Hunching over her, he returns her grin. “Forgive me, I should’ve stopped by after the shooting. And before you let me have it, don’t worry, Solmuk’s got a big promotion coming his way.”
Axe encourages me with a hand to the small of my back. His touch sends a warm tingle through my body. “Vespera, I’d like to introduce you to the chief of the Tilaak and the honorable interpreter, Kismet.”
The woman offers her palm, revealing a blue spiral inked in the center. “Splendid to meet you, Vespera. How lovely you are. A vision of the stars.”
“That’s quite kind of you,” I say, clasping her hand. “I’m honored to be here.”
“Blessings toTera kretaandLuni kreta,” she beams. “We are so pleased that the son of Petyr and Rose has finally found his match. Though I imagine the eligible girls in the village will be devastated.”
Axe brushes the suggestion off. “She is not just a match.” He switches to a language I am not privy to, the same dialect he used with Solmuk back in the shop. Tilaak vernacular.
The chief gapes at me. “You are human, no?”
“That, I am.”
She hums, patting Axe on his thick arm. “Might I have a moment alone with my new guest?”
“Sure. It’s about time I found something to eat around here.”
“Check in the kitchen, there’s an elderberry pie with your name on it.”
Watching him instantly take off, Kismet laughs with her entire body, the way my grandmother used to. She has the same crinkles in the corners of eyes, too. The sentiment warms me as she gestures for me to take a seat across from her at an empty table. Others are strewn with fresh-caught salmon, waiting to be dried and processed.
“If his size doesn’t give him away as a wolf, then it must be the insatiable appetite.”
“You got that right,” I agree. “Insatiable and restless.”
“Ah, yes. Restless indeed. Without parents to console them, Axe often came to me in his younger years with his siblings to help make sense of their dreams.”
“Nightmares?”
“Sometimes, yes, but not always. Night terrors are fairly simple to deconstruct—skewed memories of trauma, battle, and shame. Given our people’s spiritual connection to the wolf, interpreters like me have a deeper understanding of their behaviors and their innermost desires. Most dreams I interpret are woven with symbols that represent internal struggles between lycan man and beast.”
“How do you mean?”
“Let’s see, well, Demitrya was always the most straightforward. Her dreams represented conflict with guilt, finding herself trapped beneath boulders, buried by rocks. Being the eldest, she wished she could have done more the night the lifeless came. Her father lived with the same determination—he believed he could save everyone. She is Petyr’s daughter, through and through.”
“What about Dominik?”
Kismet pauses. “He only ever came to see me once. I’m afraid it startled him. His dream was rampant with chaos, anger, andsomething else . . . I almost wondered if it was betrayal. He was so young, yet his spirit ached with emotions that felt so far beyond his years. Even after he fled my tent, I never knew what to make of it. Only that his wolf was beginning to rage against him and that he was distraught by its possession.”
Her words bring Dominik’s crooked smile to mind. Something tells me that Kismet may be the only woman who’s had a good look at what lies underneath the calculated façade. In a strange way, her assessment makes sense. His mouth says one thing while his eyes convey something entirely different. If you look there long enough, you start to feel as if someone is pounding their fists against a soundproof wall.
“And then there’s your warrior. In his dreams, Axe’s wolf dances with demons of fury. Since he first learned to shift, he always struggled to suppress his wolf’s cries for bloodshed, demanding a violent reckoning against those who killed his loved ones. By training to become the most efficient killer the province has ever seen, he thought that would serve his purpose. Hatred is a terminal disease, you see. He has yet to understand that following the path of vengeance risks his soul. Perhaps you might help him adjust course.”
My brows knit. This is not the person I see when I am with him.
Kismet’s face softens. “Has he mentioned any other dreams to you?”
My mind jogs back to one of the first nights I spent in Lupine Manor. “He did, once, although it was brief. Something that inspired the tattoo on his forearm.”
“Ah.” She grins, sitting back. “Was it the raven?”
I nod.
“While the raven is a symbol used in many stories of my people, she is also an important figure to the wolves. In Annituk legends, the raven is one of the familiars of the Moon Goddess.Out in the wilderness, the two work as one to hunt. They are like North Stars, guiding them to prey, to battle, and to victory. As a boy, there was a reoccurring sequence in which Axe’s wolf would race through the forest, following a raven overhead. The raven would lead him to a small cottage covered in night-blooming flowers growing on vines. From the outside, he would hear a woman singing . . . but it was always the same—he could never find a way in to see who was there. So, each night the wolf stayed, listening to her enchanting voice, sniffing the flowers, waiting patiently for her to open her door.”
Kismet takes my hand, tracing the fleshy base of my thumb with her fingers. Searching for confirmation of some sort. “What I told him at the time was that the Goddess showed him this dream as assurance that one day, his soul would find peace. If he ever set out to find it.”
