21

“Wake the girls and ready the horses while I cover,” Jadon says, standing and drawing his sword. “We need to leave before the rest of the pack comes.”

“We’re not fighting?” I ask.

“Not unless we have to.”

Both Olivia and Philia grouse about being awakened, until they see the white wolf on the other side of the meadow. Both shriek.

The wolf snarls and lopes in our direction.

Hearing that snarl makes our three horses jerk their reins from my hold and bolt, racing east across the meadow and back toward Maford. Pissed, I slap my hand against my thigh, then shout, “Go!” pulling Olivia and Philia to their feet and leading them into the woods.

We all agreed before nightfall to sleep in our clothes for this very reason—to be ready for the worst. Fortunately, both girls kept their shoes on, too. “Go!” I shout again. There’s no time to grab our satchels—I can practically feel the wolf’s breath on my back as we tear through the dark undergrowth. Burs and thistles scrape against our skin while branches tangle in our hair.

Jadon brings up the rear, his hand ready on his weapon.

The land tilts as we run uphill through the woods, and the dark, slippery path of the poplars’ glossy triangular leaves keep us tripping and twisting our ankles. I’m running hard and fast, and sweat bubbles in my hair and across my top lip.

“Faster!” I yell to the girls. My leg muscles cramp after hopping and scooting over gnarled this and ducking and crawling beneath spiraled that.

“We have to go faster!” I urge.

Olivia’s and Philia’s faces show strain and exhaustion. With a glance backward, I read the same on Jadon’s face. But we can’t stop—this wolf certainly hasn’t.

We quicken our pace, slipping now on wet granite and slick roots. But I learn to anticipate these obstacles, and now I no longer slip, not anymore, and I call “jump” and “duck” and “scoot” to the young women behind me. It works until the forest turns from the orderly rows of poplars to tangled willows that soar impossibly high over us.

The foliage is so thick, I can’t see where the path ends until we’re nearly on top of it. We skid to a stop and nearly tumble into the bank of a stream. I throw my hands out to catch Olivia and Philia before they fall into the dazzling silver-blue water that cuts through the earth before us. I try to catch my breath from the running, and I heave lungfuls of thick, swampy air.

“Where are we?” Olivia asks, stumbling behind me, Philia clutching her hand.

“The wolf’s not following us,” Jadon says, catching up but still looking over his shoulder to watch the woods. “Feels like this place is hidden, protected.”

I feel it, too, this muffled sense of magic creating a bubble of peace around us. It makes my skin prickle, though. We don’t know where we are and whose circle of protection we’ve wandered into. What little I’ve seen of magic tells me that not every mage is a friend. I shiver as I scan our surroundings for clues. The air shimmers with color and light, and the sky is too vivid—the wildflowers and grass too perfect. This is a meadow glimpsed in a painting. Not real. Fear clutches my heart like a vise, and I turn a circle to confirm we’re alone. What if this place belongs to Elyn? What if it is her magic I feel? What if that wolf was another creature sent by her and it has successfully chased me right into her trap?

“We need to keep moving,” I say, now deeply uncomfortable and vulnerable standing in this space. “Let’s—”

A distant howl from the woods. The wolf, and it’s still on our trail.

We hurry along the creek until we reach a gleaming dell clear of giant trees and gnarled roots—without those obstacles, a wolf can lope here, speed up to catch its quarry. The air smells of soft, green grass and sweet clover. If there wasn’t a wolf chasing us, I’d think this place would host only happy times. Families spreading picnic blankets, lovers holding hands and kissing, babies learning to walk.

But a growl disrupts this vision—and that growl sounds much closer this time. I spin in a circle, my eyes skirting across the forest to the perimeter of the clearing.

There .

A flash of white muzzle, a wink of a whiter tail.

“Oh no,” Olivia murmurs.

“Girls, stay behind us.” Jadon pushes out a breath, flexing his hand around the sword’s handle. His eyes meet mine. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” I also flex my hands, wind power the only weapon I brought with me and still learning to control it. And now that I’m in danger again, I pray that it works. Muscles bunching and pulse pounding, I clench my fists, prepared to conjure wind.

Jadon and I stand with the girls between us. Another growl—this one deeper and meaner—rumbles from behind us. We spin to face it.

A lesser growl rolls from the shadows at the other edge of the wood.

Three distinct growls.

The original predator has brought friends.

Olivia whimpers. Philia scans the ground, probably searching for something sharp and stabby.

Then we see their eyes: three pairs, silver and sharp, floating in the dark shadows of the forest. And then we smell the sickeningly sweet perfume of decaying meat. The stench of death.

My breath bounces like balls of fire in my chest. But I don’t move, I don’t cower.

Let them come.

The first wolf steps out of the gloom and into the dell. Its bared fangs are so long and so sharp that they could tear me apart on the first chomp. The wolf’s thick coat is brilliant white, and I squint to avoid being blinded by its glare. The beast swaggers, moving like it already knows the ending to our story.

On our right side, a second wolf, bigger and brighter than the first, stalks into the clearing. Another lopes behind him, wearing a lazy smile.

“Breathe, Kai, breathe,” I tell myself, breathless. I lick my lips and taste the salt of my sweat. I try to reach inside me, invoke the buzz of wind power generating through my arms. I even touch my amulet, urging it to come alive, but nothing happens. What did I do before to make the wind? My fingers aren’t burning like they did right before fighting the sunabi and cursuflies.

