When they first built the hold together,Savina stayed up night after night to aid Myron;the sleepless moons left her with a lingering ailment and a fragile body.
The pendant at her throat was a ward he had begged from the Moon Shrine—he had knelt three times upon cold stone,asking the Goddess for pardon,just to pray for her safety.He’d said it would keep her from harm.
But now,the one Myron wished to shelter was Helene,and Savina no longer wanted the charm.
Generously,she unclasped the safety talisman from her own neck and placed it in Helene’s palm.
Myron’s face tightened.He knew Savina despised Helene,and that pendant had rested over Savina’s heart for seven years;she had never once removed it.He had expected her to refuse.He had not expected her to yield so easily.
That loss of control unsettled him.He frowned,voice turning sharp.“You always said that pendant was the most precious thing you had.Why give it away so easily this time?”
Savina lifted her head and met his gaze,calm as still water.She returned his question with one of her own.“Wasn’t it you who told me to give it to her?Am I making you unhappy by obeying?”
Her cool teasing stole the words from Myron’s mouth.He had no reply.
After handing the pendant over,Savina turned and left.
All day,she kept herself relentlessly busy,never pausing.
Myron convinced himself her generosity was a show;he believed she would come seeking him within half a day.But when evening fell,she had not approached him once.Instead,she had servants summon him to the meal hall.
Savina had prepared three dishes and a broth—simple,measured,the kind of quiet household grace a stranger might practice.She was already seated when Helene arrived.
“Eat,”Savina said,coldly.
Upon the table were the kinds of foods Dike favored—fire-pepper stews and seared meats.
Savina was leaving at moon’s end;now was the perfect time to practice.
Myron,blind to that intent,only supposed she had cooked to please him.The thought eased his unsettled heart.
Helene sat.Myron kept filling her bowl,even tearing meat for her with his own hands.
Savina’s arm tensed—once,he had often done that for her,but now,he no longer did.
After a few bites,the spice made Myron’s brow furrow.“You know my stomach is delicate.I don’t like fiery dishes.Why make so many tonight?”
Savina glanced at him.Dike liked spice;these plates were meant for practice,not for Myron.
Myron was eating them only because Savina refused to waste food.The explanation rose to her lips,but Helene spoke first.
“Myron,don’t blame her,”Helene murmured.“After all,you two aren’t childhood wolves.How would she know every like and dislike?Don’t worry;I’ll make other dishes for you.”With that,she tugged him toward the hearth.
She chopped;Myron hovered,fearful she might nick a finger,so he took the knife.She guided from behind while he stirred the iron pan,afraid hot oil might kiss her skin.
Savina watched,a little dazed.Once,she had imagined being at the hearth like that with Myron—cooking together—but he had always said he had no time.
Now she understood:it wasn’t that he had no time;it was that the wolf had changed.
Savina rose to leave,unwilling to remain,but when she turned,the dishes were already carried out.Myron’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Stop.Our guest just finished cooking.What do you mean by rising and pulling a face?Sit.”
Savina clenched her fists,ready to refuse.Helene leaned close and breathed a threat into her ear,soft and venomous.
“If you don’t behave,I’ll have people hurt your cub.”
Savina’s eyes went shockingly red in an instant.For her child,she sat back down.
Across from Myron and Helene,she watched them—his attentive hands,the way he fed her again and again—and felt a sharp ache spear her chest.
Myron kept spooning food into Helene’s bowl;Helene said,deliberately loud,“Savina,you’re not eating.Do you dislike my cooking?Myron told me you aren’t picky.Could it be that…you simply don’t like me?”
Myron’s gaze hardened.“Savina,Helene made these with her own hands.Don’t be ungrateful.”
Savina looked over the table and laughed,brittle and low.She was allergic to most of these foods.Apparently,even Myron had forgotten.
When she still didn’t move,he slammed his bone spoon against the table.
She lifted her eyes to his.“I can eat,”she said quietly.“But in exchange,let me see my son.”
At first,he meant to refuse;Helene had told him the healer’s cave forbade outsiders.
But when he met Savina’s eyes,he could not push the denial past his tongue.At last he said,“Fine.I agree.”
Savina picked at the dishes and forced them down.Not long after,a rash bloomed across her skin—angry and red.
Had Myron cared for her even a little,he would have noticed the change in her breath,the heat in her cheeks.But his attention never left Helene.
So stark,the difference between being loved and not.
That night,Savina’s reaction worsened.She went to find an anti-rash draught.When she reached the stairway,Helene stood there already,arms full of small vials.
As Savina approached,Helene sneered.“You.I don’t like you.Myron is mine,yet you bore his cub.”
“You,or that cub?You both deserve to die.”With that,Helene pulled the corks and poured every vial into the waste basin,flushing them away with a pitcher of water.
Savina’s hand twitched,ready to teach her a lesson—but the image of her son,bound to a healer’s pallet,held her in place.She turned to leave.
Helene wasn’t finished.She stepped in front of Savina and flung a stack of illusion-slates at her—images of Alonzo being abused.
In the visions,the boy’s limbs were bound;treatments showed healers driving needles and bone awls again and again into tender flesh.
Blood glistened—Savina’s vision filmed scarlet.
Something inside her snapped.She seized Helene’s throat with both hands and hissed,“Bitch!Lay a finger on my cub and I’ll tear out your throat!”
Before she could squeeze,Myron lunged,shoving Savina away,then struck her hard across the face.“Savina,you’re hurting Helene again!”
The blow stunned her;her head rang.In all these years,he had never hit her—until now.
He didn’t spare a glance for the torn skin along her arms;all his concern fastened on Helene.He swept the woman into his embrace and murmured,“Helene,I’m sorry you suffered this.I’ll take you away.”
Passing by Savina,he shoved her aside.She crashed into a side table;her shoulder struck wood,and her arm refused to lift.
Myron did not offer a single word.He turned and left.
When she tried to move the injured arm,pain speared to the bone.
The servants,unable to bear it,stepped forward.“My lady,you’re badly hurt.Shall we summon the healer?”
She managed a bitter smile.“No need.I don’t require one.”
She forced herself upright and crawled back to her chamber.The first thing she did was press her palm to the bondstone.
“Dike,”she said,voice tight,“I know you have wolves in this land.Help me shorten the purification—I want the severing in seven days.”
