Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven

We ran toward the large crashing sound I heard. Well, I ran. The bird lady flew nearby with her giant wings. I’m not sure how she kept from crashing into buildings or fae fleeing the conflict. But watching the Raven Queen move on the wind was like seeing an actual corvid maneuvering through a dense forest. 

She read the wind as though it was instinct. Every flap, every twist of a feather, every gust, she knew intimately. Varella didn’t have to think or consider these things. She didn’t ponder or develop a flying strategy. My pack leader just. . . flew. It came naturally to her in a way that only magic could carry, with instincts won not just by evolution but by faerie sorcery as well. 

This was her power, at least part of it. It’s something the bird lady had clearly wielded since she was just a hatchling. Centuries of winged precision no human, no bird, could ever hope to match. And she was my pack leader. 

Obviously, Varella is the Raven Queen, not the Wolf Queen. But seeing her move with such confidence and agility, rushing to stop a war that wasn’t even her own. . . something inside of me submitted. 

Yes, she’d own my loyalty fair and square with a duel of fangs and feathers back in the woods outside our home. But. . . that was a begrudging admission of loss. 

What I felt now within my wolfheart was difficult to describe. The human girl inside of me would call it something close to inspiration, I think. Varella inspired my loyalty now. I gave it not just because she’d defeated me so easily, but because I wanted to now. She’d earned my respect. 

And goddammit, I wanted her to know that as much as she knew every inch of the human girl inside of me. 

The Raven Queen looked down at me with those luminous eyes of hers aglow, and I knew we were running toward a fight. A big one. But I realized the healer was right. I’d follow those wings wherever they flew. 

“What are you thinking, little wolf?” Varella asked. 

I did not possess the speech of people. I could only stare. Maybe the human girl inside me could relay my thoughts later. No, she’d likely relay her thoughts, passionate about our pack leader as she is. But I think the Raven Queen with her centuries of wisdom understood. There’s just so much a prolonged look can relay. 

“My fearsome pet. Glistening fangs in the dark. Paws and claws bounding over the twilight sands of a foreign kingdom. I see you. I know you. You are mine,” the Raven Queen said, the reciting of poetry not distracting her from flying past fleeing soldiers and townsfolk who delayed their retreat. 

We arrived at the gate, half-collapsed, giant wooden doors, one cracked in half, one half-hanging from the wall. And outside, a forward group of armored soldiers, the first successful at penetrating this city’s defenses. 

Their armor was covered in filth, not one last shiny spot remained to reflect the light. All was mud, blood, flesh, and dust. 

I could tell this wasn’t the full invading army, but a piece that’d broken through while the outside troops held the remainder off. What I didn’t know was where the kings were. 

Few Worm Court soldiers remained inside the gates. Their stone armor cracked and ruined, life leaking, their final moments in this world upon them. Dead for a petty squabble. 

A pawfull of Yellow Court soldiers armed with spears and swords, even a few giant hammers, took a look at Dars-Morill. 

“What now, Gaban?” a woman asked. 

“I say we have a little fun while we wait for the main forces to catch up with us,” Gaban said. He was a willowy main carrying a sickle and a round shield, his hair the color of wheat, at least it probably was when it wasn’t stained with bodily fluids and soil. 

Gaban was a bit taller than the human girl inside me, his armor some kind of metal I’m sure she would be able to identify with a human word. For me, it was just casing to protect that beating heart my jaws watered for. I was denied the prize of my kill back in the Raven Court. Should my queen give the command, I would not allow that to happen here.

Whatever his armor was made of, it was a sickening shade of yellow that, next to his powder skin, cast a sickly glow upon him. Most of the Yellow Court soldiers carried similar complexions. 

A family fleeing the chaos caught Gaban’s eye, and he moved to cut off their escape. The cracked gate and Gaban’s soldiers behind them. A cruel and chaotic-looking commander before them. Their home was ruined by falling debris, and in truth, they were fortunate to escape with their lives. 

“We don’t want any trouble with you or your king,” the mother said, standing between Gaban and her children. The two of them were young. They’d be little siblings to Sierra if they were part of her family. 

“War breeds trouble, whether you want it or not,” Gaban said, taking a step toward them. 

“Do you intend to take us as captives to your court?” the father asked. 

Gaban shook his head. 

“No, prisoners require patience, something I’ve spent too much of today,” Gaban said, raising his sickle. 

