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sixteen

Dove

A ll is quiet as the last of the lyrics fall from my lips.

I am not sure what the Goddess is expecting from this rebellious display, but the ratcheted words that come out of Castor’s sinister sneer are a surprise to my ears.

Words that have not been spoken since they massacred the streets centuries ago.

“Witch!” he bellows from astride his horse, ahead of my wobbling prison.

With that word alone, pandemonium strikes the streets of Haven.

My cage is unceremoniously dropped, slamming against the hard, cobbled steps below. With the force of the fall, my whole body flies up and down, and I find myself sprawled and sore on the bottom of the metal bars.

Screams and cries ring out around me as I reach up to rub at my painful head, finding a wet patch forming in my matted hair.

If I had the strength, I would beat at the cage to tell them they are all being ridiculous. If I were a witch, I would have done much worse than sing a damned song.

With barely a moment’s notice, the cage starts to shift underneath me. Suddenly, I’m sliding down the steps we were ascending to the king’s manor only movements ago.

I have just enough wits about me to grab the sides and try to keep myself steady on the steep incline. Apparently, the wardens did not think about that when they hot-potato-ed me onto the very slanted stone steps beneath us.

Within the blink of an eye, my tiny prison is sliding.

My stomach hits my throat, and a scream of my own lodges high as I whirl past villagers running and screaming left and right. Their only saving grace is the width of the steps.

Even though my small prison is acting as a battering ram, they have the opportunity to jump out of my way. I am not so lucky, as I am strapped in for the harrowing ride.

Down below, I see a crossroads. From my blurry-eyed view, it looks like the building holds a tavern of some type—and I am heading right towards it.

If this is the end, so be it , my thoughts whirl.

“Wren, I’ll see you soon,” the whisper slips out, and I close my eyes as my body moves closer and closer and—

Nothing. I stop on a jolt. “Am I dead?” I ask the ether.

A gruff hum comes from behind, startling me, and I whip my head around, aggravating the ache within it.

Through a blur, I make out two glowing eyes and one large, wet black nose—the dyre wolf. Excellent.

I sink into my cage as all the pent-up tension releases. “Nice catch. Thank you.”

He puffs as if in agreement, and hoists my cage with ease into the crook of his right arm, continuing on two legs up the steps.

Huddled within the corner of my cage next to the heat of dark brown, almost black fur, I sigh. That was a close call. This wolf is proving more helpful by the moment.

With my internal debates milling around, I unintentionally poke at the blood seeping from what I can only presume is a gash on my head. Wincing, I give a small cry at the pain, and the wolf ascending the stairs stops in his tracks and sniffs.

His nose is high as he gives a low rumble. One that vibrates his whole body and mine in the cage under his arm.

Peeking around the hairy beast, I find his face trained on the prince, easing his horse towards us. “It seems you are the only one capable of handling the pest, Gideon.”

The beastly wolf nods. “Hey,” I grumble from my cage.

He jiggles my cage slightly on purpose and gives a growled huff.

My rage simmers for the prince I once dreamt of marrying. He can go jump off a cliff. He is thoroughly dead to me.

“I’m putting you in sole charge of that.” Castor waves his hand in disgust at my dishevelled form. “Take it to the dungeon, and Father will deal with it at first rise.”

I am happy to note I have now gone from witch, to pest, to it. Maybe killing Castor will be my next port of call if I can sneak away from the wolf. For their treatment of the people of their kingdom alone, the strong need to slit both Castor and the king’s throats emerges.

My beast gives a swift nod towards Castor. I don’t know when he became my beast, but somehow, through his boldness and protection, I find him oddly endearing. I have a bad habit of liking strange creatures, and this one is painting a picture I find oddly similar to my own.

I ponder my beast as he takes my caged body towards the manor. Sitting back, I wonder how he became the warden of kings long past, and why a strong beast such as himself would ever bow down to the likes of men who let their people starve on their own steps.

Questions that may never be answered, considering my fate.

