Chapter 4 | Cora

Chapter 4

Cora

E pona let out a soft nicker as they made their way through the trees. There didn’t seem to be any paths to follow, and the pouring rain and thick mud had hidden any signs of human presence.

Something rustled in the bushes. With Bran’s stories of wild wolf-men fresh in her mind, Cora pulled the horse to a stop as she scanned the foliage for danger. For a moment, there was nothing but quiet. Then a little red fox ran in front of them, his bushy tail a bright beacon in the dimming daylight, and Cora laughed at herself, shaking her head at her fear. Bran was wrong. He had to be. Cillian Fane was a man and nothing but a man. Whatever he’d done to make people like poor Bran believe he was anything more—well, it was all rubbish and stories.

His men were only men. Men who’d benefited from the fear their reputations had brought them, no doubt. After all, poor villagers and stable hands knew little of the outside world and were quick to believe in magic and the like to explain what they didn’t understand. Cora told herself that the only wolves in these woods were the kind her father hunted every winter. Thin, mangy, mean things that went after sheep and whose pelts fetched a decent price at the market.

There was nothing else. There were no magical men who walked about in wolf skins here. They were men. Dangerous men, certainly. Men she’d have to convince of her worth to make her plan work.

But men all the same.

She repeated the words until they matched the beat of her horse's hooves in her mind. She continued to watch the trees but forced herself to ignore any other rustling sounds. If it were Fane or his men, she wouldn’t let their first impression of her be a trembling, fainting maiden who started at every noise.

It was difficult to navigate in the fading light. The few details she’d overheard from her father and his steward hadn’t been completely clear, but she finally spotted a bright spot in the distance—a fire.

The wolf-men’s encampment. It had to be. They’d been a few hours’ ride from her home the whole time! Anger burned in her heart. She remembered her father's attempt to help their people. He’d been so desperate, he’d asked for Fane’s help—offered to pay him, even—but the dirty criminal had refused!

Cora slowed her mount as she pulled in a deep breath to steady herself. She’d have to be calm. Controlled. If she wanted to earn Fane's respect, she couldn’t be an ordinary lord's daughter. She’d have to be someone else. Thoughts of Boudica, the warrior queen, straightened her in the saddle. She might not be a queen or a warrior, but she could be strong.

The firelight grew brighter as she approached. Cora gasped when two men seemed to materialize out of the shadows. They carried no torches but moved through the early evening gloom as though it were daylight. When one met her eyes, his own seemed far too bright in the low light.

“Ye must be lost, little lass,” one rumbled.

He was a large man with a thick neck and a full, dark beard. When he grinned, Cora noticed more than a few missing teeth. She sat up straight in the saddle and tilted her nose into the air. “I am not lost, Sir. I’m here to see Master Fane on urgent business.”

The other man, much thinner and frail-looking than his friend, laughed sharply. “Oh, business, is it? And just what kind of business might a beauty like yourself have with Old Fane? I might have a bit of business with you myself if that’s what you’re calling it!”

Cora scowled at the man’s insinuation but had no chance to respond before the first man reached over and walloped the other upside the head. “Mind your tongue, Thom. Know you were born in a gutter somewhere, but even you can tell the difference between a lady and a whore, can’t you?”

Cora looked back and forth between the two men. Vulgar as they were, these two were clearly the gatekeepers to Fane’s camp. She’d have to get through them to find him. She cleared her throat and waited until the two men looked up. “Good Sirs, please. I’m here to see Cillian Fane. Please take me to him.”

The men cackled, their laughter rough and grating like stone. The smaller one—Thom—grinned and said, “You’ll find no sirs here, lass. No highborn dandies for your manners. Only us beasties here.”

Cora thought again of Bran’s stories and allowed herself a moment of nervous fear before shoving it away. These were rough men—soldiers and criminals. Nothing more.

They only meant to frighten her, and if she flinched like a frightened rabbit, they’d assume their assumptions about her to be right.

She straightened her back, sat tall in the saddle, and looked them straight in the eyes. “Well, Sir, I am no beast. And I’ve traveled too far to be made a joke by wildling watchmen. Either take me to Cillian Fane or let me pass so I may find him myself.”

The smile the large guard gave her was strange, full of teeth and insolence. He bowed—too deep and meant as a jest—and said, “As you wish, my lady. But don’t say we didn’t warn you, aye?”

Cora stiffened, then asked, “What do you mean by that?”

