“He’s hurting,” she signs, clearly not wanting Tomison to overhear us.
It’s not just Tomison; Filikos is in pain, too. Asteio wasn’t his mate, but they were close friends who grew closer from their riders.
What happened today wasn’t a thought-out plan of retribution against me; it was two beings reacting with wolfish instincts to the person they blamed for their distress.
“I know. I know.” I suck in air. How many allies can I afford to lose? But I can’t expect Venna to carry on, not without time to heal as well. “Venna, I’ll understand if you want to take a break from your duties in the palace as well. I value your help so much, but I think you should be with your family right now.”
Venna’s brows draw together. “No. Meryn, I can’t sit around and do nothing. I’ll suffocate.”
I take her hand, squeezing tight. “Are you certain?”
“The worst thing right now would be for me to sit still.” Her expression is resolute.
I lean in and wrap my arms around her shoulders tearfully. “Okay. Okay. As long as you’re sure.”
Venna holds me close, then steps back.
“Take a night or two with your family, though,” I urge her. “You can resume your post at the castle in the morning.”
She nods and moves off to stand with her parents, who are saying their final farewells to other mourners. For a split second, watching her is like seeing Izabel’s ghost, pale and somber.
I shake my head to clear the vision and wrap my arms around Anassa, hiding my sobs in her fur.
I’m the last to arrive for our Council Palast meeting, but I don’t interrupt any idle chatter as I enter. Siegrid and Nevah were both at the funeral, of course, but even though Igor and Castle Matron Alienor didn’t know Izabel, they understand what a blow this has been for all of us.
The direwolves sit quietly along the back wall, watchful. Anassa moves to join them, exchanging a few brief sniffs of hello before she settles back on her haunches.
Gazing around at solemn faces, it’s impossible to miss the empty chairs: two for Venna and Izabel, one of which will remain empty; one for Tomison, who may never return; and one for the Councilor of Sturmfrost, a role that will need to be filled now that Gerhold is dead.
Sorrow rises in me as I stare at all the empty seats.
“Queen Meryn,” Siegrid says, almost gently, at least for her.
I startle and then sit.
A pile of paperwork is in front of my chair, and I pull it toward me, flipping through the first few pieces of parchment without processing anything on the pages.
“There is much for us to discuss today, of course,” says Siegrid, seamlessly falling back into her role as de facto leader of our group. “First among these concerns, however, is appointing a new councilor.”
Her words are followed by a silence so complete it’s almost loud. I don’t need my powers to know what images are running through everyone’s heads.
I draw a shallow breath and then stand again.
“Yes. I wanted to say something to all of you about that.” My brain is muddled and slow from the emotion of the day, but it won’t help to wait. This is important if I’m going to be any better than the Valtieres, that I own my mistakes and faults and try to improve.
Siegrid half-stands as if to interrupt me, but I hold out a hand. She sits back down, expression resigned.
“What I did was wrong.” I look at the people gathered around the table once more. Matron Alienor is focused on her clasped hands, but Igor, Siegrid, Nevah—they’re all staring at me squarely now. Waiting for more.
My mouth is suddenly dry. “I… the councilor’s family should not have been harmed. I lifted my hands in anger. I didn’t think, and instead I let emotion take control of my power. And… that’s not the kind of queen I want to be. I do not want to rule with fear. And I’m sorry.” I run out of words and sit down, feeling inadequate.
Another moment of silence passes, and then Igor speaks. “You’re right,Meryn. It was terrible, what you did. In that moment, I was ashamed of who you were becoming.”
His gaze on me is unflinching, and beside him, Alienor nods once, decisively. The disappointment radiating off my dear friend—my family, really—is almost more than I can bear.
My stomach clenches. He’s right, of course.
It was an evil act, killing that whole family. What did I think I could say to make up for what I did? Are any words enough to hold up against mindless slaughter? Any reason that could possibly justify it?