Not good.

I clench and unclench my fists, willing the heat to come. Please, please, please . My fingers remain cold. Begging doesn’t work. Not a great time for my new power to abandon me.

At least Jadon has his sword. Good old steel. Always ready.

The pack stands around the dell, but they don’t come any closer. They bark and yip, speaking wolf to one another.

I widen my stance and focus on the beast closest to me. A blue lightning bolt zigzags down his snout.

I don’t know which wolf Jadon’s chosen, but I feel the tension wafting from him.

“They don’t stand a chance.” That’s what he’s thinking. “None of you will win this fight. I’ve killed stronger things — and I’ll kill these things, too.”

This time, I’m glad I’m listening to his thoughts, and I let his confidence drown out the fearful thoughts of the young women between us.

“I’m gonna die.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I don’t wanna die.”

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I didn’t fall from the sky and run naked through a town to be defeated by a pack of wolves. Like Jadon, I’ve killed stronger things: cursuflies, sunabi, and Narder the jailer. I refuse to be defeated by a pack of dogs . They should’ve chased another group of people because they’re about to get their asses kicked. I pump my fingers again, trying to generate the wind my hands hold. Nothing happens.

Shit-shit-shit .

“Don’t do this, boys,” I whisper now to the wolves. “We’re leaving this forest, okay? If you wanna walk out of here alive, you should back away right now.”

Olivia’s thoughts skitter through mine. “Why the fuck is she talking to them? Kill them!”

The creature with the blue zigzag stares at me with gleaming silver eyes, then looks at his two watchful brothers. There’s agreement there, and he approaches me, slow, intentional. One of his brothers heads to our right and the other to our left.

As he nears, his scent of sweet decay fills my nose. His nostrils flare, too—he smells me. Sweat, soot, and honeycakes.

“Stop waiting,” I growl, beckoning him to come for me. “Let’s do it.”

As if he understands me, Zigzag stops pacing and lowers his snout to the ground. A growl grows in his throat. Then he leaps.

Olivia shrieks and drops into a tight ball. Philia drops and grabs a handful of rocks.

I sidestep, bend my leg, pull up my knee, and kick the creature’s thigh.

Caught off guard by the attack, the wolf lands with a thump, shakes its head, then looks back at me, teeth bared.

“Surprise,” I say, smiling. “I’m that bitch.” I plant my feet even firmer this time.

Zigzag paces and recalibrates.

“You all right?” Jadon asks over his shoulder. He’s pacing, too, keeping his eyes on the other two stone-still wolves.

“Sure am,” I say, eyes locked on Zigzag.

The wolf sinks low to the ground.

I sink even lower.

Zigzag bounds forward.

I roll to my left.

Zigzag pivots and swipes his paw.

I shriek as his claws scrape my leg, tearing through my leather breeches and scouring flesh. Blood— my blood —twinkles against my skin like those falling stars, the cool air making the scrape sting even more. Pain—so much pain rages inside me that I gag.

“Kai, come closer,” Jadon says, alarm in his voice.

“No.” I can’t. The girls are closer to him than to me . I need to draw Zigzag farther away. I press my hand against the wound. I’m confident the cut is not so deep that I’ll die from blood loss. But I am having trouble putting weight on the leg.

Zigzag yips, celebrating my pain.

Another wolf takes this moment to ram into Jadon, hitting him right in the gut and launching him into the air. The wolf simply watches as he thumps hard on the ground.

Jadon rises, then groans as he spits out dirt, grass, and pine needles. He touches his forehead and, without even looking at his fingers, winces as blood seeps from the new gash in his skin. He’s standing, though.

I try to catch his eyes to make sure he’s okay.

“Kai, watch out!” Olivia yells.

But Zigzag’s paw has already slapped at my forehead, bringing me back to the fight.

I roll away from the wolf before he swipes again. My leg—and now the left side of my face—burst with pain.

Zigzag growls and slaps at me a third time.

And I roll away again. A bead of blood plops from my brow onto my eyelashes, and now I’m seeing red.

My hands burn, but that’s not because they’re ready to whip wind. They burn because I’m using them to roll, to push up and roll some more. Please come. Now, sweet wind. Please come. Anger more than fear starts to bubble deep inside me.

The third wolf howls, tired of watching his breakfast roll around in the meadow. By the way my limbs are tiring, though, his breakfast won’t be fighting much longer.

Jadon, sword in hand, grapples with the second wolf.

A rock hits the side of Zigzag’s head, and both the beast and I turn to see Philia and Olivia throwing stones. The wolf snarls in their direction, giving me enough time to grab a jagged stick from the dirt. This twig feels small and insignificant in my hand, and I feel as small and insignificant as the twig.

I am just a mosquito—a woman with no flag, no power, no sword, no armor.

Zigzag lifts his head and howls to the nightstar.

The other wolves lift their heads and throw their howls to the nightstar, too. Are they reveling in this hunt?

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, dread’s icy fingers scraping my spine.

No. Something else is happening. Something far more terrible than howls. The wolves’ hair is turning grayer and redder.

“Kai,” Jadon murmurs, “do you see this?”

The wolves’ front legs have become muscled arms. Their torsos lengthen as they rear back onto two legs, and then the wolves… stand on two feet.