Chapter 8: What They Did to My Pack

By the third piece of bread Faolan placed on my plate, I began considering murder. "Stop feeding me." But he added a spoonful of eggs beside the bread. "I said stop."

"And I heard you."

"Then, why are you still doing it?"

"Because you haven't eaten it yet."

Across the breakfast table, Asterion pushed a bowl of broth toward me. The female healer had left less than an hour ago, and both men had apparently interpreted her order that I eat as a command personally delivered by the Moon Goddess.

"Finish that first," Asterion said.

I looked from the broth to him. "I am not an invalid, Asterion."

"Then, prove it by holding the spoon without trembling."

I tightened my grip around it. Faolan hid his smile behind his cup. "I could stab both of you with this."

"After the broth," Asterion replied.

"And preferably before the pastries," Faolan added. "I would hate for them to go to waste."

Warm amusement traveled through both bonds. Once, threatening my puppies had been enough to make them obey. Now it only encouraged them.

I ate the broth because continuing to argue would give them more satisfaction. Faolan immediately moved the bread closer. I groaned.

"Such gratitude," he murmured.

"You should be grateful I am too weak to reach your throat."

His amber eyes brightened. "The healer promised that would improve in three days."

I abandoned the threat and finished eating. The food did help. By the time Asterion removed the empty bowl, the weakness in my hands had lessened. My fever had broken during the night, and my wolf no longer felt buried beneath layers of poison.

Three days might have been an overly cautious estimate.

Two could be enough.

Perhaps, one, if I tolerated another bowl of broth.

Asterion returned carrying five leather folders. He placed them in front of me, arranged by year. Crescent Ice Pack's silver emblem had been pressed into every cover.

"What are these?"

"The pack reports from the years you were gone."

I leaned back. "Why would I need them?"

"They concern Crescent Ice Pack."

"I am dead, exiled, and no longer part of that pack."

Asterion's mouth curved into a dangerous smile. "You appear remarkably alive to me, my moon."

Before I could answer, he placed something else across the folders.

My dagger.

The black leather sheath bore the scratches I had memorized during five years on the road. I reached for it, then stopped before my eagerness betrayed me.

"You're giving me a weapon?"

"You were always dangerous," Asterion said. "Taking away your dagger never changed that."

Faolan watched as I drew the blade. "Try not to stab the furniture. The innkeeper is already frightened of us."

"Only the furniture?"

"The rest of us heal."

I sheathed the dagger and secured it beneath my robe. The familiar weight restored something the poison had stolen.

I opened the first folder. The report began three weeks after my funeral. The first decree bore both their signatures.

'All hereditary servitude within Crescent Ice is abolished. Every bound servant shall be offered wages, housing, and full freedom to leave pack territory.'

I read it twice. "You released every servant?"

"Every slave," Asterion corrected.

The word struck harder when he used it.

"Some remained as paid members of the household," Faolan said. "The others were given supplies and enough money to establish themselves elsewhere."

"You emptied the treasury to reward deserters."

"We used the gold Raiden collected from the packs he destroyed," Asterion replied. "It belonged to his victims."

I turned the page before they could see that I had no answer. Names filled the next sheet. Forty-two members of the household had accepted paid positions. Nineteen had taken compensation and left Crescent Ice. Seven had returned to surviving relatives in territories Father once forbade them to visit.

I recognized several of them.

The woman who fastened my ceremonial dresses had remained as head of the household staff. The stable boy I once punished for bringing me the wrong saddle now owned part of the breeding grounds.

"And the collars?" I asked.

"Destroyed," Asterion said.

"Every one we could find," Faolan added. "We searched Raiden's storehouses ourselves."

The marks carried a flash of memory that did not belong to me: two new Alphas standing before a furnace while iron collars warped inside the flames.

Neither man had delegated that task. The second decree ended the tribute Crescent Ice demanded from six weaker packs. The third returned farming territory Father had seized along the eastern border.

"How do you fund the army?"

"Trade," Asterion said.

Faolan leaned back in his chair. "It turns out our neighbors are more willing to purchase from us when we stop burning their homes."

"Father would have called that weakness."

Asterion's eyes turned cold. "Raiden is dead. Crescent Ice isn't."

The following pages proved it. Our army had grown rather than weakened. Trade from the eastern farms supplied more gold than forced tributes ever had. Three former enemies had signed defensive treaties, and the border attacks that once consumed hundreds of soldiers each year had nearly stopped.

The weapons inventory had doubled. Food reserves could now sustain the entire pack through two winters. Soldiers who once guarded wagons of stolen tribute had been reassigned to patrol roads used by merchants and families.

"You reduced the number of active raiding units," I said.

"We converted them into border companies," Asterion replied.

"Soldiers still need battle experience."

"They receive it during joint exercises with our allies."

"Allies can turn against you."

