Page 45 of Direbound (The Wolves of Ruin #1)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

M y worries about my mother’s funeral turn out to be misplaced. Killian handles it all. We argue about it briefly, but he insists on paying for everything.

“You are the future queen, kitten,” he says. “Your mother deserves a proper burial in a place of honor. And you deserve to be able to visit her somewhere beautiful and comforting.”

Which is why he buys her a place in the Garden of Eternal Rest—a lavishly maintained cemetery in the city’s wealthy Northern Quarter, where even the smallest plots cost more than my mother made in a year. It’s looked after by a small sect devoted to the Faceless Goddess, and they’ve brought a priestess here today to bless the ceremony.

My mother wasn’t religious, but I think she’d have loved that.

The morning of the funeral dawns crisp and clear, a mere two days after I returned from the front. The Garden is closed down for my mother’s ceremony, and Killian has spared no expense.

The plot he chose is on a grassy hill, sheltered by an enormous moonbloom tree dripping with gorgeous deep green needles. The headstone is white marble, simply but elegantly engraved with her name and the words Beloved Mother, Friend, and Neighbor . Mother’s polished mahogany casket is already perched above the open grave, decorated with an arrangement of fragrant white roses.

Tidy hedges grow all over the garden, providing privacy between the larger family plots. Some of them even have hardy winter-blooming flowers on them. There are several greenhouses on the garden property where flowers grow so that families can stop in and pick fresh ones to lay at their loved ones’ graves.

I have to admit, after seeing this place, the thought of burying her in the dreary common burial grounds near our neighborhood is… not great. It’s a comfort that she’ll spend the rest of her days here, in this lush vista where the air smells clean instead of like smoke and poverty.

Killian’s right. She does deserve it. And Saela would like to visit her here. My sister always loved flowers.

She’d love this ceremony, too, despite the awkward clash of my two worlds coming together. Everyone we know from the Eastern Quarter is here, dressed in their best. They look shabby and uncomfortable in the midst of all this opulence, but I’m still happy they came.

They huddle together on one side of the grave—the women from the laundry, plus a few neighbors and friends. Igor stands straight-backed at the head of the group, looking unexpectedly dapper in his formal military uniform from his service days. His wife Prina is beside him, wearing a new dress.

On the other side are Izabel, Venna, Tomison and Nevah, dressed in formal Bonded attire. I’ve barely had a chance to see them since I got back from the front.

Anassa is here, too, waiting outside the Garden gates with the other wolves. She’s been quiet with me the past two days; not shutting me out, exactly, but making her displeasure about my engagement known.

Still, she’s here for me when it matters, and there’s a tender nudging from her across the bond.

Killian remains at my side, dressed in an uncharacteristically simple black suit. He still looks like a prince, of course, but I can tell he chose the outfit carefully, so as not to draw undue attention to himself—a deliberate setting aside of his royal status that says he’s here simply to support me.

His thoughtfulness and sensitivity through all of this have touched me so deeply—I can’t even put it into words.

Just before the ceremony is about to begin, Anassa pricks up. “More coming. Wait to start.”

More…?

Then, cresting over the hill, the rest of the Strategos Rawbonds arrive, led by Gamma Daegan. He’s panting, face flushed—clearly they’ve run to get here on time. My eyes widen in disbelief.

“Did we make it?” he asks me as he approaches, out of breath. “Sorry, we didn’t know?—”

“You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you,” I say, my tone softer than the words. “Why…?”

“You’re our Alpha,” he says like it’s obvious, then bows. “Of course we’re going to be here for you. The moment Alpha Stark told us?—”

“Wait, Stark?” I ask sharply. Then I see him, trailing behind the last of the Strategos.

Stark stands tall at the top of the hill, his dark presence saturating the clear morning air. His unruly hair whips around him in the breeze, and his eyes find mine, locking me in place. He inclines his head toward me and I stiffen, then nod back, acknowledging him.

I’ve locked him out of my brain over the past two days. Whatever happened in that tent is of no consequence, especially now that I’m engaged to another man. But still, my chest is tight. It astounds me that he thought to tell them. Touches me, as much as I hate to admit it, that he thought it was important that they be here.

“Thank you,” I say to Daegan, and discovering that I mean it. The pack has come to support me, and I vow that as their Alpha, I will look out for them in the same ways.

The ceremony begins with my eulogy: a speech I’ve been struggling to compose for the last two days. I’ve been so nervous about it, wanting to do my mother proud. But as I step forward to speak, I’m surprised to find the anxiety gone—washed away by the warmth and support of everyone present.