His soldiers moved in from behind. They carried the same eagerness for blood. I smelled it on them, their pheromones called to the chaos of war, bathed in it. This was their natural habitat, and I hated them all the more for it. 

One soldier kicked out the father’s legs from beneath him. He collapsed to the dust with a big “HUPH.” The mother pushed her children behind her, back toward the ruined house, but Gaban didn’t leave much room for quarter. 

“Let the children go, please,” she said. 

“Why? So they can grow up to seek revenge for their slain parents? I’m not eager to make that mistake,” Gaban said, moving closer and raising his sickle. 

The mother threw her back between its point and her kids, wrapping them tightly in her arms. They started to cry out, and the next thing I heard was a rustling of wings. My pack leader raised a hand, her magic stirring as a growl escaped both our lips. 

Before Gaban took another step, the wind quite literally carried him into a nearby wall. The speed at which it happened was beyond my eyes. One second he was there, and the next, he was slammed into the wall with a fury that would have killed a mortal man. 

The only warning I had of the attack was when a small bit of dust whipped up around Gaban’s boots. 

Next thing I knew, my pack leader was between him and his soldiers, the family behind her. 

“The Raven Queen,” one of the kids exhaled. 

The mother and father exchanged glances before looking at Varella. Renewed terror and confusion spread across their faces. I thought they’d be happy to be rescued, but their reaction to seeing my pack leader was akin to a bear mauling a bobcat moments before the feline attacked. Now they had a bigger threat to deal with. 

“Go now,” the Raven Queen said. “Move toward the rear gate. It is unbreached.” 

They didn’t waste any time with gratitude, struggling to their feet, tripping, and almost in tears. The family was gone by the time Gaban collected himself and climbed out of the wall with a dislocated shoulder. 

“The Raven Queen. Holy shit. And I thought we shot down all the messenger birds sent out for aid,” Gaban said, spitting a chipped tooth and some blood. “Is your court so pitiful that the only free soldier you had on hand was this scrawny mutt?”

If she didn’t kill him, I would. 

“What are you doing here, Gaban? You get a lucky break in the enemy lines and figure you could plow through, show up your father?” 

He spat more blood. 

“My father. . .? Oh, you’re referring to the honorable Commander Gilcrest? The Fist of Danehaven and leader of the Yellow Court’s eastern troop division? That father? Yeah, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about showing him up. I’d just as soon kill him if he got in my way here,” Gaban said. 

He looked for his soldiers, but they hadn’t taken a step toward the Raven Queen. This only seemed to anger him more. 

“Ah, couldn’t cut it in your father’s ranks. Things got hard. So you quit, became a sellsword, and told yourself that it was all because you were a rebel, a genius even, and you didn’t want to waste an ounce of that brain chaffing at the commands of an old fool. Gods, you’re an easy read.” 

Gaban picked up his sickle with the still-functioning shoulder. Varella took out his shield arm, it seemed. 

“Maybe I do have a chance to show him up. I could kill you here and now, take your throne. I think I’d make a good Raven King. Imagine his face then,” Gaban sneered. 

I growled. . . a deep and penetrating noise that rattled in their chests even several feet away. Gaban’s soldiers didn’t appear eager to engage with me either. 

“You know, I respect your father. Gilcrest is an honorable man, even routed my forces a few times in past decades. Yet with all his power and military might, he understands there are rules, even during a war,” my pack leader said, scowling at Gaban as though he were nothing more than mud on her boots. “And the number one rule? You don’t fucking touch civilians!” 

Even Gaban flinched as the wind carried Varella’s roar. The level of her displeasure was no secret at this point. I’d never seen her angry before, and it almost made me want to tuck my tail and run. 

Gaban’s face, bruised and battered as it was, found a way to grin. 

“You’re supposed to be a dark queen of Faerie, are you not? I grew up listening to horrifying tales of what you did to your enemies. And I’m supposed to believe you’d get this mad over a few deaths during war?” Gaban asked. 

My pack leader’s demeanor chilled in an instant. She took a step toward Gaban who took an extra moment to raise his weapon, putting it between her and him. His arrogance fled like the last light engulfed by a night sky at sunset. 

“It’s not the killing that gets me, you little cockroach. It’s the flagrant disregard for the few rules every fae abides by, even at the deepest, most depraved moments, the wildness of their heated passionate killings. The rules that keep courts intact and this entire fucking land from descending into madness,” she said. 

Gaban was left silent. 

