Chapter 1.Draven
Remi POV
“One bed,” I said.
Nero looked at the bed.
Then at me.
“Yes,” he said.
“One bed in the whole cabin.”
“It’s a small cabin.”
“There are two rooms.”
“One is a storage room.Which Mordor is apparently going in.”
I looked at the bed. At the fireplace that had been used hundreds of times — the stone around it darker than the rest, worn at the edges from years of hands resting on it. At the single window facing east. At the ceiling lower than anything I’d lived under since Riverside.
Everything about it said someone had loved this place. Used it carefully. Come back to it repeatedly.
“Your grandfather built this,” I said.
“Maintained it,” Nero said. Setting down the bags. “It was already here. He just. Kept coming back.”
I looked at the fireplace.
At two letters carved into the stone beside it. Small. Not decorative. Just. There.
D.B.
Like he needed to mark it as his.
“He said it was the only place he could hear himself think,” Nero said.
I looked around.
“I can see why,” I said.
Outside the storage room Nero stopped.
Looked at Mordor. Who was standing with his wrists still bound looking at the door with the expression of a man assessing a situation.
“In,” Nero said.
Mordor looked at the storage room.
At the shelves. At the root vegetables. At the general condition of a room that had been storing things for years and had now been asked to store a person.
“This is a storage room,” he said.
“Yes,” Nero said.
“There might be poisonous bugs.”
“Move.”
He went in.
Nero looked at him standing among the shelves.
“The door stays open during the day when I’m present,” he said. “Closed and locked at night. You eat what we give you. You answer what I ask. You don’t speak to Remi unless spoken to.” He held Mordor’s eyes. “You’re alive because you have information I need. The moment that information is fully extracted the calculation about keeping you alive becomes significantly more complicated.”
Mordor looked at him.
“You’re clear,” he said.
“Good,” Nero said. He said it without raising his voice. “The bugs are not your problem, I am.”
He closed the door.
The night was rough.
The window that didn’t quite close let in a draft that found every gap in the blanket regardless of how it was arranged. The floor that tilted east meant that anything set down on the table slowly migrated toward the wall. The fireplace worked — worked well, actually, better than anything in the palace — but it needed feeding and the wood ran lower than expected and at some point in the dark hours Nero got up to add more without waking me which I only knew because I was already awake from the cold.
I lay in the bed and listened to the free territory night.
Different from Riverside. Different from the palace. The sounds here had a quality — older, emptier, not silent but spacious. Things moving in the trees that weren’t threats. Just. Life.
Nero came back to bed.
Didn’t say anything. Just. His warmth against the cold. His arm pulling me in.
“Can’t sleep?” he said. Quiet.
“Can now,” I said.
He was quiet.
Then: “Training starts at dawn.”
“I know.”
“It’ll be harder than you’re expecting.”
“Understood,” I said.
“It’s going to feel cold sometimes. You’ll want me to stop. I won’t stop.”
“Good” I said.
He was quiet.
Then his arm tightened slightly around me.
Just once.
Then he went to sleep.
I lay there a little longer.
“Understood,” I said.
“It’s going to feel cold sometimes.”
“I know.”
“You’ll want me to stop.”
“I know.”
“I won’t stop.”
“Good,” I said.
He was quiet.
Then his arm tightened slightly around me.
Just once.
Then he went to sleep.
I lay there a little longer.
Morning.
Before dawn.
I had been asleep. Deeply, completely, warmly asleep in the one bed when the word came.
“Up.”
The window was still grey.
“It’s dark,” I said.
“Yes.”
“The sun—”
“Isn’t relevant. Up Remi.”
I got up. Parrot made a sound of protest and then went quiet because we both knew arguing with him at this hour was a waste of breath.
He was already dressed. Standing by the fireplace. The fire going — he’d made it .
But different.
The same face. The same jaw. The same person.
“Before we start,” he said. “Something you need to understand.”
I pulled on my boots. “What.”
“During training I’m not your husband,” he said. “I’m not the man from the cabin or the cell or the stream yesterday. I’m the person who is going to push you past every limit you think you have and several you don’t know about yet.” He held my eyes. “You can be furious at that person. You can hate that person. But you cannot confuse that person with the one you sleep next to.”
I looked at him
Watched him.
He looked like something that belonged here. The free territory. The mountains behind him. The dark wool and the venom lines quiet at his collar.
“So who are you during training,” I said.
“Draven,” he said.
I blinked. “Your father’s name.”
“My middle name. After him.” He looked at the fire. “I only use it when I need to be someone without mercy.”
“Draven,” I said. Testing it.
“Yes.”
“That’s a terrible name.”
“Good,” he said. “You should be slightly afraid of it.”
I looked at this man.
he had carved a space in himself to become someone else so he could make me stronger.
“Okay,” I said. “Draven.”
Something shifted in his face. The last warmth going somewhere internal. Not gone. Just stored.
“Good,” he said. “Your first task. Feed your prisoner.”
After Nero left I brought Mordor his food.
I didn’t want to.
I did it because Nero said to and because a starved prisoner was a useless one.
I put the plate down in front of him.
Didn’t look at him.
“Thank you,” Mordor said.
I said nothing.
“Remi—”
“Don’t.” I looked at him then. One look. Straight. “Don’t use my name. Don’t speak to me unless Nero is asking you questions.” I held his eyes. “You were in my palace for seven months. You walked corridors I walked. You sat in rooms where I sat. You smiled at people I loved.” I paused. “And you fed everything back to the thing that took my sister into a tunnel and slit her throat.”
He said nothing.
“Eat your food,” I said. “Answer his questions. And don’t use my name.”
I left him with the turnips.
“Today’s remaining task is two parts,” he said. “Part one — shift and hold for thirty seconds. Controlled. Chosen. Not reaction.” He looked at me steadily. “Part two — I’ll send you into the forest for a plant. Silverwood. Grows near moving water. Narrow leaves, silver underside. You find it using wolf senses.” He held my eyes. “Both parts. Today.”
“And if I can’t—”
“Go again.”
“What if—”
“There is no what if,” he said. “There’s go and go again. Nothing else.”
I looked at the clearing.
At the tree stump he’d pointed at.
This was going to be a long morning.
It was a long morning.
Part one took six attempts.
“Shift,” he said. “Thirty seconds. Standing still.”
I looked at him.
“You know I can’t just—”
“Try.”
“Nero. Draven. Whatever you want me to call you right now.” I looked at the clearing. “Pack wolves don’t shift at will. That’s not how it works. Full moon only. .” I looked at him. “I’m not a Blackwater. I’m not from Silvermoon. I’m Riverside pack and Riverside wolves shift on the moon like everyone else.”
“You shifted on the blood moon,” he said. “Before the moon was fully up.” He looked at me steadily. “By every rule you’ve just quoted that should have been impossible.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
“Blackwater blood shifts at will,” he said. “Silvermoon blood shifts at will.” He stepped toward me. “And then there’s you. Something in you is different from every other wolf I’ve ever met. I don’t fully know what it is yet.” Another step. “Neither do you.” He stopped in front of me. “But it was there on the blood moon. .” He looked at the stump. “So we’re going to find out what it can do.”
I looked at the stump.
At my hands.
Found the wolf.
And tried.
