The Master and The Marionette (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 2)

A man built like a bear with a long copper ponytail and giant hazel eyes stands behind us. He’s dressed in layers upon layers of animal skins, straps of weapons, and thick pelts of dark fur.

Walking up around him is a pack of white wolves. Their feet crunch through the snow quietly, carefully, as if one wrong step could start a war.

Dessin races to my side, a strong, bloody hand gripping my shoulder to let me know he’s here. I’m safe from this stranger. But the wolves have us surrounded, and I can’t tell whether or not they’ll attack.

But something sits beside us, tall and stoic, black fur sprinkled with flakes of snow and blood.

DaiSzek.

He’s not attacking. He’s calm. Unthreatened.

“Wait,” I urge Dessin. “Look!” I nudge him to where DaiSzek sits, gazing at the beastly man without any aggressive intent.

It’s the same reaction he had to Runa. He didn’t harm her.

“He’s not attacking…” I mutter. “Does that mean—”

“It means he knows we’re the Stormsages,” the bear man answers. A husky, masculine voice. A foreign accent that is rugged and northern.

“The colony from the North Saphrine Forest.” Dessin takes a breath. “Are the wolves with you?”

Like moths to a flame, the wolves gather around DaiSzek, a safe distance, yet close enough to show him they will not harm us.

“They are a part of our colony, yes.”

Dessin helps me stand, but as we get to our feet, I remember he’s still covered in blood. Will they think we killed these people? That we slaughtered this village?

“We wish we could have fought alongside the three of you. It would have been a great honor for my people.”

I cough out a laugh. “I did not fight. But I’m sure these two would have enjoyed your company.” I jerk my head in emphasis to Dessin and DaiSzek.

The bear man lifts his chin as if he does not understand. Those giant hazel eyes trail down my body and back up to my face. “You do not fight yet,” he states, working something out in his own thoughts.

That’s what I said.

Bear Man nods once, looking around at the dead scattered throughout the village. Corpses hanging from trees like ornaments. “We will bury the victims and burn the demons. Will you be our guest in the Stormsages Keep this night?”

Dessin’s chocolate eyes flicker to the men and women dressed in animal furs and skins, trudging through the snow and dismounting the bodies.

“My name is Garanthian. You can trust us.”

Dessin considers this. “I trust no one,” he says, attention still pulled between the wolves, the colony members surrounding us, and Garanthian. “But we’ll accept safe harbor from you tonight.”

~

Garanthian and his pack of wolves lead us through thick snow and plump pine trees.

DaiSzek doesn’t leave my side, clearly choosing to protect the weaker link. Occasionally leaning down to my ankle to lick the bandaged wound.

“He’s bigger than the legends described,” Garanthian says, his voice like a shovel scraping over a sidewalk or the tire of a buggy rolling across a graveled driveway.

Dessin left us somewhere a few yards back. Kane studies Garanthian now.

“I saw a pack when I was a young boy. They weren’t that large. Even still, no other beast compared. They were our favorite monsters to hear stories about.” He continues trying to make conversation but Kane isn’t humoring him with small talk.

“What’s your favorite story?” I ask. It wouldn’t be small talk for me. I’d love to learn more about where DaiSzek comes from.

Garanthian huffs. “I don’t know how much of them are true. We’d hear lots of stories about the RottWeilen packs maintaining population sizes.”

My eyebrows rise. “What does that mean?”

“For animals. Not people. About a century ago there was a mass reproduction of night dawpers in these parts. They were slaughtering women on the rag, men wounded from battle, they’d even managed to annihilate several of our hunting parties.” Garanthian leans down to pet a blue-eyed wolf trotting alongside him. “They nearly made our snow elven wolves go extinct.”

Each wolf continues to glance over at DaiSzek. But he’s glued to my hip, not to be bothered with them.

“There was an army of them. At least a few hundred. Hungry, gnarled, ugly beasts. We eventually had to shut the gates of the keep, and they would have starved us out. If it weren’t for the RottWeilen.” He nods his head at DaiSzek, smiling. “It only took twelve of them. Twelve. And they galloped through the snow like hellhounds sent from the devil himself, wiping out a few hundred night dawpers. And my gods, our legends described how they fought. Strategic. Precise. It was like they planned their battlefield, decided every move, every attack together.”

“He used to leave me speechless after a fight. Somehow, he’d always seem overprepared, as if he didn’t need his brute strength. He needed strategy,” Kane finally responds.

Sounds like someone else I know.

“Aye, they were a force. Calculated. United. They not only fought for their pack, but they fought to save our people.”

I look down at DaiSzek, scratching behind his eyes with pride.

“We’d never in a million years think a species so superior would be wiped out in one fell swoop. An alchemist’s warfare is for cowards,” Garanthian growls under his breath.

