The howl was carried away on the wind, and only the sound of crunching snow on the palace steps was audible. Kael stood frozen, his expression impassive.
June pushed past him, into the colonnade where the air was filled with a scent of pine tar from the smoke in the braziers. She must be gone before she said something she could not remember, neither through fear of him, nor because she feared him, but because she feared the Council listening behind those blackstone walls.
Bits of the colonnade went on up to royal apartments. She noticed guards in wolfmail at each several paces, spears with steel points glimmering with brightness that even in the night looked like they reflected. They bowed to her but to which she bore in gravitas. That gravitas was heavier than any armor she once trained in.
She moved through the tiny, cramped room that was reserved for briefing the heir to the war council. Her steward, Marra, was already seated, white hair tied back in a severe knot, clutching a wax tablet.
"You ran into him," Marra told her.
June uncoiled her swordbelt and placed it on the war table. "Met him. Didn't like him."
"That shall be an interesting ride."
"Dangerous," said June. "The clans of the south have long memories. His father had closed their gates when the demon arrived."
Marra's eyebrows furrowed. "And besides, the Council chose him."
June slid to the wall farthest away from the fire, where a tacked parchment map of their lands lay vellum yellowed with age, its lined borders unrolling with the years of annotation. Seven crosses marked the wild beyond their border lands, where no sane man would venture.
"The spirit wolves," Marra repeated, her gaze following.
June gestured. "Seven guards who were tied to the virtues which restrained the First Kingdom from consuming one another. When this dragon first came, they fought alongside us. But after that war, their traces were lost."
"And the curse?"
"Whosoever takes them to war carries the dragon's mark to their dying day," said June in a hushed tone. "Madness. Rot. Premature burial. The Council refers to it as a burden to be suffered."
Marra hesitated for a moment. "And you?"
June was thinking about that snow kid, hollow-eyed and vacant. "Long overdue, I'd say it's long overdue."
By evening, again the Council's summons had arrived, this time for a small group in the upper hall. One firepit burned quietly at the center, shadows dancing up the sweep of the ceiling. Maeris and two other Elders were present. Kael leaned against a pillar, one shoulder to the column beside the fire, a waterskin in his hand, as if he'd never heard of a northern winter and wasn't going to let it near him.
Maeris motioned for June to come closer. "The first of the wolves is in the Shadow Vale, three days to the north. The Wolf of Shadows is not to be captured. She only comes to you if you are worthy."
June folded her arms. "And if she doesn't?"
"Now the search is over and this demon will finish what it has begun."
The words were truth, not threat. Maeris stared at Kael. "Your mission is to get her there. The prophecy has called you out as her first companion. Your destiny is linked with hers until its fulfillment."
Kael tilted the waterskin toward June in a grand toast. "Bound it is."
June stopped him. "When do we go?"
"Before the first light," replied Maeris. "Snow will be light in the morning. Travel fast and quietly."
"Silent won't do if this demon shows up," Kael said, moving away from the column.
"It should give you enough time to look for the wolves," said Maeris. "That is all you need."
June stayed by the fire after the meeting and waited for the Elders to leave. She was virtually alone when Kael addressed her.
"You're quiet for someone who, seemingly, doesn't like you."
She took a step forward toward him. "I don't hate you."
"No?"
"I dislike what your people have decided."
Kael's expression didn't change, only that his voice intensified. "And I do not appreciate that you assume you know why."
Around their corners, for a single moment, was a less focused air, for all that was left, after their words, were burned were their acute corners.
"We ride tomorrow," she went on, interrupting. "You try to keep up."
He smiled a thin, humorless smile. "Don't get lost."
She packed silently that evening. Armor was polished. Swords were whetted. A bag of dried flesh, flint, and silver-struck binding cords that the Council compelled her to wear. Snow breathed upon the shutters on her window and, deep out in the night outside the walls, a wolf howled once more. This one sounded more similar.