The wind had teeth. Northern wind always did. It bit through cloak and collar like a starving beast, and Aedric had been cursing it under his breath for the last two miles.
He shifted in the saddle again, already sore.
"Goddess, do all your roads go uphill?"
From ahead, Rell didn't turn. "What road?"
He blinked, glancing at the narrow trail half-swallowed by weeds and thorns.
"This is a road," he said flatly.
She grunted. "Then you're worse off than I thought."
He muttered something unprincely under his breath and urged his horse forward. The beast gave him a look of long-suffering dignity, clearly regretting ever being saddled by a southerner.
"So what's the plan?" Aedric called up. "We just ride into the woods and hope she waves from behind a tree?"
Rell's reply was clipped. "We find the place she vanished. Then I track. You stay out of the way."
"Charming. And what do you think I'm doing here, exactly?"
"Making the air warmer with all your talking."
He laughed, dry and sharp. "You think I'm soft."
She finally turned in the saddle, expression like chiseled ice. "I know you are. You smell like city glass and politics."
"That's not a smell."
"It is up here."
Later, when they camp, Aedric was trying to light a fire with flint and steel. Emphasis on trying. The flint slipped again, nearly scraping his thumb.
Rell sat on a log nearby, skinning a rabbit with unbothered efficiency. She hadn't offered him one. She probably caught it with her bare hands.
"You're holding it like a fork."
"I know how to light a fire."
"Clearly."
He finally got a spark, and the kindling caught. He leaned back triumphantly.
"See? All this northern gloom just needed a bit of southern charm."
"The rabbit is smarter than you."
He turned his head toward her. "That's a strong statement for something whose intestines are currently in your lap."
She didn't smile, but her eyes flicked with amusement. Just for a second.
In the late Afternoon they approached Frostvine Ridge. The trees grew denser, older, and the air colder. The trail narrowed, and the sky began to darken too fast for comfort.
Rell dismounted first, eyes scanning the gnarled tree line. "This is where her last raven came from. Past this point, the forest shifts. Harder to track. I have a wrong-feeling about this place."
Aedric remained on his horse a moment longer, not because he wanted to but because his thighs were sore and he wasn't ready to admit it.
"Define wrong-feeling," he said, sliding off with a muffled groan.
"Like the woods remember what bled here."
"Oh good," he muttered. "Cheerful."
She led them off the path, boots silent and he followed. Aedric snarled as he stumbled over a root for the third time.
"Does the north ever not smell like wet stone and frostbite?"
Rell didn't look back. "Careful, princeling. The trees might take offense. Or worse, start talking."
Aedric muttered, "That'd be the most conversation I've had today."
She stopped suddenly. He nearly ran into her.
"You breathe loud," she said flatly. "Do they not teach stealth in the south? Or are you too busy learning ballroom footwork?"
He rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask for a glorified tree spirit as a guide."
She bared a grin, all teeth. "You did ask to find a warrior who walked into cursed woods alone. That means following me. Quietly. Or stay here and chat with the ravens."
Before he could retort, her hand shot out, halt.
The woods had gone still.
Aedric shifted first, the transformation rippling over him in a shimmer of dark fur and silver eyes. Rell followed suit, her wolf lean, pale, and quick as wind slicing through the trees.
They padded forward, side by side now, silent.
A branch cracked far ahead, too heavy for a deer. Aedric growled low in his throat.
Something was watching. And it wasn't afraid of Lycans.
Rell glanced at him, eyes sharp. "You still think this is just a rescue mission?"
Aedric didn't answer. But his claws flexed.
They'd been tracking the scent for over an hour. Rell moved like ice over stone, silent and sharp-eyed. Aedric, on the other hand, growled under his breath every time a thorn snagged his cloak.
"This is madness," he muttered. "You're sure this is her trail?"
Rell didn't turn. "I'm sure you've never tracked anything more dangerous than a parade route."
Before he could retort, the wind shifted and something hit them hard.
A black shape exploded from the trees, slamming Aedric onto his back. Snarling. Too strong. Too fast. Her eyes glowed red. Her coat should've been silver, but it crawled with tendrils of shadow.
Rell shifted mid-leap, her wolf form slamming into the attacker. Aedric rolled, shifted, his beast roaring to the surface. The fight was brutal, claws and teeth.
But Rell didn't attack to kill. She dodged. Ducked. Pinned.
"It's her!" Rell snapped, panting through her teeth. "It's Eira."
