MasukRina stood in front of the small mirror in Beatrice’s living room. The reflection that stared back at her looked tired but determined. Her hair, still long and dark, had lost some of its shine, and her face was thinner than before, but her eyes carried a calm strength. The twins were asleep in the corner, their tiny breaths soft and steady. Beatrice sat beside them, knitting, but her gaze often moved to Rina, her expression full of quiet concern.
“Beatrice,” Rina said softly, still staring into the mirror, “I think it’s time I go out there and find a job.”Beatrice looked up, frowning. “You’ve been working enough. Child, you only gave birth a few weeks ago. Your body is still weak. You need rest, not stress.”Rina turned, a small smile on her face. “I’ve rested enough. I feel strong now. I can’t keep depending on you and the little my menial errands bring in. You’ve done more than enough for me and the babies. I need to take care of us.”BeatriceThe council chamber was a large room. It was built of gray stone. The air inside was always cool. It smelled of old parchment and beeswax candles. A long table stood in the center of the room. It was made of dark oak. It was heavy and solid. Twelve chairs sat around the table. They were high-backed chairs carved with the symbols of the wolves.Kendrick sat at the head of the table. He wore a simple black tunic. He looked tired. The shadows under his eyes were deep. But his gaze was sharp. He watched the men and women sitting around him. These were the elders. These were the keepers of the law. They were the ones who remembered the history of the pack.Rina sat to his right. She wore a dress of deep blue. It was the color of the evening sky. She sat tall. Her hands rested folded on the table. She did not look at the floor. She looked straight ahead. She looked at the elders. She knew why they were here. She knew what they wanted to say.The room was quiet. Dust motes danced in the shaf
Kendrick knelt in the mud. He did not stand up immediately. He stayed there with the body. The silence of the forest returned. It was deeper now. It was final.Kendrick felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed it down. He did not weep. Tears would not change anything. Tears would not bring back the dead. But he mourned. He mourned the waste of a life. He mourned the boy who had been his friend. He mourned the man who could have been a great king if his heart had not been twisted by greed."Goodbye," Kendrick whispered. The word was lost in the wind.He stood up. His knees were wet. His hands were stained. He wiped the dagger on the grass. He put it back in his belt. He did not look back at the body. He could not. If he looked back, he might break. He had to be strong. The pack needed him to be strong.Kendrick turned and walked out of the clearing. He walked back toward the lights of the camp.The camp was quiet. The battle was over. The soldiers were tired. They sat around small fires
Kendrick knelt in the mud. He did not stand up immediately. He stayed there with the body. The silence of the forest returned. It was deeper now. It was final.Kendrick felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed it down. He did not weep. Tears would not change anything. Tears would not bring back the dead. But he mourned. He mourned the waste of a life. He mourned the boy who had been his friend. He mourned the man who could have been a great king if his heart had not been twisted by greed."Goodbye," Kendrick whispered. The word was lost in the wind.He stood up. His knees were wet. His hands were stained. He wiped the dagger on the grass. He put it back in his belt. He did not look back at the body. He could not. If he looked back, he might break. He had to be strong. The pack needed him to be strong.Kendrick turned and walked out of the clearing. He walked back toward the lights of the camp.The camp was quiet. The battle was over. The soldiers were tired. They sat around small fires
The battle didn't stop. The men Rowland had gathered, the left behind, the rejected, the displaced—they didn't stop fighting. They didn't stop dying in their numbers at the hands of men of the Howlers pack, the Khalaal pack, the Feral Pack and the Crystal pack. They fought with their lives. It made Kendrick sad. They were giving up their lives for a course they believed was just. This was what desperation had caused them.But they were too few now. They started to give up. And one after the other, they began to retreat until the last of them was gone.Kendrick stood in a small clearing. He was alone. The trees surrounded him like tall, black pillars. Their branches were bare and twisted. They looked like skeleton fingers reaching for the sky. The ground beneath his boots was soft. It was churned up by the fighting. He had held Rowland's men off for three days, keeping the war outside the Crystal pack walls.Kendrick did not move. He stood still as a statue. He was waiting. He did
The Enemy Breathes "I should have killed you when we were children," Rowland whispered. His face was inches from Kendrick’s face. His breath smelled of sour wine and rage. "I should have smothered you in your sleep.""But you didn't," Kendrick said through gritted teeth. He pushed back. He found his footing. "And now it is too late."Kendrick twisted his hips. He broke the hold. He shoved Rowland away. Rowland stumbled back. He almost fell. He regained his balance quickly. But he was breathing hard now. The anger was exhausting him."You burned villages in the Sauna pack," Kendrick said. He kept his sword raised. "You ordered the slaughter of the innocent. Was that strength, Rowland? Was that the act of a king?""It was necessary," Rowland shouted. "Fear is necessary. Order is necessary. You are too soft to understand. You want them to love you. I want them to obey.""They do not obey you," Kendrick said. "They fear you. And fear turns to hate. And hate turns to a knife in the dark."
The ground was wet. It was not wet with rain. It was wet with the blood of men who had died for reasons they did not fully understand. The mud was thick and black. It clung to boots and dragged down the weary. The sky above was gray. Smoke rose in pillars from the burning tents in the distance. The air tasted of iron and ash. It was a bitter taste.Kendrick moved through the chaos. He did not look at the faces of the fallen. He did not look at the soldiers who ran past him with fear in their eyes. He was looking for one thing. He was looking for one man. The noise of the battle was loud. Metal clashed against metal. Men screamed in pain and anger. But to Kendrick the world was silent. His heart beat a slow rhythm against his ribs. It was a heavy drum.He saw him.Rowland stood near the edge of the trench. He was not the brother Kendrick had shown mercy. The boy who used to laugh at the dinner table was gone. The young man who had once raced him through the woods was gone. This man was







