Page 22 of Wild Reverence

XV

A Shield for the Hounds

MATILDA

Thile, god of dusk, oaths, and summer. The Lord of the Skywards.

And yet my father’s name—a sound I had longed to hear—struck no chord within me as I held my dead mother in my arms. Time seemed to melt away, leaving me frozen in a moment that felt as dark, cruel, and cold as the winter solstice.

My vision blurred as tears stung my eyes.

When I blinked, they fell, gathering on my mother’s face like rain.

At last, the chime of shifting coins, the clatter of a silver chalice hitting the ground, the rustle of dresses being yanked off their hooks prompted me to look up at Phelyra.

The goddess of coin and revelry, who now had taken fire, winter, and cunning.

Her power was immense. I could feel it in the room as if she were an eddy in the ocean.

“Why?” I rasped.

My query made her pause, but only for a second, as if she had forgotten all about me. I realized she had been darting about her burrow, packing in haste. Filling her enchanted pockets with as many of her possessions as she could carry.

“Oh, sweet child,” she said, voice soft with pity. “Our well-laid plans have fallen apart, and it was either her or me. Your mother would not fault me for it. I had to protect myself, and that meant removing her voice. You will understand this one day.”

“No,” I said, my shock burning away into fury. “ No, I won’t. I will never betray an ally like you have.”

“You are fortunate that your magic is so humble that I do not want it. That I have spared you.” She continued to pack, shoving a blue cloak into a pocket, then a small coffer that overflowed with a string of pearls.

“You should run, Matilda. It is no longer safe here for you. Run, child. If Dacre catches you, he will torture you for answers.”

With that, Phelyra was gone.

She darted from her burrow, leaving the door wide open.

I wondered where she was going, where she would flee to.

And while the last thing I desired was to take a treacherous ally’s advice, I heard shouts in the corridor. Alva’s voice, followed by Dacre’s.

They were heading this way.

Sparks stirred in my chest, smoldering through the despair, the lingering numbness.

When I tried to lay my mother down, I couldn’t. Not with the shaft of wood still piercing her neck. Teeth gritted, I yanked it free, wincing to feel the scale shred through her again. But the weapon was in my hand now, slick and golden with her ichor.

My mother had not known Phelyra possessed a scale.

If she had, she would have never turned her back on her.

It would have ended their allyship, because the power between them would have been imbalanced.

And I wondered where Phelyra had come by this scale.

My mother must have assumed Phelyra had traded it on the black market, not realizing her ally had kept it instead.

I hesitated, then tucked the eithral arrow away into one of my pockets.

Gently, I laid my mother down.

It devastated me that I could not do more for her. That I had to abandon her body here.

“I will not forget this, Mother,” I whispered, and then rose to my feet. “Find your rest in the mists.”

Trembling, I ran to the forge.

I ran to Bade.

He must have known I was in danger.

Bade found me in the corridors, the two of us nearly colliding in a swirl of fog. His eyes widened as he took me in—ragged, blood splattered, shaking like a leaf.

“Are you wounded?” he asked gruffly.

I had learned long ago that he took this tone when he was worried and trying to hide it. I shook my head, words buried between my bones. If I spoke, I would weep, and I could not afford to look feeble.

Voices continued to echo in my wake. The shouts were angrier, turning decisive. In the distance, a hound began to bay.

Bade glanced behind me, alarmed.

I could only hope that Dacre had summoned the hounds to track down Phelyra and my mother. But once he realized Zenia was dead, I had no doubt the hounds would come for me next. And there would be a slim chance of me evading them. They were strong, fast creatures who followed scent trails.

Bade took my hand, and I could have collapsed in relief. To feel his warm, strong fingers take mine bolstered my courage.

“Come with me,” he murmured, and together we ran to his burrow.

Hem was working in the forge, but he paused at the sight of me, hammer in hand, brows arching.

“Hem?” Bade said calmly. “Will you please find a sword and a shield for Matilda?”

Hem bowed his head and set down the hammer.

Bade continued to lead me through the door to his burrow, our strides hurried as we left the metal and smoke of the forge behind.

He expected me to fight, but I did not know if I was strong enough to ward off the hounds.

I wondered if Phelyra had spoken truthfully; would Dacre torture me for information?

“Adria?” Bade called when we reached the common room. Here, he finally released my hand. “Will you pack some provisions? Water in a flask, and food that will last a sennight?”