My heart stutters to a stop. Demechnef destroyed the RottWeilen with chemical warfare. It’s as if someone has slapped me across the face or stuck a knife in my back. He lost everything. His pack. His family. And now he’s the only one of his kind.

Forever.

“That’s devastating,” I mutter.

“Aye. It is. But y’know, these creatures aren’t only known for their violence. We have other myths that may ring true.”

We wait patiently for him to continue.

“It’s said that RottWeilens can sense the cries of their pack members from across the world. It’s a telepathic connection to come when even the weakest pack member is in danger.” Garanthian takes a swig from a leather canteen pouch. “Or that in the heat of battle, the strongest member can reach an octave with their roar, rendering their enemy completely deaf.”

We stop trudging and gaze upon several leagues of empty space. Nothing but snow. Only trees surrounding the white opening of land.

“But my favorite is the legend of the god alpha. The strongest form of alpha that can pass through the veil of life and death in order to save their kin. We’ve only heard of it happening three times in their history.” Garanthian shrugs. “I’m sure the Crimson Kres could give accurate stories if they were still around.”

We’re silent for a long moment, waiting for further direction of where to go, but also taking in the power of legends from DaiSzek’s kin.

“Do you have a healer? We have wounds that need to be cleaned,” Kane says. I forgot that an arrow skimmed his already battered arm. My hand instinctually flies up to his bicep, covering the open flesh.

Kane glances down at my hand, then raises those thick lashes to me. A surprised smile.

“Ay!” Garanthian shouts at DaiSzek who is kneeling down to sniff a curly red plant. “One bite of that and the saphriness oil will knock ya on your ass, beastie!”

Kane clears his throat. “A healer?”

“We do. Will you join us for a feast after you’re tended to?” Garanthian asks.

But we still aren’t moving. And Garanthian’s tone suggests we’ve already arrived.

“What are we waiting for?” I turn to Garanthian, catching him watching my every move with a cautious expression.

He scratches his copper beard. “You don’t see it?”

I shake my head.

“See what?” Kane asks.

Garanthian narrows his eyes at me. “We were told that you could—” But he stops himself before he can finish. “Close your eyes, both of you.”

“No,” Kane says.

“Then, blink.”

My eyes shut without a second thought. A blink. A flutter of my lids. And it happens, a trick of the light, a split moment of insanity as I gawk up at the stone fortress now filling the empty land.

I flinch and latch on to Kane’s arm.

But Kane is silent. He’s gazing up at the majestic architecture the way one would stand before the golden gates of heaven.

It is not the kind of castle you’d see in a child’s storybook. No, it’s the kind that you’d see pikes with human heads warding off unwanted visitors. The kind that could survive a plague, a firestorm, a war. The kind that was made not for royalty but for survival. There are towers, cuts, springalds, and statues of men and women dressed like Garanthian surrounding the great walls.

It’s ancient. Older than our Dellilian castle, older than the Red Oaks.

A wooden drawbridge lowers.

“I don’t understand,” I say to Garanthian. Kane remains completely silent.

“This keep was built on the tombs of our fallen snow elves. Their essence will forever protect us. A veil to keep your kind from stumbling upon us.”

I can’t seem to swallow that down. A power from dead elves that made me see an empty field one second, and then a stone fortress the next.

But no one speaks again as we are led into their home.

Despite the snowy weather on the outside, the inside of this keep is toasty warm.

We were escorted through the ancient, glorious castle to the main dining hall where a feast awaited us.

Kane pulls a dark-cherry wooden chair out for me to sit. The table of men, women, and children chow down on roasted pig, mounds of mashed potatoes, steamed carrots and asparagus, and heaps of freshly baked bread. There are thousands of candles lit across the hall. Candles dripping down walls from their scones. Candles hanging from the Gothic ceiling arches. Candles spread across the long table that seats at least fifty people.

Once Kane takes his place next to me, I unfold my napkin, set it on my lap, and lightly lift my fork and knife from either side of my plate.

I examine the food in front of me. Too much.

I can’t eat this much.

I begin pushing the majority of the food to one side of the plate. Only keeping three shreds of meat from the pig, four steamed carrot slices, and three sticks of asparagus.

No potatoes. Potatoes are carbohydrates.

People watching.

Forks stop hitting plates. Chatter dies down. Silence.

Even Kane turns to look at what I’m doing.

“You don’t have to do that here.” Garanthian clears his throat. “Not while you’re in our home.”

I look up at him, at his vibrant hazel eyes, at the pity spreading across his face.

“I’m not doing anything,” I say, cheeks flushing with rising heat.

Stop looking at me.

“Your meal, dashna,” the woman to his right says. Her long brunette hair hanging in braids over her shoulder. “You can eat it all here.”