Once we make it through large iron gates and into the front courtyard filled with wilted roses and barren trees, I see how the problem of our dying earth stems beyond the temple. If this is the royal garden, I can only imagine the greenhouses. I’ve barely been able to keep basic vegetables and fruits alive for us within the temple.

We rely on grain from the villagers’ farms, but I was told weeks ago that it was being rationed between the people after we received way less than our usual allotment.

Now, I see that was a lie. The food situation is surely more dire than ever expected because of the strange weather and lack of nutrients in the soil. I still cannot make heads or tails of it, which is why I turned to a song.

Seeing my people starving on the steps of the king’s manor was jarring. It stoked my fire something fierce. I simply cannot comprehend the injustice of it all.

Rage set to simmer, I take in the manor. It is odd to see it this close. It doesn’t seem as big and imposing as it originally looked from the temple.

The building itself is housed within the alcove of a cliff, encompassed by the rounded mountains that keep us safe within our kingdom. I’d say it is slightly bigger than the Goddess’s temple.

We do not stay long in the courtyard for my perusal of the building as the wolf walks towards a wooden door far from the main entrance.

The dungeon, I can only presume. Thank you, Castor. I roll my eyes at the soon-to-be dead prince. If I have my way, you are a dead prince walking.

Swinging open the door so it hits the opposing wall, Gideon places my cage down with a surprising gentleness I did not expect.

The smell of ash hits my nose in a rush, leaving me to cough up a lung. I didn’t need that anyway.

Shuffling around in my cramped cage, I find a very naked, large man. “Goddess, couldn’t warn a girl?” I exclaim, closing my eyes, but not before taking an eyeful of a very large part of his anatomy.

“For a mute girl, you are awfully chatty,” he retorts, and I give him a scowl, shuffling around in my confined space so I can freely open my eyes without being assaulted.

“Are you at least going to wear some clothes this time?” I echo into the tunnel ahead.

“I would be wearing clothes if I didn’t have to save a certain songbird hurtling towards certain death.”

Songbird?

Giving him a grunt, I cross my arms and mumble, “It’s not my fault your wardens are a bunch of chickens.”

“Yes, well, luckily, I am not a chicken.”

“No, you are definitely not,” I mutter, remembering the very naked parts of him that do not remind me of a chicken. F ar, far from a chicken, indeed.

He gives me pause as a growly chuckle reverberates from his chest, leaving me all warm and tingly.

I clutch my crossed arms tighter to my body and wait. This brute will not get to me. I have no space for a dyre wolf in my life. Small creatures with multiple legs are one thing, but a fully grown dyre wolf is another.

Wren and Argus are enough . Considering my future currently looks very bleak, it’s best I do not turn dream about warm beasts who save my arse and feed starving children.

No doubt I will wake up in the morning and be set to death before the two suns pass.

Without any further preamble, probably sensing my downer mood, Gideon takes my cage and hauls me through a rapidly roasting tunnel until we are met with a furnace and the oddly lush aroma of spice and wolfman.

Before taking another eyeful, I rush to close my eyes before he once again carefully places my cage down on the dusty stone floor. A wave of dust particles reaches up to tickle my nose, and I sneeze, reminding me of the laceration on my head.

Wincing, I squeeze my eyes. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I am starting to notice a dull throb throughout my skull.

In my wallowing, I haven’t noticed Gideon’s movements. “Here,” he says as something wet lands on my lap.

“What?” My eyes fly open. On my lap lies a warm, wet rag.

I look up and find Gideon dressed in simple black clothing, crouched in front of my very open cage. A slight pang of disappointment hits my chest at his clothed figure, and I quickly ignore it.

“Your self-preservation knows no bounds, Songbird.” He calls me that name again, and a hand big enough to reach fully around one of my thighs goes for the rag.

“Hey!” I snap at him, going for the material and instead finding roughed, calloused fingers. He retreats instantly as if I burnt him with my witchy powers.