Adria appeared from the adjacent room, a stack of books in her arms. She was wearing a white dress, ruby brooches pinned at her shoulders.

Her light brown hair was brushed smooth as silk, her face radiant.

Upon first glance, I would have never known she was not one of us.

I would have never known she had been born mortal, so gracefully did she wear her immortality and power, save for the compassion that dwelled constant in her eyes, in her heart.

Her fault line was my own.

And when our gazes met, I saw something flicker through her. Something dark and beautiful, reflected from myself. There was more to her magic, just as there was more to mine.

“Matilda!” She dropped the books. “You’re hurt!”

“I… no, my mother is dead,” I managed to say, and the words emerged as a hollow announcement.

Both Adria and Bade stiffened, continuing to stare at me, wide-eyed.

“Who killed her?” Bade asked quietly.

“Phelyra.”

I told them about the eithral scales, the black market.

A muscle shifted in Bade’s clenched jaw. He had not been aware of any of this, and he glanced at Adria. The two of them seemed to speak without words, a current that went over my head.

The moment was broken by Hem, who had arrived with a sword and shield for me.

“Sir?” he said, extending the offerings.

While Adria rushed to pack food in a leather satchel, Bade took the weapons.

“Admit no one,” he said to Hem, who bowed once more and left to guard the door. “Here, Matilda. These might slow you down, but you need to take the sword and shield with you and be prepared to use them.”

I swallowed, gazing at the familiar broadsword. It was my favorite one, forged by Hem, and I had practiced relentlessly with it over the past few seasons.

Where am I to go? I wanted to ask. Can I not stay with you?

That is what I had been fervently hoping for—that Bade would hide me in his burrow. But what a foolish fancy; of course he would not. I was not his daughter. I was only a god-child he had reluctantly sworn to aid.

Instead, I said, “I do not need a shield. I still have the one you first gave me.”

Bade blinked. “Where is it, then?”

I recalled my shield from the moonstone pocket. It flashed upon my sinister arm, ready, and Bade chuckled in awe, a smile tugging his mouth.

“Very good. Take up your sword.”

I returned the shield to its holding place, adding the sword to a pocket I could quickly reach with my right hand. As Phelyra had once promised, I did not feel the weight at all.

My nose wrinkled at the mere thought of her, like the air was foul.

“What is that look for?” Bade asked.

I did not want to say her name, so I asked, “What should I do? Do I run or fight?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if measuring his words. “In battle,” he finally said, “there comes a moment when you must decide if you want to stand your ground and fight, even if it brings death, or if it is time to retreat and run.”

“How do I know which decision is right?”

“What do you think Dacre will do if he catches you, Matilda?”

“I… think he will torture me for information. Wound me and then heal me, again and again.”

“Then you run. And you do not look back.”

I exhaled, preparing to ask another question, when we were interrupted.

“Bade,” Adria called from the back room. “The water…”

I followed Bade to where the underground rill trickled through their burrow to see the water was misbehaving. It was boiling, emitting curls of scalding heat. I had only ever seen this happen two other times in my life, and they had each corresponded with a blistering mortal summer.

“Wine, then, Adria,” said Bade, taking hold of my arm to distract me from the hot rill. “We need to think about where you can go for sanctuary. Quickly. Our time is almost expired.”

Where can I go? The question reverberated through me, making me acknowledge the terrible truth that there were not many places I felt safe.

I gnawed on my lip, conflicted. But then I thought of him, and my heart leapt, hopeful.

“Matilda?” Bade prompted, seeing my countenance change.

“I could go to Vincent.”

“ Vincent? I do not recognize this name. Who is he?”

“A mortal friend.”

“You would find sanctuary with humankind? Can their walls hold back the Underlings? Do they dwell on a ley line? Is their fortress compromised with a hidden door that connects our two realms?”

He was rattling off questions that I did not have answers to. My anxiety began to bubble over; my breaths quickened.

“I do not know,” I whispered. “But I trust him. He would protect me.”

“Then I assume he has an army to defend you? Troops he can command? A gate he can keep lowered and locked and doors he can keep barricaded? Provisions that can fuel a siege? Because once you leave this realm, Dacre will send his hounds and his eithrals after you.”

No.

Vincent was a mortal boy. He was my age, still growing into his role as the lord’s third-born son. He was no nobleman yet.