As Alaric emerges from the den, my eyes widen and jaw goes slack as four wolf pups stumble out behind him. Two gray and white pups, matching Alaric almost identically. The third, a deep brown with specks of white on its snout. Then my eyes focus on the last pup, the smallest. Pure black. Just like Ruse.
My gaze darts between Alaric, the pups, and Ruse’s stony face to my right. The pups growl and snip at each other. Tiny masses of fur roll about the ground, tails wagging and bodies wiggling.
“Puppies?” I laugh again. Turning to Alaric, I pat his side, my smile wide. “You two have gone off and had yourself a litter?”
I shake my head, watching as the puppies pounce on each other. Ruse’s disappearance after we returned to Wickersham makes so much more sense. Her cold and distant demeanor even before that, perhaps a way of protecting herself and her unborn litter. She must have been already pregnant when we traveled through the Wicked Wood and perhaps her instincts drove her here the moment she was healed.
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing how much more painful her loss would have been had she not survived the injury the night Elora was taken.
But she did survive.
And now, their pack has grown.
I smile again, watching the pups clumsily sniff and wrestle with each other. It feels good to smile but quickly my mind drifts. Settling again on Elora and how much I know she’d love to see this. I glance at Ruse, her eyes still locked on me.
“You’re a mum, Ruse.” I take a step toward her. She doesn’t move or make a sound, so I continue on. Reaching out, I let her sniff my palms, before I stroke her inky black fur. Her body tenses under my touch, but she doesn’t run or turn away.
I stand at her side, watching as Alaric and the four pups tumble about. “Well done, girl.”
After a few failedattempts to communicate with the wolves, I conceded and left them with their litter in their den. The more distance that’s placed between the wolves and me, the panic I’ve tried so hard to keep down creeps farther up my throat. Alaric and Ruse are a part of Elora, and leaving them behind feels like a betrayal. It feels like abandonment.
Stopping at the stables on the outskirts of Wickersham, I leave Amis for the night. She could use a long day of rest, and I could certainly stand for a bath after riding straight through. My boots slosh through various puddles as I head toward Mahaffey’s.
The bell on the door chimes as I stride in, shaking the raindrops from my hair before peering around for my sister and mother. To my surprise, the pub is almost empty save for a few local patrons I’ve come to know over the years. Park catches my eye, giving me a quick nod as he finishes polishing the bartop.I slink into one of the wooden stools at the end of the bar and without a command, he slides me a tankard full of ale.
“Sam?” I ask before taking a long drink.
Park grunts, throwing his cleaning rag over his shoulder. “She’s at the inn.” He leans against the bartop. Park’s a tall man, closer to Jarek’s height than my own. His thick, blonde beard is trimmed shorter than usual, matching his neatly cropped hair. Strands of silver woven throughout, more prominent at his temples. “Your mother,” he continues, and my head perks up, “Letty, Eviey, they’re all here. They’re all safe.”
I let out a long breath before I take another drink. The ale isn’t quite what I expected. Notes of cinnamon burst on my tongue, settling warm in my belly. “Any news or movement from Valebridge?” I drop my voice so only Park can hear.
He doesn’t turn, keeping his attention focused on the task at hand, polishing the tankards.
“No,” he whispers. “Everything has been—” He shrugs before setting the tankard down. “Normal.” I nod then take another sip. “I imagine it went well enough with Thaddeus then?”
I polish off the rest of the delicious ale. It’s sweet, a bit tarte. Is it apple? Either way, I know Elora would love it, and the thought turns my stomach sideways. “Thaddeus came around.” I slide my empty tankard to Park. “I need to find Sam and Agnes. Keep your eyes open and your ear to the ground. As soon as you hear something?—”
“I know, Sor,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand.
My shoulders relax as I slide my hand from his firm grip. Park’s been a friend and ally for years. He and his sister Jeanette have been vital in our illegal trades that keep Loxley afloat. I haven’t given him enough credit. A pattern I seem to be repeating lately. Never appreciating those who do so much.
I open my mouth to tell him but before I can he takes a step backward. “Steal from the rich.”
Smiling, I back up as well, inching closer to the door. “Even more from the richer.”
Seven
Samaria
“And so,you’re saying you knew Celia was sick when she arrived in Loxley with Sorin?”
Agnes nods, refilling our teacups for the dozenth time. We’ve been here for well over an hour, chatting, catching up. A rarity for the two of us to have so much time alone. At first I wasn’t sure we’d have anything to talk about, but then, of course, the conversation drifted to Sorin and here we are.
“Yes,” she says. “Celia was doomed the moment she left Valebridge, I’m afraid. But somehow the forest called to her. Loxley called to her. Or perhaps it was something grander than all of that, that allowed her to find us hidden in the woods.”
My brows pinch, thinking of a tiny Sorin being dragged through the woods with a mother whose life was withering away before his eyes.
“Can I come in?” Whipping my head, I turn to the door where Sorin lingers. Water drips from his hair, his clothes just as damp. “Are you well?” he asks as he strides across the room. He bends down, giving Agnes a kiss on her cheek.