Gideon lowers his eyes towards the ground, taking in a deep, long breath, releasing it before looking me dead in the eyes. “Come out of the cage, and I will tend to your wounds.”

He stretches his hand back towards me. A hand strong enough to crush a throat within movements now offers comfort. Who is this wolfman?

My mouth opens, but no words come out, and I look down at his hand, blinking rapidly. With this small act of kindness, my thoughts lead me down a winding path. Will he want something from me? My life has never been one of comfort, my body a vessel for others to use as they see fit. Gideon works for the king. He is my enemy. But he was feeding the villagers, and he is offering to clean my wounds.

Gentle, strong fingers touch my chin and make me meet quizzical, squinting eyes so dark that no white can be seen. I should be frightened, but I welcome this monster’s wrath because I’m a monster, too. I killed her. I killed her. I am a murderer. They are right. Maybe I am a witch.

“Come, Songbird, I will not harm you.” His words contradict the waves of rage radiating off his body. “My anger is not for you.” The truth of his statement washes over me. It’s genuine. His wrath is not for me.

I grasp his still proffered hand, and warmth dowses my limbs. With this small act of kindness from my gruff beast, I allow myself to relax.

He cautiously guides my body out of the too-tight cage and leads me towards a round table in front of the hefty furnace encompassing a large portion of the back wall. Four chairs surround the table, and he guides me towards a seat next to a shallow dish of water.

The heat from the furnace is welcoming compared to the cold air that greeted me when I entered the streets of Haven. The odd sensation of my skin beginning to drip makes me squeamish, but I dare not move with tormented eyes watching my every move.

Once I’m settled, Gideon gets to work dipping his wet rag in the dish and patting the top of my head. I flinch, but he does not stop his fussing for a few solid movements of time.

“Looks to be superficial,” he announces, going for my wrist.

My blood now dried around the shallow gash, my instinct is to hide it within the folds of the robe, but Gideon huffs, gently plucking it up from my lap. I cannot take my eyes off the beast of a man tending my wounds. His dark, unruly locks drape around his face, sometimes obscuring his eyes enough that he has to push them aside.

Thoroughly cleaning my first wrist, he goes to inspect the other one. I want to say I can do this part myself. This is more than a wound of the flesh. Through the simple act of giving my wrists to him, I feel like I am baring my soul and every secret within the cavern my sleeping dragon protects.

A rumbling vibrates from within the beast towering over me as he wipes away all the blood, and I can’t help but freeze within his musings over my body.

He does not utter a word.

Softly placing my right hand on my leg, Gideon strides towards a bank of wooden cupboards I have yet to notice. They line the far wall, and he rifles through them.

Grabbing a silver tin, he makes his way back to me in a few long strides to stand behind my chair.

“Why waste whatever’s in your tin on someone due to die at suns’ break?” The notion leaves me without much thought.

A growl emanates from the back of me as the ointment is slathered on my head. He doesn’t seem to like me commenting on my impending death, but it’s the truth. I’m a walking bomb, and regardless of my beast’s gentleness and care, I’m a wanted murderer.

With my wound cleaning complete, Gideon replaces the dish he was using to clean my head with a mug. “Drink,” is his only command as I inhale the heady aroma of soothing herbs I remember as nettle and chamomile.

He stands before me in all his imposing glory, and I frown up at him at his continued kindness. “It’s not poison. I’ll reserve your death for the break of sun, when the king has eyes on you,” he states.

The coals light in my chest at his mention of the king. What I would do to the king if I could get my hands on him. The lying bastard.

With fire in my eyes, I growl back at him, “Good luck with that. ”

A wide smirk overtakes his face, showcasing the fangs hidden under his lush lips. “Keep your fire, Songbird. It’s not me you need to fight.”

Without shifting my eyes from his wide figure, I grasp for the mug and consume it in large gulps.

Finished, I give the mug back to Gideon and run my hand across my mouth. “Happy?”

“Very.” His grin is almost infectious, and my mouth tugs at the corners. Damnable beastly wolf.