“You think you can kill me and claim my court? I lay that choice at your feet here and now. Out of respect to Gilcrest, you can take your soldiers and leave, or I can tear you into little pieces here in the street, showing you just how wide the gap is between the sheer magic it takes to kill a queen of Faerie and what meager abilities you possess,” Varella said. 

In a split second of wounded pride and abounding tantrums, Gaban screamed, “Kill her now!” 

But that was all he said as my pack leader raised an arm, nails sharp as talons. Her magic stirred as though it was waiting to be called, pulling against its leash, ready for violence upon this ignorant soul. 

I felt her aura grow cold, and her hand glowed a vibrant purple as a massive gust of wind blew from behind Gaban and toward her. It was like her hand was swallowing the wind, pulling it away from her pitiful opponent. 

The fool took two steps before falling to his knees, gasping, looking around in shock, trying to figure out where the air went. 

“It takes about 90 seconds of air deprivation before a faerie loses consciousness. Believe me. I’ve measured this against many foes. You, foolish Gaban, will be dead before you lose consciousness,” Varella said, as black shapes folded out of her wings. I realized, at once, they were ravens, large birds with beaks and claws eager to find prey. 

My mouth sat agape at the sheer number of birds that materialized from her in the matter of a few seconds. 

“You, kill me? Allow me to show you but a piece of my power, insect,” Varella said, her voice still carrying notes of ice. It almost felt like my ears were freezing just from hearing her. 

I watched the pack leader I adored descend into a sleek and easily realized killer. And she did so without breaking a sweat. The caws from her ravens were almost deafening. Round and round they flew, and their group description gradually became more appropriate given the queen’s intent. Unkindness. 

What little color Gaban had drained from his face as he continued to gasp. His throat shrank. His lungs pleaded. Had this fool ever pleaded for anything in his life? I doubted it. 

“First my lovely birds will claw out your eyes. Next, they’ll peck out your tongue. And finally, their caws will tear your ears blood from the inside out. Then, and only then, will you be granted merciful death, Gaban.” 

She snapped her fingers, and the birds fulfilled every promise. I watched from first blood to final blood as Gaban reached deep within him for any screams remaining. But the well was dry. So, he fell over in a puddle of blood, dead he intended to leave that family. 

His soldiers screamed and charged at my pack leader. It was an idiotic choice, their misplaced loyalty, or maybe the desire for a chance at fool’s luck. 

They charged at her with swords, spears, hammers, and spikes knuckles. My pack leader reached to her right wing, and with the same fluid motion she’d carried us here with through the wind, pulled out a sword made entirely of black feathers. 

From here, I could see its edge, sharper than most any blade I’d seen carried in her queendom. 

She weaved and sidestepped, cutting down every foe that charged her, sending blood flying in each direction. They didn’t land a single blow on the monarch. 

With her, she carried that same deadly calm, one even scarier than her roar. It was a quiet and calculated death, the kind of a superior predator of the skies deals out when necessary. 

And then, her blood appeared. An arrow fired by the single soldier that hung back scraped her cheek. 

My pack leader’s blood dripped down her cheek, a deep blue that matched the lake her castle stood over. 

She did not flinch, licking her teeth in thought. But something snapped in me, and I soon found myself bounding across the street and tearing the faerie’s arm clean off. He would never again wield the bow. 

Unlike Gaban, he did scream, falling backward onto someone’s still intact porch in shock, quivering before my bloody jaws. He smelled of sweat and dust-filled desperation. 

I tore his armor off and flung him backward into a wooden post, bringing forth another cry. Was he a pawn just swept into a bigger game than he could control? Or did he commit war crimes with impunity like his now-deceased leader? I had no way of knowing. 

What I did know is he hurt my pack leader, even if only for a moment. And that would cost him. I snarled, tearing his chest, cracking ribs, more blood spilling down my jaw that tasted of bitter spices and old tree sap. 

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His heart would be mine within seconds. 

And then a memory sank through from the girl inside me. She was crying, head in the lap of a half-faerie I identified as her friend, her closest packmate. 

What brought forth those tears? I reached for another memory, backing away from the wound I’d caused. 

“Please. . .,” the soldier gasped, barely quivering anymore. His body didn’t have the energy for it. 

It was when I’d killed that faerie in court. That action left her shaken. Why? It wasn’t the first death by my jaws. But. . . somehow, while death came to me as instinct, it revisited her in the form of regret. 

Backing away, I sat and watched the soldier who looked a little relieved, like he’d been given a stay of execution. 