“My mother had a difficult life,” I begin, my voice carrying clear and strong through the cold winter air. “But it never made her hard. She raised two daughters alone after losing her husband to the war. Those of you who knew her well know she also struggled with a debilitating illness—one she fought against every day. Yet even in her darkest moments, she never stopped loving her children.”

My eyes connect with Igor’s and he nods at me, encouraging. I reach up, playing with the opal at my neck; it felt right to have it on today.

“She never gave up,” I continue. “Never stopped trying to be the best version of herself—the best mother she could be. She was kind. Compassionate. Understanding. Even when life was cruel to her, as it so often was. Even when her mind and body turned against her.”

I pause, throat tight, seeing the many misty eyes among my friends and neighbors and pack.

“I’m so glad you all came to honor her memory,” I say, voice trembling slightly. “She would be happy—and proud—to know how much you care. And I know that I speak for all of us when I say that I hope, in her eternal rest, she will finally find the peace she deserved in life.”

There’s a swell of sniffles and muted applause as I step back.

Killian smiles and takes my hand when I return to his side, and a woman in pristine white robes approaches the casket.

The priestess of the Faceless Goddess begins religious burial rites with a poetic incantation, calling upon the goddess to escort my mother’s soul into the afterlife and protect her eternal rest.

I watch with tear-blurred eyes as the casket is lowered into the ground. The priestess scatters soil and herbs of blessing over the grave, invoking the goddess and our ancestors to watch over my mother’s surviving loved ones and soothe our grief.

It’s a contrast to my father’s funeral—a memory I’ve rarely revisited. We didn’t have a body to bury; his platoon had been attacked by Siphons and he and the other soldiers were ripped to shreds. The only thing that they recovered from him was a finger. He was given a nondescript headstone in the soldier’s cemetery, marking an empty grave.

I add my own silent prayer to those of the priestess, wondering if our ancestors hear. If the Faceless Goddess hears.

Please, watch over Saela. Keep her safe. Help me bring her home as Mother wanted.

With that, the ceremony ends. The crowd begins to disperse, but I find myself rooted in place, unable to walk away from the grave.

Beside me, Killian squeezes my hand.

“Let’s go to your mother’s house,” he murmurs. “There are things that need to be sorted through, and you shouldn’t do it alone.”

Back in the neighborhood, the house seems smaller and emptier than I remember.

And… darker.

Like a lamp without a wick, never to be lit again.

I guess I never realized how much light my mother brought to this place. She was the one who made it a home—the one who filled it with life—even in the depths of her illness.

I stand in her empty bedroom and cry while Killian is outside speaking with the landlord about the outstanding rent.

Now, I have to sort through Mother’s belongings. Get them out. I won’t be returning to this place again, and neither will Saela. Soon, some other poverty-stricken family will live here. When Saela comes back, we’ll have to make a new home somewhere else. After I graduate from the Trials, I’ll be given a home in the Bonded City.

But… I might be queen by then, as unreal as that sounds, even in my head. We’ll live in the castle, I guess. Saela will have everything she ever needed and more.

That ought to be a dream come true, and yet…

My heart breaks, knowing we have to leave this dingy little hovel behind—and all the memories with it.

We’ll make new memories , I tell myself.

But it’s not the same. Mother won’t be there. Her presence in this place is like an imprint, memories embedded in every floorboard, every piece of furniture, every scrape and scuff.

The castle has its own ghosts—no room for my mother.

At least I have her things. I can take a few little pieces of her with me. Save a few fragments of her memory to share with Saela if—when—I bring my sister home.

I collect my mother’s favorite scarf from the closet. It was a gift from our father back when they were courting. It’s faded and frayed with age, but the woolen pattern of vines and roses still holds a whiff of her scent.

On a whim, I take a pair of her shoes, too; the carefully polished heels she wore only on very special occasions. They won’t fit me, but maybe when Saela’s older…

And then I remember the floorboard where mother kept her most prized possessions hidden, including the opal necklace.

Inside, I find a stack of leather-bound journals, their pages worn soft from frequent handling. They’re full of writings and drawings done in my mother’s elegant hand. I’m surprised.

And, for a moment, thrilled by the discovery.

She must have spent many hours filling these pages, yet I never saw her with the journals. To have such a record of my mother’s thoughts and feelings…

But when I look closer at the pages, I realize I’m holding a record of her madness.

