Chapter 013. The Binder

“Good morning, Foxy.”

Saeris found herself staring at Samkiel's smirking face. There had been a knock and she expected Vaelen, perhaps he’d come to finally offer his part of the deal. Or to apologize. Unlikely, but she’d prepared for that, too.

“I don’t escort just anyone, you know.”

She frowned. “Then why are you here?”

He smirked, lazy and lethal. “Your brooding mate insisted. You know, the tall, bad-tempered one with a crown. Lord of shadows and sour moods. That one. Something about you breaking his face.” His voice turned sensual. “If I knew you hit like that…” He let his scent slip, only to sigh afterwards, leaning away. There had been no reaction thanks to not having a wolf now, but something about him unnerved her.

He’d practically held himself back from whatever that was.

“Apparently,” he said like he hadn't done that, “I'm to escort you to the Spire to see old man Thorold.”

At last. It didn't matter who took her there. "Then I'm ready," she said, stepping forward.

Samkiel held up a hand. "Ah—no, no. Not so fast. You haven't had breakfast."

She pulled a face. "And you know that, how?”

"Judging by the untouched tray and the murder in your eyes, I’d say you haven’t eaten. And fortunately for you, I’ve been tasked with keeping you alive.”

She glared at him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

”Truthfully I'm not"

In all Saeris’ life, she had never finished a meal so quickly. She practically inhaled the toasted bread and bacon and berries, washing it down with orange juice while Samkiel watched with raised eyebrows.

"I've seen starving wolves eat with more decorum," he commented as she stood and wiped her mouth.

"Take me to the sage," she said, ignoring his jab. "Now."

✦✦✦

Tenebrous shimmered in the morning light.

Saeris had seen glimpses from her window … at night, the court felt distant, too glossy to be real. But out here, with her boots on stone and the slightly cold wind in her hair, it was too solid to be anything but a reminder. One that whispered cruelly:

Greenvale never had a chance.

The observation stung, but she couldn't deny it.

They'd walked a few miles from the main court when the Spire came into view. True to its name. A spire. At its front was a massive carved Lycan, jaws frozen mid-snarl, and beneath it, a detailed crest, like the one she’d seen in the court.

"The court's emblem," Samkiel explained, catching her gaze. "Once upon a time, this place was known as the Silver Spire."

Saeris frowned at the dark stone. "It's not silver."

"It has its reasons," he said with a shrug. "But that hardly matters now, since everyone just calls it the Spire these days."

"Then why tell me that at all?”

He only smiled. “Call it instinct.”

“Psssh.” She brushed past him.

The interior was impressive … like a cathedral and a library had merged with an ancient observatory. Domed ceilings stretched high above, with sunlight pouring in through glamorous glass that shimmered like liquid opal. Spiral staircases twisted around floating platforms stacked with tomes. Shelves towered from floor to sky, filled with scrolls, relics, and old instruments that ticked and spun on their own.

In a world with no magic, it surely seemed to hum right here.

Saeris slowed, she didn’t mean to, but her feet did it anyway.

A young woman passed them, arms full of leather-bound volumes. She spared a glance at Samkiel and promptly flushed scarlet before hurrying off.

“Where’s the scholar?” she asked, gaze sweeping the towering stacks of shelves. “This place looks deserted.”

Samkiel only shrugged. "We walked in together, how am I supposed to know? Besides, Thorold isn't exactly a morning person. I suspect he'll take his sweet time once he hears we're here."

That made Saeris fold her arms. "So the sage isn't even available?"

"It has come to my notice too—”

“And where else do you think I’d be, Sam?” came a cracking voice from somewhere in the depths of the Spire.

From behind one of the farthest shelves emerged an old man. And old didn’t even begin to cover it.

He looked like a breath of wind might shatter him, tall and reed-thin, with wild white hair that stood up in all directions, and a beard that brushed the middle of his chest. His robe was a soft, battered blue, threadbare in places, but spotless. And his eyes… piercing and alert, belied his apparent age.

“Thorold!” Samkiel’s face lit up with genuine delight. “You old fox! I thought we’d have to hunt you down.”