I didn’t want to hurt the girl inside again. We shared this body. Our hearts beat in the same chest. She had her own shit to deal with. 

Of course, right after I’d decided to let this soldier live, my pack leader removed his head from his body before he’d even realized what’d happened. 

That drew more blood, upon my face and her armor. 

She looked at me with those eyes, and while I sensed no threat toward myself, I knew the dark queen was analyzing me. 

“I sense you let him live out of mercy to the human girl, little wolf. And I’ll respect that choice. She is my pet as you are. So when she sees this memory, I hope she understands my words. I chose to kill him. Not you. Me. Nobody spills my blood and walks away alive,” the Raven Queen said. 

Then she kneeled, her face next to mine, and she whispered, “There are times I need you to be the fierce beast, the rabid animal who kills. When those moments arise, mercy and kindness must be suspended by the necessity of blood. This wasn’t one of those moments. But I want you to be prepared, my wolf. Do you understand?”

Of course, I understood. I had no problem killing. And if it came down to it, the girl would have to shed a few more tears in regret. But no unless it was absolutely necessary. 

I licked the wound on my pack leader’s face. Her blood tasted like forest air and feathers. It was unlike anything inside human veins. 

“Good wolf,” she said, scratching the side of my head. To which, I responded with a belly growl that’d put any German shepherd to shame and licked my chops. 

Sometime before my pack leader had slaughtered the soldier to make it past the gates, King Yulcifer had arrived with a small detail of his own guards, also stained with gore and dirt. We turned toward him as he examined the carnage of his enemies. 

King Yulcifer was shorter than the Raven Queen. Long brown hair spilled from his helmet. His armor was gold, and from his shoulder draped a torn cloak, now just a shred of what it was before he escaped battle. His brown eyes found my pack leader, and simultaneous relief and disappointment filled his face. Relief, because his letter had arrived. Disappointment because the queen came with no army behind her, only a single werewolf. 

“Queen Varella. You have my thanks for dispatching these troops that slipped past our guard. But battle still rages right outside my gates. Please tell me the army of the Raven Court is marching here as we speak.” 

The king’s voice wasn’t as deep as I expected it to be, given that he was a large man. 

“I will not bring my feathers and talons into this conflict, King Yulcifer,” she said. 

“But we are invaded by a hostile force!” his voice carried across the now-empty street. “Without proper reason, the Yellow Court—” 

My pact leader interrupted him. 

“Save it, Yulce. I’ve heard the grievances against your Worm Court. They are valid. You should have handed your brother over the moment King Datan requested his extradition. I know of his crimes. Many do. They were not worth attempting to shield him, and now his actions cost the Worm Court hundreds, if not thousands of lives.” 

The king flinched at her words. And as he gritted his teeth, looking for some spin, which I now saw he was used to finding, the monarch looked at the corpses around him. When he saw just how much blood had been spilled, including a corpse nearly picked clean by now-scattered ravens, he paled a bit. 

“We have a treaty, Var. If I call for aid, you’re supposed to come. That’s what I pay tribute to your court for every decade,” he said, as though each word was a restraint of its own measure. My pact leader moved closer to him, and I followed. 

“I have aided you. In the battle of Duncreek, the scorching of the Hollow Mountains, and not one, but two sieges of Dars-Morill,” she said, the calm, calculating demeanor still very present. “But this time I bring you aid in the form of wisdom. End this conflict now, before the thousands of lives in this capital city are spent on a petty grievance. Surrender Nilan. Save your people.” 

The Worm King looked at the ground. And I saw weakness here not present in my pack leader. It was almost as if he resented the crown upon his helmet. He wanted to retire to his palace. The man was exhausted and lightly wounded. 

And he had the ability to do this within his grasp! But he did not wish to pay the cost. 

“What my brother did was wrong, Var. But he is my last living family. Would you surrender your brother if the Lion Court invaded your territory from the north, demanding it?”

My pack leader crossed her arms and sighed. 

“If he was guilty of murdering a lord, I absolutely would hand him over. But you and I both know my older brother’s only crime is never leaving his library. He wouldn’t even kill a spider hanging in its web upon a corner of said library,” she said. 

At this, I saw a single tear slide down the cheek of the Worm King, and I recalled a memory, something Varella told the girl on the flight over here. 

“Yulcifer is not a bad man, but he is a bad king. He loves his family, what little remains of it. And his people suffer for that,” she’d said. 

That was on full display now. 

