Page 49 of A Spell of Bones and Madness (Nostos #2)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Ember

I t was not how Ember expected that conversation to end—she expected a kiss, a broody storming off into the hallway denying the words Ajax spoke.

But could she deny them? That was the least of her worries—not when she had a panting, sandy-haired wolf glaring at her, his maw upturned in a snarl.

Run. Her mind seemed to say. Run. Run. Run.

She would not. She was tired of running—from her home, from her responsibilities, from him.

Stepping toward the beast, Ember lay a hand on his neck. “You don’t scare me, Commander.” Her touch tingled, as if some little healing magic was electrifying between them.

Ajax let out a long sigh, and met those familiar warm brown eyes with hers.

Then it was not Ember that ran, but him.

The forest. Ember did not know much about the Nexian Wolves, no more than the simple lore suggested.

Did not realize how unique each one was—Giselle with her pure black coat, Chloe with her silver fur and mask-like markings.

It made sense why he shifted, the moon was almost at its fullest, the forest was their home, the place they could be free.

Did it call to him now? Did he shift in avoidance—afraid that she might not say those words back?

“Excuse me, Princess, but the queen wishes to speak with you privately.” A member of the Nexian guard appeared behind her. “If you would come with me.”

Following the soldier, Ember could only wonder— would she have said those words back?

Was this where Giselle meant to keep her? Lock Ember away in this strange room until she admitted why the white flowers bloomed for her in Aidesian? Good luck, she wanted to tell the queen. She was as clueless as the rest of them, except apparently the lupine woman.

Gods—the entire room caused an unnerving chill to trace along her skin, the hairs on her arms standing at attention.

Acid bubbled in Ember’s stomach at the devices hanging off the wall.

Little light filtered in through a deep navy curtain hanging over the solitary window.

Behind it, silver bars blocked the frame.

Thick chains were bolted into the wall below it.

The entire place would look like a dungeon had the rest of it not been set up like a royal’s bedchamber.

Silver velvet drapery hung from a four-post alabaster bed, matching blankets spread across it.

Plush pillows and chairs were scattered around the room.

In the corner lay a door, locks striped across the right of the wood the whole way down to the sparkling marble floor.

For hours it seemed Ember sat on one of those soft and silky chairs, the only thing to distract her a crackling fire, the smoke stinging each time she inhaled.

Even the raging flames could not seem to warm the icy air flowing into the room.

Would it always be like this? Would she learn to get used to it?

Creaking came from the thick iron door as it swung inward, the terrifying queen entering alone.

A flowing white gown dusted the ground as Giselle padded toward her.

“Am I a prisoner now?” Ember croaked, shifting her eyes from the barred windows to the chains, stomach half between sinking and coming straight through her throat.

A pale hand stroked her face, the queen’s crystal eyes widening and flashing a deep silver hue. “Oh, my dear, this room is not for you.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” Giselle sat next to her, but kept some distance between them.

“It is my personal chamber, for the full moon. I wanted to meet somewhere private—somewhere we would not have nosey servants with their ear to the door. What I am about to tell you is of the utmost importance. Who you choose to share it with is your choice, though I urge you to only speak of it to those you trust wholeheartedly.” Ember nodded, unsure of what to think of Giselle’s grave tone, or why she chose to share this information only with her and not with Katrin or her son as well.

“There is a prophecy among wolves—one passed down from a time before Odessia even existed—of the heir to the underworld. A maiden of spring. It is said she would return one day and that she would bring with her the destruction of the gods.”

Brows furrowing, Ember cocked her head to the side. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Clutching Ember’s hands in hers, Giselle sighed, closing her eyes for just a moment. “Because, the marking of the heir is blood that blossoms into white flowers where no living thing can flourish—past the gates of Aidesian.”

“That’s impossible. Katrin is the heir—she is first born, she has father’s powers, his eyes and hair.” Ember stood stomping over to the door. “Besides, it was probably an illusion—there are many in my father’s realm.”

“If it was an illusion, as you say, why would your father choose this one? No one outside the Nexian Pack knows of this prophecy, it is forbidden to be told. Ember, I am sorry that you must carry this burden, but if word gets out, the other gods may try to kill you so you do not succeed.”

“Succeed? I don’t even have powers yet, how could I destroy the gods when I can’t even access magic? And even if I could, my powers are my mother’s—ones of growth, of healing, not night, not death, certainly not destruction.”

“I guess in time we will see, Lady of Spring,” Giselle whispered, so quietly she almost didn’t hear them. Ember’s eyes flickered to Giselle’s at the title she spoke, the queen’s eyes now covered with a whitish sheen.

Ember opened the door and walked through it, slamming the wrought iron behind her. This was not happening. The prophecy was a fake—or misheard over centuries of lore passed down from alpha to alpha. She was no heir. She was no god killer. She was no Lady of Spring.