Bryn wished more than ever that she had a better understanding of politics. With King Aleth unconscious, they couldn’t exactly discuss the realm’s enemies with him. Still, she shook her head. “It happened in the borderlands near where the Mirien, Vil-Kevi, and the Baersladen converge. It’s all the same forest. Wolves can’t tell where one kingdom starts and ends.”
“You don’t think it was targeted, then?”
She pressed her lips together. “If it was, then it was targeted against the entire Outlands region, not any one kingdom.”
They rewrapped the wolf cadaver and returned to the warmth of the mage quarters. While Valenden went to visit his unconscious father, Bryn explored the castle’s library, looking for any texts that might have an explanation for how dark magic could have created the berserkir beasts.
After perusing a few books, she groaned in frustration.
“Everything all right?” Ren stuck his mop of dark curls through the library door.
She closed a thick book with a sigh. “My translation hexmark lets me speak Baer but not read it, so many of these are illegible to me.”
Ren glanced at the book’s title. “Ah. Well, that’s a book on digestive health in elderly women.” She slumped further in her seat. He offered, “What are you looking for?”
She told him about the berserkir wolf attacks, and together they spent the afternoon pouring through the reference materials. They continued the search the following day, but after browsing every title in the mage library, they had to admit defeat.
“There’s nothing about dark spells to make animals attack,” Ren said as he shelved the last book, but then paused. “We can’t be the only ones who are reminded of the berserkir legend. It’s almost as though someone took inspiration from those old stories.”
“What do you mean?” Bryn asked.
“Perhaps instead of researching spells, you should look into the origin of the legend.”
Ren’s suggestion occupied Bryn’s mind for the next few days. Every time she sat down with the castle’s head staff to discuss wedding planning, she thought of wolves, and every time she asked around the village about the berserkir legend, she thought about the wedding.
“I assure you, my lady, it’ll be the grandest feast Barendur Hold has seen in years,” Roxin said while wiping down the kitchen’s butcher-block table. “All you need to decide upon is the menu, and we kitchen maids will handle everything.”
Bryn swirled her finger in a spot of flour dotting the table. “I suppose my one request would be, well, to make it as different as possible from my previous wedding.”
Roxin met Bryn’s eyes, and the cook nodded with understanding. “Sad business, that. We all feel Prince Trei’s loss keenly. Hasn’t been the same without him.”
Bryn sighed, twirling Trei’s ring on her necklace. “For that feast, you did such an incredible job of weaving Mir ingredients into traditional Baer dishes. I think for my wedding feast with Rangar, we should do only Baer foods. A celebration of these lands. My new home.”
Roxin nodded as she stroked her chin. “Yes, I can work with that . . . venison from the forest, salmon from the water, pheasant from the sky. An ode to all the Baer’s environments.”
Bryn smiled genuinely. “That sounds perfect.”
A sly look entered Roxin’s eye. “I’ll be needing to know a date.”
Bryn stilled her hand on the necklace. “We don’t have a date yet. We want to hold it as soon as possible, given King Aleth’s health, but until Rangar . . .” She trailed off. Silence was better than having to say that her fiancé still hadn’t been cleared of murder.
Roxin poured more flour on the table and started rolling out dough. “Not to worry, my lady. This time of year, our cold larders are pure ice. I’ll start putting away the wedding feast ingredients, and they’ll be ready when you are.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “How about we serve more of that fig brandy, eh? I can have the kitchen girls make another batch.”
Bryn recalled how all the kitchen girls had joined hands and come together to amplify Roxin’s fermentation hex to make the brandy—and how deliciously warm it had left her belly.
“Sure,” Bryn smiled.
With the menu set, she still needed to meet with the seamstress about a dress. Helna had sewn her the most beautiful traditional Baer gown of dark grey velvet and obsidian gems for her wedding with Trei—a dress that had ended up with his blood staining the cuffs. She found herself putting off any chance to visit Helna, afraid she’d be faced with that dress again and have to relive Trei’s death.
“Oh, Trei,” she whispered as she gazed out her window at the falling snow. “This place isn’t complete without you. Maybe it should have been me . . .”
“Bryn?”
She turned sharply at Mage Marna’s voice in her doorway. The mage’s face glowed in the light from a candle she held. The lines on her face were deeply etched. She clutched a mysterious package under one arm. Bryn was overtaken with a premonition the mage bore news of more death . . .
“Oh no,” Bryn gasped. “Is it . . . King Aleth?”
Mage Marna’s face relaxed. “The king still lives.”