The room is still watching me. What are they looking at? Why do they care what I eat?

Kane uses his fork to push my food back together. He leans into my ear, close enough so no one else can hear him.

“They don’t control you anymore, honey. Eat until you’re full.” He presses his lips to the side of my head, lingering there for a moment too long. The room jolts to life again. Silverware clanking together. Laughter. Happiness.

Kane’s words make me want to cry. The urge builds in the back of my throat. Stinging behind my eyes like I’m holding back a sea of trauma.

“Thank you,” I whisper before he pulls away. It’s been so automatic while I lived with Aurick. While I was being watched at the asylum. To show the world how much self-control I had. To show prying eyes that I didn’t need food to survive. Look how strong I am. I don’t need to eat. I can survive off of scraps. I am a woman.

But this place is different.

The Stormsages are eating together. The women are gobbling down their food like it may run out at any moment. And the men are beaming at them. How can people be so different? How can they live on the same continent and not share the same beliefs?

Kane nudges my plate to me with a knuckle and I don’t hold back my hunger. I hunch over my plate and begin scarfing it down without regret.

It’s invigorating. It’s stepping into the sun after being chained to the dark. It’s being pulled from the bottom of the ocean only moments before you drown.

And the hot, savory flavor of the roasted pig explodes in my mouth. Juicy, maple-glazed meat. I want to sing. I want to dance.

But instead, warm tears drip onto my plate. They’re pressurized behind my eyes as if someone has shaken up the carbonated bottle of my soul. The tears burst, free-falling without running a path down my cheeks. And the sound is deafening. Drip. Drip. Drip.

It’s an echo in the grand hall. A trumpet blasting my mental instability.

I swallow the meat and shove a spoonful of mashed potatoes seasoned with rosemary into my mouth.

Stop crying.

But it’s involuntary. A force far more powerful than my own restraint, like being saddled on a wild horse. I’m holding on for dear life.

A warm hand grips the back of my neck. Stroking up and down to show that he’s got me. He’s here. He’s not going to let me go.

And this small gesture has my heart in a steel choke hold. A quiet sob breaks away from my chest, from my mouthful of food.

And I hadn’t even noticed the room went quiet again until a pair of thin arms wrap around me from behind my chair. A chin resting on my shoulder. The soft motherly scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts.

“There you go, dashna. Let it go, now. Let it out, little babe.” Her maternal voice is soothing, like warm milk, like sitting in front of the fireplace on a winter’s night. And she holds me tightly, her soft hair against my cheek.

The gentle touch I never had from Violet. The love Scarlett never received from our mother.

The cry barrels out of me, breaking through my armor. Severing the walls I put up while maintaining a brave, unconquerable face in the asylum.

Kane’s hand is now latched on to my thigh, reminding me he isn’t going anywhere.

“I’m here now, dashna. I’m here,” the woman coos in my ear.

The grand hall is filled with my howls on this night. My agony breaking out of its leash, showing the Stormsages people my raw, battered innards.

And that cage I’ve been locked in starts to open.

~

“That was so embarrassing,” I confess to Kane.

We’re both turned away from the other, changing out of our winter gear.

Garanthian led us to our room after supper, graciously not mentioning my breakdown. The woman that held me while I cried, introduced herself as Asena. Married to Garanthian, also known as the white wolf queen. She laid out extra pelts of fur for us to sleep on, a nightgown, and a hot kettle of tea next to the fireplace.

“No, it wasn’t.” Kane removes his boots, tossing them to the corner of the room. “I’ve been waiting for it to hit you.”

“You have?”

“That city is poison, honey. It left its mark on you.” He turns to me after I finish pulling the nightgown over my head. “Even when you’re released from the cage, a part of you stays. Still trapped. Still begging for someone to let you out.”

I gulp. “Is that how you feel? Like you’re still in the thirteenth room?”

He thinks on this. Turns to me on his elbow as he gets comfortable under the layers of fur.

“I was never a prisoner of that room. Dessin was. A few others got to see the inside of those walls for a short time, but that was Dessin’s prison. His trauma to bear.”

“Then what was yours?”

“My memories,” he admits. “My regrets. My guilt.” His left fist clenches.

I nod, sliding into the bed next to him. My eyes are still swollen and raw from wailing like a child in the dining hall. All of those people witnessed my breakdown. Yet, they were so gracious, so understanding.

“Can I ask you something?” Kane exhales.

I mirror his position, propping myself up on one elbow to face him.

“Why did you stay with him? You stayed in that city, eating like a small rodent, obeying orders like a dog. Accepting Aurick’s misogynistic behavior.” He shakes his head as if to rid himself of searing anger for that last part. “You could have run.”

I could have. But I made a promise.

