One of my fellow Strategos raises her hand. “Siphons subsist on the spoils of war. They feed on our captured soldiers.”
Like my father, I think, clenching my hand. Drained and consumed like an animal.
Everyone in Sturmfrost knows that this is the whole reason the Nabbers have been taking children from our city. Children have the strongest life force energy and therefore give the Siphons the most fuel.
“Very good,” Elinor says, “but they don’t just feed on our soldiers, do they? Siphons use the blood of their captives to wield powerful blood magic. Can anyone tell me why?”
I lean forward, senses heightened. I knew that the Siphons wielded some sort of blood magic, but the details of what that actually entails have always been fuzzy.
“They use blood magic to control our minds and weave illusions!” somebody calls from the back. “They don’t have their own Bonded creatures, so that’s the only way they can fight us. They use their magic to turn drained humans into more Siphons as well.”
“Excellent,” says Elinor. “This is why the war has gone on so long. Through their blood magic, Siphons have achieved functional immortality and the ability to manipulate human perception. This is how they infiltrate our borders and defend against our Bonded attacks. And the older a Siphon is, the morepowerful their abilities become. We don’t even know half of what they’re truly capable of, as we interact primarily with their youngest soldiers—the more senior Siphons are rarely part of their forward guard.”
I wonder if they use blood magic when they’re capturing our children. If they somehow trick them into coming with them willingly.
“The Bonded are the ultimate protectors of the humans,” Elinor continues, “and we are all that stands between the commoners and the Siphons. Without the direwolves and our bonds, humans would be extinct by now. Or bred like cattle in a world overrun by Siphons.”
“But the war has been at a stalemate for as long as anyone can remember,” somebody interjects. “So how can we win?”
Elinor lifts her chin, her eyes alight. “Only by finding a way to fully invade Astreona and eliminate every last Siphon in existence.” The way she said it makes me think that she fully believes we’re capable of this.
Oh, I think faintly, head spinning.Is that all?
As Elinor speaks of invasion and victory, my whirling thoughts crystalize around a single gut-wrenching truth.
Crossing into Astreona is my only hope of finding Saela. And the only way I’m going to get there—the only way I can survive invading Siphon territory is…
Anassa.
Egith and Izabel are right. I need to do anything within my power to get Anassa to accept me. Even grovel, if it comes to that.
Dusk settlesover the castle as I approach the wide terrace that opens from the back of the Strategos common room, a bundle of dried mountain sage clutched in my hand. I overheard some of the other Rawbonds talking about bringing the herbs to their wolves as a treat. Apparently, it’s like catnip for Direwolves. They crave it.
The fragrant leaves crackle faintly in my anxious grip as I scan for Anassa. The time has come for a real conversation with my wolf.
Whether either of us wants it or not.
The terraces rise before me like giant steps carved into the mountainside, each one occupied by several lounging Direwolves. In the dying light, I can make out the shapes of sleeping wolves on the lower levels, too.
Anassa is nowhere in sight. I crane my head to look up at the terraces above, wondering if she’s in the caves. But then I spot her, identifiable only as a distant silver-white blob at the edge of the uppermost terrace.
Of course, you’re way the fuck up there, I think dryly.
It takes me almost half an hour to climb the narrow staircases connecting each terrace in a zig-zagging path.
The climb feels symbolic. Each step carries me further and further from the world I know and deeper into the one I hate and resent. It’s like I’m leaving something vital behind—some part of myself I’ll never get back.
But it’s worth it, I think, steeling myself.As long as I get Saela back.
Cold wind whips my short hair around my face as I reach Anassa’s terrace. It appears empty at first, the stone worn smooth by the scrape of countless wolf claws over countless centuries.
Anassa has moved from the terrace edge into the deep shadows at its back, as though she sensed my approach and wants to avoid me.
Not a good sign, but definitely not a surprise.
I settle cross-legged near the edge, careful to respect the distance she’s placed between us.
Without a word, I place the bundle of sage on the floor before me—a peace offering that seems trite and painfully inadequate.
