I clench my jaw so hard that my teeth ache as I watch Stark and his direwolf disappear into the snow, barreling down the mountain.
The mountaintop has turned into chaos. Many of the recruits are grabbing at their direwolves’ coats, scrambling to try to mount. Some of the wolves swipe at their would-be riders, snarling and stumbling away from them. Other, more patient recruits gaze up at their beasts, clearly trying to attempt to reason with them.
My head is still spinning from the absolutewrongnessof this. But I did not spend all day breaking my body—watching other people fall to gruesome deaths—in order to just quit now.
If I want to survive, if I want to save my sister, I need to at leasttry.
Anassa won’t look at me, gaze locked somewhere in the distance, silver coat gleaming. She’s larger than the other wolves around us. More imposing. Regal and terrifying and clearly stubborn.
Clearing my mind, I try to tap back into that swimming, dizzying stream of energy I felt when she first approached me, but I get… nothing. Utter silence.
Maybe I’m doing this wrong. After all, most of the people on this mountaintop grew up watching their families communicate with wolves. Likely, they were taught how to do it.
My best guess is that I should think words at her, feel intent, open myself up to her mind. I reach out toward the place in my consciousness where I felt her power earlier.
BAM.
My mind impacts against an iron wall, steely and impassable between us. It’s as cold as her icy eyes, towering as her hulking body, and sharp as her glinting claws.
Something’s not right. The others are starting to mount properly now. Some are even bounding off down the mountain, direwolf after direwolf disappearing into the snow. This must be working for them.
Am I doing it wrong? Is this because I don’t want to be Bonded?
But then why the fuck did shedothis?!
My fractured mind latches onto Izabel in the mess of bodies before me. She’s climbing onto her silver direwolf’s back, taking fistfuls of fur as her mount watches her every move closely. I don’t see Venna anywhere—she must have already started back down the mountain.
I glance nervously at Anassa and then turn to sprint towards Izabel. “Hey!”
Izabel turns and looks down at me as she settles atop her direwolf, sitting back. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and her brow pinches up. “Meryn.”
“Was he serious?” I choke out. I don’t know why I say it. Stark was obviously serious, not a lighthearted bone in his massive body.
“Yes,” she says so quietly it’s almost lost in the wind. “People who don’t make it back in time die.”
“I didn’t even want this,” I breathe, looking back at Anassa who still hasn’t budged. She’s staring at me now, though, cold gaze steady.
“I know, but you can do it,” Izabel says. Her direwolf shifts beneath her, massive muscles stretching, tail swishing. She pats its shoulder. “I have to go. It’s?—”
“She’s not talking,” I blurt, hating the vulnerability in my voice.
Izabel looks briefly horrified before she deftly conceals it. “Not talking?”
“I’m not getting anything from my wolf, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Izabel winces. “Just… try harder, Meryn. Some people die along the way because they’re not communicating well with their wolves. The packs think that it’s not worth the time to train pairs who can’t communicate.”
“So, what?” I ask. “This is some sort of twisted way of weeding people out?”
Izabel’s nonresponse is confirmation.
Because this isn’t a test, in the end. It’s an execution.
Why am I surprised? People like me die every day. In the streets and alleys. On the front lines. Scrambling up a freezing, icy mountain.
Abducted by Nabbers in the night.
No. I can’t think like that. The hope that Saela is alive is the only thing keeping me moving.
