Snow buried all, but the red did not.
It seeped over the white in thick clumps, interwoven among the claw marks and footprint. It was quiet, as though the forest itself was not breathing, and did not wish to disturb its quiet.
Princess June bent over a dead body, tiny and half-hidden beneath frost. Eyes were stretched wide, lashes iced with frost. Not a mark of an injury. Not scorch, no tear, not just the quiet that followed when the dragon demon passed on his way. He didn't burn villages down nor topple walls down. He breathed and bid farewell with quiet.
A howl rent the stillness, far away, carried on the wind from far, far across the line of trees. Wolves would always come after carnage, never in advance.
She cinched the cloak closer, the fur edge on the chin nipping into the curve of her jaw. The cold penetrated the thickness, but not the cold that sent a shiver running down her spine. She lifted her eyes with snowflakes falling through above, around the broken royal pendant that dangled from the low branch on its cord. Her father's badge, tidily cut into two halves.
Behind her, the captain of guards shifted awkwardly. "Your Highness, we-"
"I do," she interrupted. In her tone, there was no gravitas, only a battered evenness. "Clear an area of ground for burial groups. No cremation. Not this time."
He waited, then motioned to the others. They started to plant spears in the snow, the blades up, ribbon knotted just under it. The forest would never forget this spot, even though nobody would.
June awoke, scrubbing frost off her gloves. So too did every slaughter. No fuss on arrival, no fight on departure. Only empty eyes in the mist of snow. And once again, every time, all Elders asked was that she wait. Wait patiently. That their defense was not yet complete.
But this blood now seemed hotter to her eyes than snow was to her bones.
She was walking that way along the path, boots clicking. A sickly bruise of cloud was above in the sky.
Capital gates swung open mid-afternoon, iron mouths under icicles. Guards stiffened at her approach, eyes darting from her to the captain standing behind her, and back. Everyone would know what this return to battle would mean. More dead. More silence.
Within, were crowded streets with the false promise of safety: merchants hawking, carts clattering over cobble, children running wildly in the streets with scarves streaming behind them. June had her hood up. People recognized her still, but they'd discovered they shouldn't shout out to her when she wore her field cloak. Bad omens were best unspoken.
Warmer, but its wind was an ash note, was the breeze around the palace. Courtiers bowed as they passed, their eyes sparkling with interest and fear. She paid no attention and proceeded directly to Council Hall.
Doors leading to the chamber opened out of a room that was excavated from blackstone and illuminated from silver fire held high in long sconces. Twelve Elders sat around the crescent table, their faces obscured beneath hoods, their robes with their house sigils. At the seat of power, High Elder Maeris sat magnificently.
"You've seen it again," he snarled, his tone husky. June unwound her cloak and let it go. "Thirty-three dead. The dragon demon went through them unheard."
His fingers were interlocked. "And was there any indication of the wolves?"
His words cut through hers like ice. "You promised that they would arrive."
"They will come when you are ready," Maeris answered.
"I've been seasoned for three years."
A murmur went around the table. One of the Elders, older than the first of two wars fought over treaties, leaned forward. "Ready to lead, sure. But not to bear the curse."
June's jaw was set. The curse. They discussed it like it was weather… You couldn't do anything about it, it was emotionless. But she'd seen the legends: those who were proficient in the seven spirit wolves wore the imprint of the dragon to their grave. Their bodies failed young, their hearts unwound. Winning, on your own terms.
"So you're scared of it?" she inquired.
Nor did Maeris's eyes shift. "You do not understand it, I think. That's why you will go. To seek out the seven. To prove yourself to them."
She's racing heart. "Now
"Now," said Maeris. "Before the snow becomes deeper. Not alone."
He gestured, and a man came out from the shadows around that wall far away.
He loomed over most in the room, broad-shouldered, leathers better for tropical climes than North Country winters. Dark, loose hair hung below his jaw. Amber and keen as a wolf's, his eyes met and held hers without greeting or bowing.
"He is Kael of Sarthrin," declared Maeris. "Prince of border clans of the south."
That title struck her with a blow. Sarthrin. The kingdom that would not take their assistance when this dragon demon first manifested, and which left an unprotected army to battle in isolation. Her father, who did not return.
Her voice was like iron. "You bring me him?"
Kael's lips curled… Not a smile, precisely, but something approximate. "You'd like to walk apart in dark woods, Princess, I won't prevent it."
She longed to answer, but the Council was listening. "Challenge" was foreign to Maeris's tone. "Not your family's blood is needed in the prophecy. He shall direct you to the wolves."
"Take me in charge?" she said, of Kael. "Or watch me fail?"
"That," he said, "is your decision."
When she came out of the room, snow was falling thicker. Kael followed behind in silence until they were through the outer stairs. He was standing, gazing down at that patch of blood still dark on her arm.
"Szigeti's paintings that you've seen up close, haven't you?" he asked
She never even glanced at him. "Closer than you."
"That's why you'll need me."
She turned away, allowing the cold to freeze her tone. "The last time that my people needed you, you remained behind your walls."
His jaw closed with a click. "And when my jaw last met this demon, we interned a thousand with nary a word from your Council." They glared at each other for what was probably an hour, snow shattering off stone. A wolf was howling somewhere off in the distance.