much, had been stolen from her … He didn’t let himself think about the distant, wary recognition on her face when she’d seen him—seen all of them. As if she wasn’t entirely certain to trust them. Trust this.
Aelin managed another step, teetering.
He glimpsed her neck as she passed. Even the twin bite marks, his mark of claiming, had vanished.
Encased in flame, Aelin walked to Fenrys. The white wolf did not stir.
Sorrow softened her face, even with that quiet distance. Sorrow, and gratitude.
Gavriel and Elide remained on Fenrys’s other side as she approached. Backed away a step. Not from fear, but to give her space in this moment of farewell.
They had to go. Lingering here, despite the miles between them and the camp, was folly. They could carry Fenrys until it was over, but … Rowan couldn’t bring himself to say it. To tell Aelin that it might not be wise to draw out this good-bye the way she needed. They had minutes, at best, to spare before they had to be on the move.
But if scouts or sentries found them, he’d make sure they didn’t get close enough to disturb her.
Gavriel and Lorcan seemed to be having the same thought, their eyes meeting from across the clearing. Rowan jerked his chin toward the western tree line in silent order. They stalked for it.
Aelin knelt beside Fenrys, and her flame enveloped them both. The fire gave way to a reddish-gold aura, a shield that he knew would melt the flesh of anyone who tried to cross. It flowed and rippled around them, a bubble of coppery air, and through it, Rowan watched as she ran a hand down the wolf’s battered side.
Gavriel had healed most of the wounds, but the blood remained.
Aelin made long, gentle strokes over his fur, her head angled as she spoke too softly for Rowan to hear.
Slowly, painfully, Fenrys cracked open an eye. Agony filled it—agony and yet something like relief, and joy, at the sight of her bare face. And exhaustion. Such exhaustion that Rowan knew death would be a welcome embrace, a kiss from Silba herself, goddess of gentle ends.
Aelin spoke again, the sound either contained or swallowed by her shield. No tears. Only that sorrow—and clarity.
A queen’s face, he realized as Lorcan and Gavriel took up spots along the glen’s border. It was a queen’s face that looked upon Fenrys. A queen who took his massive paw in her hands, pushing back folds of fur and skin to unsheathe a curved claw.
She slid it over her bare forearm, splitting skin. Leaving blood in its wake.
Rowan’s breath caught. Gavriel and Lorcan whirled toward them.
Aelin spoke again, and Fenrys blinked once in answer.
She deemed that answer enough.
“Holy gods,” Lorcan breathed as Aelin extended her bleeding forearm to Fenrys’s mouth. “Holy rutting gods.”
For Fenrys’s loyalty, for his sacrifice, there was no greater reward she could offer. To keep him from death, there was no other way to save him.
Only this. Only the blood oath.
And as Fenrys managed to lap the blood from her wound, as he swore a silent vow to their queen, blinking a few more times, Rowan’s chest became unbearably tight.
Severing the blood oath to one queen had snapped his life force, his soul. Swearing the blood oath to another might very well repair that cleaving, the ancient magic binding Fenrys’s fading life to Aelin’s.
Three mouthfuls. That’s all Fenrys took before he laid his head back on the moss and closed his eyes.
Aelin curled on her side next to him, flames encompassing them both.
Rowan couldn’t move. None of them moved.
Aelin mouthed a short, curt word.
Fenrys did not respond.
She spoke again, that queen’s face unfaltering.
Live.
She’d use the blood oath to force him to remain on this side of life. Still Fenrys didn’t stir.
Across the bubble of flame and heat, Elide put a hand over her mouth, eyes shining bright. She’d read the word on Aelin’s lips, too.
Aelin spoke a third time, teeth flashing as she gave Fenrys her first order. Live.
Rowan didn’t breathe as they waited. Long minutes passed.
Then Fenrys’s eyes cracked open.
Aelin held the wolf’s gaze, nothing in her face save that grave, unyielding command.
Slowly, Fenrys stirred. His paws shifted beneath him, legs straining. And he rose.
“I don’t believe it,” Lorcan whispered. “I don’t …”
But there was Fenrys, standing before their now-kneeling queen. And there was Fenrys, inclining his head, shoulders dipping with him, one paw sweeping before the other. Bowing.
A ghost of a smile graced her mouth, gone before it ever took form.
Aelin remained kneeling, though. Even as Fenrys surveyed them, surprise and relief lighting his dark eyes. His gaze met Rowan’s, and Rowan smiled, bowing his head.
“Welcome to the court, pup,” he said, his voice thick.
Raw emotion rippled across that lupine face, and then Fenrys turned back to Aelin.
She was staring at nothing. Fenrys nudged her shoulder with his furry head.
She ran an idle hand through the wolf’s white coat. Rowan’s heart clenched.
Maeve had cleaved into Rowan’s own mind to trick his very instincts.
What had she done to her? What had she done these months?
“We need to go,” Gavriel said, his own voice thick as he took in Fenrys, standing proud and watchful beside Aelin. “We need to put distance between us and the camp, and find somewhere to halt for the night.” Where they’d reassess how and where to leave this kingdom. Heading into the forest, toward the mountains, would be their best bet. These trees offered plenty of coverage, and plenty of caves in which to hide.
“Can you walk?” Lorcan asked Fenrys.
Fenrys slid dark, baleful eyes to Lorcan.
Oh, that fight would come. That vengeance.
The wolf gave him a curt nod.
Elide reached for one of the packs stashed near the base of a tree. “Which way?”
But Rowan didn’t get to answer.
Silent as wraiths, they appeared across the glen. As if they’d simply sparked into existence in the shade of the foliage.
Little bodies, some pale, some black as night, some scaled. Mostly concealed, save for spindly fingers and wide, unblinking eyes.
Elide gasped. “The Little Folk.”
Elide hadn’t seen a whisper of the Little Folk since the days before Terrasen fell. Then, it had been flashes and rustling within Oakwald’s ancient shade. Never so many, never so openly.
Or as open as they would ever allow themselves to be.