The guard glanced up the hill toward the group of tents—the largest of which sat right in the center of the camp. “Fane don’t take kindly to strangers. Takes even less kindly to them what show up unannounced at nightfall. So we’ll take you to him as you ask, lady, but we make no promises about how he’ll receive you.”

The men cackled at their own humor before beckoning her deeper into the camp. Cora remained on her horse, thinking it wise to have any high ground she could manage, even if it was only the physical high ground of Epona. They passed dozens of men—more men than she’d expected. Dressed in rough-spun tunics and animal skins, they appeared just as wild as Bran’s stories. They gathered in groups around small fires hung with roasting meat and large pots of stew, but most looked like it’d been some time since their last decent meal.

The men watched her as she passed. Dozens of eyes seemed to track her every movement, and Cora forced herself to remain straight and tall in her saddle. She refused to meet their eyes. Instead, she fixed hers on the large tent ahead. A large fire roared in front of it, and it was clearly the focal point of the entire camp. Three times the size of any other tent, the rough fabric had seen better days. Large pelts covered thinner areas of cloth, and it was evident that the poles supporting the structure were freshly cut. It suggested that Fane hadn’t been there long and likely didn’t intend to stay long either.

She’d have to change that.

She had to.

Failure wasn’t an option if her people were to be saved.

Despite her resolve to remain calm, her heart raced as they approached the tent. She dismounted, ignoring the way her guides looked her up and down. She was a head shorter than even Thom. As they passed the large fire, Thom promised to guard Epona while his companion led her into the tent.

A group of men were crowded around a large table in the center of the tent. Small braziers lit the area, placed well away from anything that might catch fire. While not as bright as the halls of her home at night, it was more than enough to make out the features of the group before her. Most had long hair and beards that likely hadn’t seen a comb in years. Like the men outside, they were dressed in rough linen clothing and well-worn leather boots, but unlike the others, the pelts around their shoulders were thick and well-kept. The skins were secured with a golden pin over their heart, and Cora wondered idly if they’d had to hunt the beasts themselves.

At first, they didn’t seem to notice her. They argued back and forth around the table, gesturing to things on the map that she couldn’t see. After a few moments, the guard cleared his throat and called out, “Fane! Someone to see you, Sir!”

The room went quiet, and the crowd around the table parted like Moses himself had split them down the middle. They all stared at her, but Cora didn’t bother to notice any of them. Her only concern was the man across the table. He stood out from the rest, the thick wolf's skin around his shoulders blending into his own wild, ebony hair, making it hard to separate man from beast. His beard was longer than a proper gentleman might wear, but somehow it suited him.

He’d been leaning against the table when she’d entered, and when he straightened to his full height, he towered over the other men in the room. Her father had once told her that a genuine leader was always easy to pick out. There was something about the way they held themselves, and it was always noticeable across a room.

Cillian Fane held himself with all the dignity of a king despite his surroundings. He looked her up and down, and Cora couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. Most likely, he was not as struck by her presence as she was by his unless he found some sort of wonder in short, audacious women.

Cora had pictured their conversation beginning in many different ways. She’d imagined scenarios where she’d barged in, shameless and proud, and demanded his compliance. She’d also had just as many imaginings where he’d laughed her out of his tent and back to her home. She couldn’t have said which version she thought to be more likely. Still, when he finally spoke, it was nothing she’d even thought to expect.

“Are you lost, Lass?”

Cora refrained from snorting disdainfully at the idea that she’d simply wandered into his camp. Fane might rule over a pack of heathens, but she needed those heathens, and treating him with disrespect would get her nowhere.

“I’m not simple, My Lord, and neither is my horse. I know very well who you are and where I am. My name is Cora Kilkenny of the Ossory Kilkennys. My Father is Fergus Kilkenny, the lord of the lands you’ve so boldly settled on. The man you so cruelly denied your aid.”

Cillian Fane might as well have been a statue for all the reaction he had to her introduction. A single heavy brow arched, but the rest of his face remained impassive.

“And you’ve some thoughts on this matter, have you, Lady Kilkenny?”

His tone was cool but still somehow gave the impression that she’d amused him. Cora fought the urge to smooth her dress or adjust her cloak. It was difficult to stand still in front of him. She wondered if he knew.

“Aye, I do. As I’m sure you know, Edwin of England has declared an intent to cross the channel and take this land. The lords of these lands will defend themselves as best they can, but they are divided. Ossory will need help if the English attack again. There’s no mistaking that. We’re a sizable kingdom, but we’re no match for King Edwin’s forces should he cross the sea between us. Your men are the best, and you’ve sold your services before. I’m sure my father’s offer was generous. Why would you deny us?”