“I couldn’t tell Dessin the truth when he asked this before, because if he knew the truth, he would have been furious.” The look in his eyes when he learned that Aurick hit me. “If I left, I wouldn’t have been able to help him or you. If I left, I wouldn’t have been able to fulfill Scarlett’s dying wish. Without Aurick, I had nowhere to live. I would have accepted any form of abuse from him or anyone else just to stay close to Dessin.”

Kane’s shoulders deflate as if hearing that truth was harder to hear than he imagined.

“You’re right.” He blows out a breath. “Dessin would have raised hell.”

“Now it’s your turn to answer one of my questions. When Dessin fought the men from Demechnef in his room, why did he need to stab the man after he was already dead? The man with the sickle… he stabbed him three times with a rusted knife.”

Kane raises his brows and looks away like that’s a loaded question.

“It’s a compulsion.” He shrugs. “That sickle took three lives the day he came into existence. And that old knife is the last gift my father gave to me, to protect myself. It’s just something he needs to do when he sees that weapon.”

Nausea coats my stomach. And chills, like tiny spiders, crawl down my back. I nod at him, attempting to hide my horror.

“Do you like him? Dessin, I mean. I know you have to live with him, in a way, but do you actually like him?”

Kane laughs at this. “I don’t always agree with his methods, but Dessin is a brother to me. He was there to fight for me on one of the worst days of my life, and he’ll be there until the day I die.” A cloud of sadness passes over his eyes. “He’s taken beatings for me, taken demonic forms of abuse, and done so with a smile. He does it all to protect my sanity.”

I smile. The warmth of their bond spreading across my chest.

“I have another question,” Kane says quietly.

I arch an eyebrow at him.

“Can I hold you tonight?” he whispers. “After seeing you cry earlier… it’s something I need to do. Please.”

My chest aches. “Of course you can hold me.”

I turn my back to him, wiggling backward until I’m firmly pressed against his chest. His iron arms loop around my shoulders and waist, pulling me even closer until his lips graze my hair, dropping soft kisses. And they’re slow, meaningful, full of secrets, agony, and a need to be as close to me as possible. And with each kiss, my heart throbs like an unhealed wound. Tears gather in my eyes as I try to swallow them down. But these slow kisses weigh me down like anchors in a storm.

Please, don’t ever leave me, Kane.

I need you.

~

The sun’s bright morning rays bleed through the slits of my closed eyes.

I don’t have to turn around to know that Kane is still holding me close, not letting go once, even after we both drifted to sleep.

Trying my best to stay quiet, I attempt to lift his heavy arm from my waist and slip off the bed to get dressed.

But that arm clamps down on me like the mouth of a Venus flytrap. It locks around the soft of my waist, drawing me closer to him.

“Hey,” I object. He takes a deep breath in, nose and mouth nuzzled into my hair. “I was trying to sneak out of bed without waking you.”

“Nope,” he grumbles. “You’re mine now.”

I melt against him. At his words. At the gravelly sound his voice makes in the early morning. Why do I want him this much all the time? Whether it’s Dessin, Kane, or hell, even Greystone. I can’t help the force that makes me swoon over each alter.

“Besides, there’s no sneaking with you.” His hand moves along my arm slowly, coaxing my skin to pebble in goose bumps. “You have the stealth of a bull. There was no possible scenario of you slipping out of my arms without being caught.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet in the mornings.”

His chest rumbles against my back with laughter.

As he shifts against me, I can feel his arousal. A firmness at my backside. Instinctually, I lean into it, arching my back against him.

Heat drips between my legs.

His laughter stops as a hiss turns into a frustrated sigh. That hand stroking my arm grips my hip, squeezing like it’s his only form of self-control.

I moan at his touch, rolling my bottom against his growing erection the way I did on Dessin’s lap in the tavern.

“Skylenna,” he warns, breathy and strained.

“What?”

“You keep doing that, and I’m going to do things to you that would make me a very bad friend.” It’s a warning to himself rather than to me. A struggle to keep his head on right.

“What if I want you—as more than a friend?” I turn around to face him, leaning my head against his arm.

He blinks down at me, completely thrown off by my response. His index finger hooks around a loose strand of hair strewn across my face. He studies it in his hand, thoroughly, as if that golden wave of hair is a lighthouse that has guided him to shore.

“I can promise you this, honey… you need me as your friend right now. Nothing more.” He wants to say more. It’s edging over his lips. Straining his eyes. “It’ll only make things harder.”

My jaw clenches shut and suddenly his fingers in my hair, hand on my waist, the scent of cedar and sandalwood infuriates me. I huff, shifting out of his arms and off of the bed.

And this time, he lets me.

“You’re right.” I shrug, finding my clothes to change into. “We are just friends.”