But if the abductions were part of something bigger than Lord Arkelion’s whims, maybe beyond his control altogether—
Footsteps sounded from the third floor. Her own room. Nearly silent but not quite. Their house was old; the floors creaked.
Remy, she thought, please stay asleep. Please still be safe in your bed.
She unsheathed her dagger, slipped out the door to her mother’s bedroom. She crept past Remy’s closed door and up the stairs to the third-floor landing.
Pressed flat against the wall beside her bedroom door, she waited. The door opened, and a tall figure stepped out into the shadows. Paused. Moved toward the stairs.
A man.
In the moonlight spilling out from her bedroom, she saw his mask of mesh and metal.
Fear punched through her.
The Wolf.
Supposedly, he never showed his face, choosing to always wear a mask. But a madam Eliana knew swore she had once seen the Wolf take it off. He was scarred, she said, as if from the rake of claws.
She said he had eyes like winter—icy cold and pitiless.
Well, then, Eliana thought. We’ll be well matched.
She ran at him, kicked him hard in the small of his back. She expected him to fall down the stairs.
He did not.
He turned, caught her leg, flung her to the landing floor. With her free leg, she kicked his shin, twisted free, and jumped to her feet. He let his gloved fist fly; she ducked, and he hit the wall instead.
That slowed him a bit. She kicked the back of his knee. His leg buckled, but he was fast. He turned and shoved her, hard. She lost her footing and fell down the stairs to the second-floor landing.
The Wolf followed, seized her upper arms, and pushed her over the banister.
She fell two floors to the foyer, landing hard on her back. Her head cracked against the tiled floor, and for a fleeting moment she saw stars. But then she gritted her teeth and jumped to her feet.
The Wolf had hurried down after her, still poised to strike. He’d known that such a fall wouldn’t seriously hurt her—or even kill her—as it might have someone else.
Fresh terror fluttered at the back of her throat. Her skin suddenly felt ill-fitting over her unbreakable bones.
He’d been following her, then. He’d seen her work. Or he had at least heard the rumors of the invincible Dread of Orline and believed them—no matter how ridiculous they seemed. Either way, he was here. He’d caught her out.
Interesting. And worrying.
She dodged his punch at the base of the stairs, whirled and kicked. He grabbed her cloak and yanked her back against him. She elbowed him in the gut, heard him grunt. Pulled Arabeth from her hip, turned, aimed for his heart—
But he was too quick; her dagger hit nothing but air. She staggered, thrown off-balance. He shoved her back against the wall beside the kitchen door. Her head hit brick, and the room dipped and swayed around her.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop Arabeth. He kicked the blade down the hallway, shoved his arm against her neck, pinned her. She grabbed Whistler from her thigh and swiped at him. Not a fatal cut, but he still cursed and released her.
She ripped Tempest from her boot and looked up, ready to strike—
The Wolf held a revolver, its muzzle pointed at her face.
Everything went still.
“Drop the knives.” His voice was low, refined, and cut like ice. “Against the wall. Slowly.”
“That’s cheating,” she fumed. “You brought a gun.” But she obeyed, backing away from him until her shoulders brushed the wooden boards of the wall.
The Wolf followed, his body towering over her. He ripped Nox and Tuora from her belt and pressed Tuora’s blade against her throat, then dropped his gun and kicked it away.
She stared at the blank metal face looming over her, searching for eyes beyond the mesh and finding none.
“Take off your mask,” he ordered.
She did, then fixed him with the hardest smile she could muster.
“Dread,” he murmured, his breath caressing her cheek, “is only a feeling, easily squashed. But wolves, my dear, have teeth.”
7
Rielle
“Beware, beware the Sauvillier smile—
A beautiful moon on a night most vile
It’ll cut you to your bones, it’ll fog the sharpest eyes
So says a man from the river who never tells lies”
—Celdarian traveling song
Rielle surged upright, yanked out of fire-edged dreams into a world of sudden panic.
“Audric,” she croaked. The word scraped her raw throat. He had to be near. If he had died, if he had died— “Hush.” Cool hands brought a cup of water to her lips, helped her drink. “He’s alive and well.”
Rielle blinked, and Ludivine’s face came into focus. She wore her long, golden hair in loose waves. Her pale blue eyes were bright, the only chink in an armor of serenity. With her hair down, her face clean and scrubbed, she could have passed for a girl much younger than nineteen. Nevertheless, she was a high lord’s daughter, a lady of the House Sauvillier, the cousin and betrothed of the crown prince, and Celdaria’s future queen. And even in her dressing gown, she looked every inch the part.
“There you are,” she said, smiling. “For two days you’ve been fading in and out. We’ve only managed to feed you bites, sips of water.” Ludivine’s pale brow furrowed. She gathered Rielle’s hands in her own. “You terrified me, darling.”
“Tell me what happened,” Rielle said, trying to sit up.
Ludivine hesitated. “You should rest.”
But then Rielle remembered how Maliya had collapsed and felt suddenly, violently sick. Ludivine held back the unruly dark mass of her hair and rubbed between her shoulders as she emptied her stomach onto the floor.
One of Ludivine’s maids scurried over to clean the mess, then glanced fearfully up at Rielle. The maid finished cleaning and fled to the sitting room with as much haste as decorum allowed.
Rielle watched her leave. Once she and Ludivine were once again alone, Rielle said, “Tell me.”
“The assassins are dead,” Ludivine said softly. “Fifteen of the racers are dead. We are…uncertain how each of them died, but we are blaming their deaths on the assassins and the circumstances of the race itself.”
Rielle couldn’t meet Ludivine’s eyes. She could hardly stand feeling the reality of her own body’s existence. Fifteen racers dead. Fifteen.
Her blood hummed with the memory of it—the crashing boulders and flaming earth, the fallen racers and their horses’ screams.
She clenched her fists, shut her eyes, counted her breaths. “Lu, I’m sorry.”
“Everyone else is safe,” Ludivine continued. “Tal and his acolytes managed to control the fire before it could spread to the race boxes and the farmlands.”
The fire. Her fire.
Rielle couldn’t even remember how it had started. The entire affair, since seeing the assassins surround Audric, was nothing but a fog of confusion.
Shame gripped her like a hot fist. “I see. I shall have to thank them personally.”
“At the very least,” Ludivine said, but her voice was gentle. “Your horse…”
Rielle made a small, choked sound. She could still feel the poor animal’s flesh blistering at her touch. The assassins had deserved their deaths, but not Maliya, and not the fifteen racers.
She closed her eyes. “Odo will be furious.”
“He is simply glad you’re alive.”
“And Audric?”
Ludivine laid her hand over Rielle’s. “Audric is fine.”
“He’s not hurt?”
“Truly, Rielle. He’s perfectly fine. I should send for him soon. He’s been rather impatient to speak with you.”
Rielle heard the prim note in her friend’s voice. Sometimes she could have sworn Ludivine knew every in and out of her true feelings. “Not yet.” If I see him, I will say something unforgivable. I will say too much. “There’s a lot to explain, and I—”
“Yes, indeed there is. I didn’t know you were an earthshaker, Rielle. And a firebrand as well?”
Rielle stiffened at the deceptive sweetness in Ludivine’s voice. It was a tone rarely used on her. “I am neither of those things.”