Fane listened patiently, not interrupting as she’d thought he might. Instead, he stared, watching her as though he could see her thoughts through her eyes. Like his guardsmen, Fane’s eyes seemed too bright for the low firelight, and he’d fixed them on her in what could only be called a predatory manner. It reminded her of a wolf in the woods as it cornered a rabbit. His eyes were an uncommonly bright shade of blue; in other circumstances, she might have called them lovely. As it was, it was hard to look at him and not feel like prey.

Finally, he blinked. “My men aren’t common whores to be sold off to every man with coin, Lady Kilkenny.”

Cora blushed at the vulgar term but said nothing.

“They’re warriors. The best, as you so kindly noted. And aye, we have accepted payment for some of those battles. All of them, point of fact. But you’re mistaken if you think that I’m under obligation to accept any fool’s money in return for my blood.”

He paused, shrugged his great shoulders, and said, “Your father’s offering was insufficient. Simple as that. So I wonder why his daughter finds herself in my camp—alone—so late at night. Is your hope to offer something else? Something he didn’t?”

Cora lifted her chin defiantly and asked, “What would it take? What do you want, if not our coin?”

She knew what he could ask.

Sheltered as she’d been, she wasn’t na?ve. She knew, in all reality, that if he tried to take that in the middle of the floor of this room, no one would stop him.

It was a risk she’d accepted when she’d entered the camp.

It was also why she had a small blade hidden in her skirts. Cora had no intention of being any man’s easy prey, least of all The Wolf King’s.

Fane shook his head and smiled. It was a stiff smile, and it only made her more nervous.

“That’s not what I asked, Lady Kilkenny. You’ve come here—entered my home—to change my mind. You must have considered what you’d bargain with. Tell me what you’ve brought to my table. Or did you mean for my men to die for charity?”

Not for the first time, Cora wondered if she’d been a fool. She’d let her pride and her love for her father lead her into a situation where she had no true power. Despite having only one thing to offer, she’d marched in with confidence, as though her victory was certain.

And if he didn’t want it? If he didn’t want the only thing she had to give? Where would she be then? She’d wandered into a wolf’s den. Had she really expected him to let her waltz in and out?

Low murmurs broke out around her. She’d delayed too long. “I—” she started, faltered, and started again, raising her voice over the others. “I offer an alliance with the Kilkenny family.”

The murmurs turned to chuckles.

Cillian Fane’s wintry smile turned sharp and mocking. “Is that right? By whose authority do you bring this offer, Lady? Surely not your father. Unless Fergus has taken to inviting women to sit on his war councils?”

Cora clenched her fists, forcing her anger aside. He expected an over-emotional female. If there was any hope of gaining his compliance—and his respect—she’d have to remain calm.

“By my own authority. I offer an alliance through marriage.”

There was a moment of tense silence before all hell broke loose within the tent. The room exploded into a cacophony of overlapping voices. One voice rose above them all.

“ENOUGH! Out! The lot of you!”

The men obeyed, their murmurs following them out the door. One man, a giant with long, golden hair, stayed behind long enough to whisper something in Fane’s ear. He nodded, and the man left without another word.

Then they were alone, the silence almost deafening without all the noise. What had seemed such a small, crowded space suddenly felt as enormous as her father’s great hall. Fane stood behind the large map table, and the separation felt significant somehow.

Cora shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. She’d made her offer. To say more before he responded would only weaken her position.

Finally, he spoke. “I asked you before, Lass, and I’m not yet convinced of the answer. Do you know where you are? Do you know who it is you’ve offered yourself up to, like the saintly lamb you are?”

Cora scoffed. “I am no lamb, Master Fane. I’m a grown woman and well aware of your reputation. But the fact remains that—”

“And what reputation is that?” he asked. “Tell me, Lady Kilkenny, what have you heard?”

Fane rounded the table, slowly stalking toward her. Cora’s words caught in her throat as he approached, crowding her space. In the low light, he seemed inhuman. The wolf's pelt around his shoulders made him seem larger and wilder than he was, and the way he surrounded her left her feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Still, she refused to take a step back.

“Some say you and your men were blessed—or cursed—by the old gods. That none can best you in battle. That you fight like—” she paused, remembering Bran’s stories.

Fane leaned in, so close now that his breath warmed her cheek.

“Like what, Lass? What do they say?”