“He’s my only remaining blood. I cannot hand him over to be killed, even if it is what he deserves,” Yulcifer said, stifling a sob. 

The Raven Queen sighed and looked at the broken gates. Soon the line of Worm Court troops fighting desperately would break, and another group of people like Gaban would find their way inside the city. 

“Here is my final wisdom, Yulce. Approach King Datan. Offer terms, for I sense this isn’t a war he’s eager to continue. He is only pressed by the need for justice for one of his most valuable houses. Hand Nilan over on the condition that he is to spend the rest of his days in a dungeon instead of being executed for his crimes,” the Raven Queen said. 

“But what—” 

She interrupted him. 

“The Yellow King will understand. He will not kill your brother if Nilan’s continued living averts further war. You can visit him in whatever Yellow Court dungeon he ends up in for his crimes. Do this now. Nilan lives, but more importantly, so do your people.” 

I looked up at the queen as she sighed again. 

Realization of what it would take to end this conflict and finally retire for the night, at last, seemed to dawn on the Worm King’s shoulders, which slumped dramatically. He turned to one of his guards and said, “Send a messenger to the Yellow King. I wish to offer terms.” 

The look he flashed Varella wasn’t one of gratitude, but bitter acceptance. 

“Best of luck, Yulce. And know that if you ever try to spin me into conflict again, I will end our treaty, offerings or no offerings,” she said with the finality that only a queen can deliver. He did not respond. 

The next hour was quiet and strange. My pact leader just. . . walked down street after street until we arrived at the rear gate she flew over earlier. 

“Make way,” she said, tired. 

One guard seemed confused, but another snapped to attention, likely realizing the danger of this conflict had passed, thanks to this very monarch. 

“Make way for the Raven Queen! Open the gate!” 

And. . . they did. 

We walked out into the plateau for a little way. I didn’t know exactly where we were going, but the queen seemed to. After another hour, we came to a small grotto, skinny trees with thin foliage at the base of an arid mountain, all surrounding a small spring. I sniffed the air and detected no other people around. 

The queen shed her armor and clothes, walking into the spring up to her bosom. She bathed and seemed to finally relax for the first time in ages. 

“Come now, my wolf. Your turn,” she said. 

I did as instructed and wandered out into the water, which was surprisingly colder than I expected given the surrounding temperature and dry air. 

Further surprise abounded as the Raven Queen took time to slowly wash my fur, pulling out every pebble and rinsing off all the blood. It must have taken her a while but she ran her hands over my damp fur with a renewed tenderness I didn’t anticipate given the conflict we just emerged from. It felt. . . nice. And I knew I’d committed myself to the right pack leader. 

“You did good today, beast. And despite everything I’ve told you, I don’t want you to think you’re simply to be my killing machine. I want you to be as happy as the girl inside you,” she whispered. 

After we were both clean, the queen put her clothes back on. 

“I think I’m ready for Sierra to reappear, my wolf. Are you ready to recede?” she asked. 

I chuffed and shook myself dry. Then she placed a hand on me, calling forth the girl from her slumber inside. My instincts went to their usual slumber as smoke enveloped my body, which rose up onto two legs. 

 

***

 

The dry night wind was the first thing I noticed coming back after the wolf returned within. Then I realized I was nude once again. 

“Welcome back, my pet,” the queen said, drawing her feathered cloak around me and pulling me tight. 

“Good evening, my mistress. I assume you were successful in stopping the war?”

“Seems so.” 

I looked around the grotto. It seemed like a peaceful enough spot, with sand and rocks bordering the shoreline. 

“Are we going to fly back to Featherstone?” I asked. 

The queen grinned as I spoke. 

“I’m sure we will eventually. But it’s been a stressful few days, my pet. I haven’t slept since the night before we held court. And there’s something I want,” she said. 

I cocked my head to the side. 

“I’m sure you’re exhausted. I can stand watch while you rest if you want before we fly back,” I said. 

The Raven Queen grinned and pulled my face closer to hers. 

“Rest will come later. For now, there are things I want to do to you, my pet. Here and now, just the two of us alone after a long day’s fight, one that saw both of our animalistic sides awakened. I’m sure your instincts feel alive out here and sense what I’m after,” she said. 

My eyes widened, and I must have made a tiny gasp, because the Raven Queen chuckled, her laugh tickling my ears as a static charge built between us. 

“Do you consent, my pet?” she asked. 

“Yes, mistress.” 

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