The drawings are extraordinarily detailed and unnervingly repetitive. Most depict a crown in intricate detail: two wolves leaping at each other over a delicate circlet laden with jewels.

Between the drawings are scattered notes—references to someone named “Lumina,” mentions of “Nocturn,” and the word “Astreon” appear as frequently as the crown drawings. Like the names of our two countries, but wrong.

I recognize the names immediately. Mother used to mutter them often during her episodes.

“Lumina,” I say aloud, wondering where on earth my mother heard the name. Are these people just figments of her imagination, or did she know them long ago?

“Hide the journals,” Anassa growls suddenly over the bond, her tone urgent and filled with warning. At the same time, I hear the thump of Killian’s boots in the hallway outside.

Confused, but galvanized by Anassa’s intensity, I shove the journals into my bag with the rest of Mother’s things just as Killian enters the room.

“Hey,” he says with a gentle smile. “Find anything special you want to keep?”

Something in his tone gives me pause. I’m not sure what it is, but it doesn’t quite align with the look on his face. There’s a hint of tension around his eyes.

“Just a few things,” I say, keeping my voice level while my heart beats inexplicably fast. I reach into the bag, surreptitiously shoving the journals deeper as I show him mother’s scarf and shoes. There’s a bottle of perfume, too, with a single drop of amber liquid still inside.

“She used to wear it when I was little,” I say, drawing his gaze from the open bag. “Back when Father was alive, he’d buy her things like this now and then. Little extravagancies to make her feel special.” My throat tightens. “It still smells like her. Like the woman she was before he died, I mean.”

Killian’s face softens with compassion. “He really loved her.”

I nod, clutching the bottle hard in one hand.

“Let me see.” He takes the bottle gently from my fingers and lifts it to his nose. “Mm. Smells nice. Good quality. I bet the castle perfumer could replicate this scent.”

“Really?” I blurt. “You have a designated perfumer at the castle?”

He chuckles. “But of course. The king can hardly be expected to venture out into the city every time he wants to try a new scent, now can he?”

We share a laugh, then Killian’s expression turns solemn. “Would you like another bottle of your mother’s perfume, Meryn?”

My eyes prickles with tears, the journals and Anassa’s warning momentarily forgotten.

“I would,” I whisper, rising on my toes to kiss him. “I really would.”

That afternoon, I part ways with Killian and head straight for Anassa’s favorite terrace with the journals in hand. She lifts her head when I crest the terrace steps and slap the journals down on the floor in front of her.

“Alright, talk,” I say. “What do you know about my mother’s journals and why in the goddess’s name did you make me hide them from Killian?”

Anassa lounges regally on her haunches, her massive form silhouetted against the mountain and the darkening sky beyond it.

Through our bond comes her maddeningly cryptic response: “I’ve told you all I can.”

“You haven’t told me anything !” I exclaim.

Anassa just blinks at me in impassive silence.

“Dammit! This is important, Anassa. My mother just died . And these are her thoughts—a record of her madness, her delusions—on paper. If you know something about it, I need you to tell me! ”

“What can I possibly tell you that isn’t already written there in your mother’s hand ?” the wolf replies, unmoved by my distress.

“I don’t know!” I cry. “That’s why I’m asking!”

When Anassa doesn’t respond, I flip one of the journals open and gesture to an image of the wolf crown. “Why did she draw this over and over? Do you know what it is? And the names—Lumina, Nocturn, Astreon—what do you know about them?”

Anassa doesn’t even look at the page. “Perhaps it’s time for you to do some searching of your own.”

Grief and frustration send me pacing away from her, thrusting my hands through my hair as I go over the facts in my mind.

“My mother’s episodes always centered around these names. She would talk about them—to them, even. Nocturn and Astreon almost make sense. Like the personifications of our Kingdoms, Nocturna and Astreona. It’s a basic delusion. But Lumina—I’ve never heard that name, except from my mother.”

I spin back to her, thoughts racing. “And why did Mother get better suddenly when I became Bonded? She was more lucid the last few months than she has been in years . Meanwhile, I started having nightmares and hallucinations. None of this makes any sense ?—”

I break off, blinking at the wolf in sudden realization.

Perhaps it’s time you do some searching of your own .

She said something like that to me when I started training with Stark and he showed me his library. She wanted me to do research then, but I didn’t listen.

Suddenly galvanized, I return to the journals and gather them up off the ground. Anassa watches with the lupine equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

“Fine,” I say to my wolf, my decision rising above my grief. “If you won’t give me answers, I know where to find them.”