Aedric froze. His claws were inches from her throat. The corrupted wolf panted beneath him, eyes wild, foam and shadow dripping from her muzzle but when he looked closer, he saw it. A braid of copper fur at her throat.
His wolf stilled.
"She's still in there," Rell whispered. "We don't kill our own."
Aedric stood slowly, breath ragged. Rell stepped in, shifted back, then pressed a vial of silver-laced tranquilizer against Eira's skin. The corrupted Warden slumped, unconscious.
The forest went quiet again.
They set up camp for the night.
Aedric dropped the last bundle of kindling like it had personally offended him. "Why are we doing this again? She tried to eat my face."
Rell didn't even glance up from where she was sharpening a blade with unnecessarily aggressive strokes. "And yet your face lives on. A tragedy, truly."
"She lunged at me like a feral bear."
"She's a Warden of the North. We're known for our hospitality."
Aedric pointed a gloved hand at the unconscious Eira. "That's not hospitality. That's attempted murder with extra teeth."
"She was confused."
Aedric flopped down by the fire and muttered, "Storms take me, I should've brought Kael. At least he only glares."
Rell tossed him a strip of dried meat. "Eat. You're cranky when you're hungry."
He sniffed it, suspicious. "What is this?"
"Don't ask."
He took a bite anyway, then gagged dramatically. "Gods, it's like chewing a boot soaked in regret."
"That's how you know it's northern."
As they bickered, Eira stirred. She groaned, shifted, and let out a wet snore.
They both froze.
"She's alive," Aedric said flatly.
"Congratulations," Rell replied. "You didn't kill her."
"Are we sure that's good news?"
Eira shifted again, face scrunched, muttering something about "shadows... teeth... socks?"
Aedric leaned in, frowning. "Did she just say socks?"
Rell stood. "We'll keep watch in turns. If she wakes up feral again, aim for her legs. I like a challenge."
"I'm not tranquilizing a girl with my teeth, Rell."
"Then aim faster next time."
A beat passed.
Aedric rubbed his face. "This is the worst diplomatic mission in history."
Rell smiled sweetly. "And we haven't even reached the temple yet."
They returned with Eira at dusk. She walked beside them, slower than before, but upright. She bore no wounds, at least none the eye could see. The hall fell silent when she entered.
Maelor stood from the throne.
"Warden," he said. She did not respond, he motioned to some guards. "Take her to the seers."
Maelor looked past her, gaze settling on Aedric.
"You found her."
Aedric nodded.
He turned to the hall. "We speak of alliance tomorrow."
Eira sat on the edge of the cot, jaw clenched, eyes distant. Her fingers twitched now and then, as if still holding a weapon or trying to.
A healer hovered nearby, wringing his hands as he spoke to the king. "There's no wound to stitch. No poison we can trace. Her body is whole."
"She has been infected with dark magic," a seer cut in sharply, her voice like wind through dead leaves. "It clings to her spirit, not her flesh."
King Maelor's gaze didn't waver. "Can it be purged?"
"There is a way," the seer said softly. "A ritual. Ancient. Dangerous. Forgotten by most. It is called the Severance."
The healer recoiled slightly.
"It demands Moonfire," the seer went on. "A sacred flame that does not burn flesh, but shadow. Only it can sever the threads of this kind of magic without killing the host."
"Moonfire?" Aedric asked. "That doesn't exist. Not anymore."
The seer opened her eyes, cloudy but gleaming with certainty. "It does. Hidden, dormant. Waiting."
Maelor narrowed his gaze. "How do we summon it?"
The seer turned slowly toward him. "You do not. It must be summoned by one of the blood. The flame answers only to the heir of the Moonguard."
Silence fell like snowfall.
"Only she can call the Moonfire and direct it without destruction," the seer said. "The rite must be done under moonlight. On sacred ground. If she succeeds… Eira may live."
King Maelor's jaw clenched. "Then we are at a dead end. There is no heir. The Moonguard line was broken. Burned from the roots."
The seer did not flinch. Her voice cut through the doubt like silver through smoke.
"The heir has risen."
Maelor's eyes narrowed. "Impossible."
"She lives," the seer said, her gaze steady and strange. "Hidden by fate. The Moonfire stirs for her. She is in Vargorath."
"Are you certain?" the king asked quietly.
The seer placed her palm over Eira's heart. "As certain as I am that this girl yet draws breath only because the Moon Goddess wills it."
Maelor's face was carved from stone.
Then, finally, he nodded.
"To Vargorath, then."