And worse, there’s still that unyielding iron wall between our minds.
Even so, there’s a warmth in my boots; I think she’s healed my cracked, aching skin.
“Go on, then. Find your pack in the courtyard,” the woman says, jutting a hand out.
I hesitate only briefly. Something about the towering stone castle walls makes me claustrophobic. But I don’t really have a choice, at least not tonight. I need time to figure out how to get out of this bond.
“You know where to go,” the woman says, craning her neck to meet Anassa’s gaze. The direwolf huffs dismissively and pads past me, galloping off beyond the castle’s walls.
I can sense the woman’s impatience, so I sigh and step forward, too, heading in the same direction Anassa disappeared. But when I round the corner, she’s nowhere to be seen.
Instead, a large courtyard reveals itself to me. The same mighty walls surround the enclosed space, but here, the supporting pillars are adorned with carved wolves sitting regally atop every column. They sit high above us, staring down with their muzzles tucked close to their chests, eternally glowering.
In the center of the courtyard is a similar statue with two wolves perched atop an artistically carved rock. Along the interior colonnade, there are several arched doors made of heavy, marred wood. At the corners of the courtyard, there are four oriel windows jutting out of the walls, implying a second traversable floor along the wall walks above.
At the edges of the courtyard, separate groups of recruits—no,Rawbonds—gather up, clearly separated by the differently colored marks in their hair.
The rest of the silver-marked Rawbonds are in the center of the courtyard, mostly huddled around the large statue. The snow beneath their feet has been crushed beneath many boots, revealing some dead grass and more of the same ice-slick cobblestone I trod across now, boots thudding heavily.
The massive interior space makes me leery. The courtyard has clearly been carved large enough to give the direwolves room to maneuver freely, but I’m used to narrow alleys and tiny houses. I’m used to having a wall at my back at all times.
Standing here, an attack could come from any direction and I’d have very little to use to my advantage beyond my own strength. Which is nothing to scoff at, of course.
But being able to hurl a chair at someone or yank down a dangling laundry line to blind them would make me feel safer.
Some of my energy returns when I pick Izabel out of the crowd of silver streaked-heads. I trudge towards her and gruntout her name. She tenses and turns, but her eyes light up when she sees me.
“Meryn! You made it in one piece!”
“Sort of. I left my dignity up on that mountain.”
Izabel laughs. “Well, you’ve got all your body parts, still. So that’s something. Anassa’s warmed up to you?”
“If the warmth you’re referring to is fiery rage, thenyes. Very much so.” I suck in a trembling breath, still weak and aching from my tumble down the mountain, and look around at the rest of the recruits. “Wow.”
“I know. There are a lot of us,” Izabel replies.
But that wasn’t at all what I was commenting on. It’s devastatingly clear that nearly all of them are from the Bonded City. I can tell just looking at them. The colorfully dyed coats, heavy furs, draping scarves. The healthy build to their muscles. Their towering height.
Goddess, even their skin looks healthier than people’s did back in Eastern.
My eyes catch on a particularly boisterous pale-skinned Rawbond. He’s one of the older ones, tall and handsome with vibrant red hair that stands out against the gray stone and pale snow. He’s all smiles and laughter, with a small group of admirers gazing at him and tumbling into laughter alongside him as if we didn’t just watch leagues of people die.
It’s that unwavering confidence that unnerves me, like they all own the world.
Even the quieter ones exude it. A wiry girl with that same silver streak in her brown, curly hair stands apart from the rest of our group. Tears are streaking silently down her face—she’s distraught about something, and even so, her eyes burn like she thinks she could cut any one of our throats without consequence.
“You must feel a little lost,” Izabel says, interrupting my stewing thoughts.
“Understatement. But it’s like I told you. I’m not supposed to be here,” I reply.
“And yet, you are. It could be worse. We’re both in the Strategos Pack,” Izabel says proudly, beaming at me. That’s the same word I heard the woman at the gate use. “The leaders.”
I raise a brow. “Leaders?”
“Mmm-hmm. My parents are both in Strategos, too, but I’m not surprised that Venna joined Kryptos.” She points at the smattering of Rawbonds in the eastern corner of the courtyard. The ones with the deep bluish streaks in their hair. “They’re the spies,” Izabel explains. “Venna’s always been hard to pin down…” she smiles, a memory alight in her eyes.
“Then over there,” Izabel resumes, pointing to the western corner, where a group of particularly brutish-looking people have gathered. “Daemos. The warriors.”