His blue eyes met mine. "So can slaves. Fear was never the protection Raiden claimed it was."

They had not softened Crescent Ice. They had taught it how to survive without creating new enemies.

I disliked how much sense it made. The second folder contained plans for the eastern barracks. The old sleeping halls had been rebuilt into homes and classrooms for children recovered from ruined territories.

"You brought outsiders into Crescent Ice?"

Faolan's amusement vanished. "We gave them a choice. Some joined the pack. Others remained until relatives could be found."

"That is not what I asked."

"We brought them in," he said. "Because we know what happens to boys left inside ruins when men like Raiden find them."

My fingers went still against the page. I remembered Faolan covered in ash inside Father's throne room. Asterion kneeling beside him in bloodstained clothes.

Neither bond allowed me to pretend the memory belonged to someone else.

I continued reading. The reports revealed how differently they ruled. Asterion's notes filled the military budgets, supply routes, and border patrols. Faolan's appeared beside negotiations, education plans, and disputes between old Crescent Ice families and new arrivals.

One anticipated every threat.

The other understood how people would react to it.

Their signatures appeared together beneath every major decision. The margins revealed where they had disagreed. Asterion had opposed allowing untested refugees into the inner territory. Faolan had refused to leave children outside the gates while officials investigated their histories.

Their solution created temporary homes near the eastern watchtower, guarded without resembling a prison. After one season, anyone wishing to remain could swear a voluntary pack oath.

Neither man had won the argument completely.

The pack had benefited because they knew how to surrender part of a victory to each other. They did not divide the pack between them. They carried it together.

"Entrusting Crescent Ice to both of you was the only intelligent decision I made before leaving," I said.

Silence followed. I looked up.

Asterion's expression had hardened. "You could have entrusted us with the pack without forcing us to bury you."

Faolan stared into his cup. The grief passing through the bonds made the room feel smaller.

I lowered my gaze to the reports. "What happened to my chambers?"

Asterion glanced at Faolan. "He refused to let anyone use them."

Faolan pointed at him. "He repaired your balcony after every winter storm."

"You cleaned her rooms yourself."

"You preserved every map in her strategy room."

"You threatened a maid for moving her jewelry box."

"You nearly dismissed a guard for touching her chair."

I exchanged glances between them. "Are you two finished?"

"He started it," Faolan said.

Asterion ignored him. "Your chambers remain as you left them."

"Why? You had five years to choose another Luna."

Both men looked at me.

"We already had one," Asterion said.

"She was dead." I shrugged. 

Faolan smiled faintly. "We were never entirely convinced."

"The elders must have demanded political unions."

"Repeatedly," Asterion confirmed.

"And you refused them all?"

"There was no vacancy," he said.

I closed the fourth folder harder than necessary. "Crescent Ice already has two Alphas. Why drag its former tyrant home? Everyone was frightened of me."

"Not everyone," Faolan said.

"They still light candles every winter," Asterion added.

I rolled my eyes. "I suppose you threatened them until they brought flowers to my empty tomb."

Faolan's expression turned serious. "We abolished forced tribute. That includes flowers."

"Then, why do they honor me?"

Asterion rested his hand over the final folder. "Some remember the battles you won for them. Some mourn the Alpha they believed you might have become."

"We didn't organize anything on the first anniversary," Faolan said. "Neither of us could endure another ceremony." His gaze drifted toward the window. "At sunset, candles began appearing outside the pack house anyway. Soldiers brought the first ones. Then their families. By midnight, the path to your memorial was covered in light."

I swallowed against the sudden pressure in my throat.

"The flowers came the following morning," Asterion added. "No orders. No threats."

"And the others?"

"Some refuse to attend," Faolan answered. "A few have spat upon your memorial stone. No one is punished for either choice."

The honesty unsettled me more than adoration would have. "Then, you don't need me."

"The pack has two Alphas," Asterion said. "But we have one mate."

"Crescent Ice is no longer my home."

Faolan leaned forward. "Then, come back and see what it became after your father stopped controlling it. Decide afterward."

"You expect me to return willingly?"

"No," he said. "But hope has made us foolish before."

I opened the final folder. A map of the northern territories unfolded across the table. The main road to Crescent Ice had changed after a bridge collapsed two winters ago. New patrol routes had been marked in blue ink. Supply roads crossed the forests north of the inn, including one narrow trail leading toward an unguarded trading boundary.

I studied the map with the concentration expected of Crescent Ice's former ruler.

In truth, I counted distances.

The northern trail could be reached before dawn. In wolf form, I could cross the river within two hours and enter neutral territory before midday. Asterion's reports identified every patrol change.

My returned dagger rested against my thigh.

Faolan believed he could recognize every lie I told.

Asterion believed the marks made escape impossible.

By the time breakfast ended, I knew exactly which road I would take when I proved them both wrong.