The sage's expression soured immediately, a wire-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose.

"You were barred from the Spire, Sam. Why are you here?"

"I missed you, what else? Haah…phew…besides, how could I object when His Royal Broodiness himself asked me to escort his lovely mate to the good old sage?”

He stepped toward the old man, only for Thorold to raise a single gnarled finger in warning.

“Don’t you dare come any closer.”

Samkiel halted, palms open. “You wound me.”

“You’re a migraine in boots,” Thorold lamented as Sam plopped into a nearby chair, legs up. “I was dragged from my bed by the King,” the old man muttered. “Dragged, mind you. I fought him, of course. I bit him, actually. But he’s still too strong. So here I am, aged and abused, expected to work miracles for ungrateful Lycans.”

Saeris tried to picture Vaelen hauling the old man bodily from his bed, while Samkiel threw his head back and laughed—a full, booming sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. She failed. The image just wouldn’t stick.

Thorold turned to Saeris then, his eyes softening. "You must forgive him. He has all the subtlety of a charging bull." Then he peered at her more closely. "And who might you be?"

Since she'd arrived yesterday, Saeris had been stared at, whispered about, threatened, and treated like a performing monkey. All of the attention had begun to chafe. But Thorold's curiosity bore no malice. A childish inquisitiveness radiated from him as he circled a table and came to stand on the other side of it.

So she laid it on thick. "I'm Saeris Windemere of Greenvale Pack. Vaelen’s Mate."

She added the last part as a little mercy to Vaelen.

Thorold's mouth turned down at the corners. "Greenvale Pack? A Lycan pack?"

"Werewolf," she corrected automatically.

"It's true," Samkiel added quietly.

The light in Thorold's twinkling eyes guttered out.

“…So it is true,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “I thought the King was joking. But no—he’s actually doing it.” He sighed heavily, one hand rising to rub his temples. “That boy never ceases to raise my blood pressure.”

Saeris felt a chill.

He knows it’s all a farce. That this wasn’t a bond, wasn’t some fate-spun miracle.

Somehow, it made her breathe easier.

“The King mentioned something about your ring,” Thorold said after a moment. His tone had shifted again. “May I see it?”

Saeris had almost forgotten that conversation. She twisted the simple silver band from her finger and handed it over. "Please be careful with it.”

Thorold lifted the ring to the light as if it might sing.

For a long moment, he said nothing—then, his expression changed from mild interest to something far more stunned…and with a voice that barely made it past his lips, “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, indeed it is.” His eyes widened, like he'd just unearthed a secret the world had forgotten. "I never thought anything of a Binder still existed."

"A what?"

Even Samkiel straightened. “A Binder?” he echoed. “You’re sure?”

“Clear as daylight.”

“So… she’s a Binder?”

“I don’t know what she is yet,” Thorold said, gaze still pinned to the ring. “But if this belonged to her mother… then somewhere nearby, a Binder walked.”

Saeris frowned. “Okay, wait. What exactly is a Binder? And what does this ring have to do with it?”

Neither of them answered.

“So her mother was one, then?”

“I’m still here!” Saeris snapped, and finally, they looked at her. She exhaled hard. “Now, what the hell is a Binder?”

“A person capable of extraordinary and terrible things,” that sensual voice murmured. Vaelen stood in the doorway. The split lip was gone…just smooth, unbothered skin where she’d landed the punch.

“Another form of an Alchemist,” he went on. “But where Alchemists transform elements, Binders can trap and harness spirits, specifically, the spirits of wolves and Lycans."

Thorold nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes—it’s so. And more. A skilled Binder could manipulate the bonds between wolves. Suppress them. Strengthen them and even break them.”

Her blood iced over.

“Control wolves?”

“Control bonds,” Thorold corrected gently. “They couldn’t puppeteer a beast, but they could undo what ties a person to it. Unmate two wolves. And in doing so, they could turn one to be without wolf or beast...and mates into strangers.”

A different kind of silence fell.

Something inside her, soft and terrified, lurched sideways.

Except she asked. “And you believe whoever made the ring is one?”

“Without a doubt.”

Her tongue tasted of iron.