Every second in Fane’s presence left her more ill at ease. Cora didn’t understand why he insisted on this line of questioning, but it made her uncomfortable.

She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat and said, “Like a pack of wild wolves. They say that you become beasts on the battlefield—as wild and fierce as the wolves themselves.”

Fane’s lips tilted into a mysterious smile. “And what do you think of that, knowing you’ve offered yourself to the King of the Wolves?”

Cora leaned closer, but only a little. They were already indecently close.

“I think ,” she hissed, “that you need this alliance, Master Fane. You may be fierce, but without the support of the surrounding kingdoms, you and your wildlings will be treated as nothing but nomadic mercenaries at best. Criminals and brigands at worst. When they don’t need you, they’ll hunt you, Wolf King, and hang your pelt with all of their other trophies.”

Fane said nothing, but this close, Cora could see the way the muscles in his jaw ticked. The low creak just below her vision was undoubtedly him clenching his fists in his thick leather gloves. Still, she pressed on.

“With me at your side, with my father’s name behind you, you gain legitimacy. Honor. You want payment for your services? Men— kings —will offer you your weight in gold if they feel they can trust your name. As for me, well...”

She dared to lean forward a hairsbreadth more—so close that she could feel his breath on her face. “I told you I’m not a lamb, and I’m hardly afraid of wolf stories.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Neither spoke, and he remained so close that Cora entertained the wild idea that he might kiss her. It was a dangerous thought, but she couldn’t help but wonder what his beard would feel like against her cheek.

Cora stepped back. Though her heart beat like a drum behind her ribs and her cheeks warmed at her thoughts about the man before her, she couldn’t afford to show any weakness. When warmth spread unexpectedly below her belly, she had the sneaking suspicion that he could make her very weak indeed.

A mysterious smile spread across Fane’s face until his teeth showed. If they seemed sharper than they ought to be, she blamed it on the low light.

“The thing about stories, Cora Kilkenny, is that sometimes they turn out to be true.”

Before she could ask what he meant, Fane unclasped the pin securing the wolf skin around his shoulders. She watched, awestruck, as he set the pelt aside on the table and boldly pulled his shirt over his head. Then, despite her indignant screech, he reached down and tugged his boots off his feet!

He stood before her, bare but for his trousers, and grinned. As she searched for words, he picked the skin up from the table and readjusted the thick, black fur, tugging a piece up to rest on his head.

She opened her mouth to question him, but her words died halfway out of her mouth. Without warning, Fane groaned, twitching as though he were in pain. The fur over his head spread, stretching over his limbs. Cora’s eyes widened in horror as she watched him change...into something else.

Bones popped, and skin seemed to melt into dark, thick fur. Muscles stretched, and limbs shifted until they were longer and larger than before. Through it all, Fane’s groans and snarls grew deeper, rougher, and more animalistic.

It seemed to take ages and no time at all. When it was over, Cillian Fane was gone. In his place stood a beast with fangs, claws, and bright, cobalt eyes. It was the largest wolf she’d ever seen.

Cora blinked once. Twice. As though closing her eyes would erase what she’d seen.

But it didn’t.

No matter how many times she closed her eyes, the wolf was still there when she opened them. Everything seemed to have frozen, but then the wolf unexpectedly rose up on its hind legs as though it were a man. Fully upright, the wolf was taller than even the largest warrior in her father’s company. Its shoulders were broad and powerful, leading down to long, thick arms tipped with wickedly sharp claws.

Before she could take in more, the beast took a step toward her.

Fear flooded her body. Primal instinct demanded that she run from the predator in front of her before he caught her, and she obeyed.

She didn’t make it very far.

She’d no sooner burst through the flaps of the tent and out into the camp than a pair of arms caught her around the middle. Panic overtook reason as she struggled against her captor.

“Let me go!” she shrieked.

Cora thrashed and kicked as hard as she could, but it did her no good. The iron-like arms held firm.

“Release me! Please, it’s coming!”

The tent flap fluttered, and then it was there.

Cillian Fane. The wolf creature.

Her heart pounded as it made its way toward her. She knew she would die now and wished she’d kissed her father before she’d gone.

In what she knew would be her last moments before she’d be thrown to the giant beast, she dared to look into its eyes.

Blue.

Uncommonly blue, just like—

“Peace, Lady. You’re in no danger here.”

The man behind her spoke in a soft and unexpected tone, almost too quiet to hear over the sound of her own heartbeat. She might have believed him, except that the wolf creature suddenly snarled and bared its teeth.

There was nothing but darkness after that.