Chapter 7: Trial by Moonlight
1990 Words
It was still early, the sky a bruise of deep blue and violet, when they came for her. Thalia woke to the sound of boots in the hall and the smell of woodsmoke on her borrowed furs.
A knock—firm, not unfriendly. Mara, bright-eyed and tousled, appeared in the doorway with a bundle of clothes, a battered coat, and a canteen.
“Up, wild girl,” Mara said, tossing the bundle and then holding out the coat. “You’ll need this—weather’s a beast out there. Trial day. Livia’s already got everyone on edge about the ‘new pet’ the alpha dragged in.”
Thalia groaned, pushing tangled hair from her face. “Only on weekends. Do I get points for style?”
Mara grinned, pressing a mug of strong, earthy tea into her hands. “You’ll need your wits. The pack’s out for blood—well, not all of them. But you’re the main event.”
Thalia shrugged into Mara’s coat—worn, patched, but warm—and winced at her reflection. “Is there an award for ‘Best Dressed Under Duress’?”
“Not yet, but if you survive today, I’ll make one,” Mara replied, mock-serious.
Sure enough, when she dressed and stepped into the hall, two sentries waited, including Fen—arms folded, leaning with calculated boredom. He looked her up and down, a glint in his eye.
“You clean up nice,” he said, voice pitched low so only she and Mara could hear. “Try not to get eaten, yeah?”
Mara elbowed him. “Be useful. Keep Livia on a leash for once.”
Fen gave Mara a look that made Thalia’s curiosity prickle. There was an easy camaraderie between them—real, protective, like siblings or old partners in crime.
As they made their way down the winding, frost-slick paths between the packhouse and the training grounds, the woods pressed close: pine and fir, thick with mist, every branch beaded with dew. The cold bit through Mara’s borrowed coat, her breath puffing white in the dawn air.
Guards flanked her, silent but not hostile; villagers gathered in clumps to watch her pass, some openly curious, some wary, a few whispering as she went by.
She caught snatches of Livia’s voice—“outsider,” “alpha’s project,” “trouble”—drifting behind her like burrs on a dog’s tail. Livia didn’t mention magic, not to anyone. She was too proud, too loyal to risk Silverpine’s standing by exposing the ugly truth about how Thalia had arrived.
Thalia flashed her most wicked smile at a gawking child, just to keep herself sharp.
They reached the clearing that served as Silverpine’s training grounds. It was more battlefield than gym: packed earth, rings marked with chalk and blood, a rough-hewn obstacle course of logs, ropes, and stone walls. A circle of tall wooden posts marked the perimeter, many scored with deep claw marks or stained dark from old contests.
Banners hung limp in the cold, displaying the wolf sigil in faded silver.
Already, most of the pack was assembled, lining the edge of the clearing. Warriors sparred shirtless in the cold, muscles slick with sweat and grit, teeth bared in friendly competition. Rowan was at the center, stripped to the waist, his back a map of old scars—some thin and white, others jagged and angry, speaking of battles that didn’t all end in victory.
Thalia tried not to stare, but the effect was impossible to ignore.
If they gave medals for surviving ugly fights, he’d have more gold than the council.
He was running a younger pair—boys barely out of adolescence—through a series of holds and feints. When one stumbled, Rowan caught him with practiced ease, murmuring quiet encouragement.
Mara leaned in. “If the council wants to see a leader, this is how he shows them. He’s earned every mark. Just watch.”
Before Thalia could reply, a familiar sneer cut through the crowd—Livia, arms crossed, wolf grin wide. “Look who decided to show. Don’t worry, Rowan—if your little stray embarrasses us, we’ll just say you took pity on her.”
Rowan’s gaze flicked to Livia, ice in his eyes. “She’s here because I said so. And she’ll prove herself. Won’t you, Thalia?”
Thalia squared her shoulders, rolling her eyes for effect. “If I mess up, can I still keep the cookies?”
A ripple of laughter, quickly smothered. Even in the cold, Thalia felt sweat prickle at her spine.
Fen and Mara hovered near the edge as Rowan signaled her forward. The guards didn’t leave her side until she was inside the ring—public, exposed, every eye on her.
The challenge was a gauntlet—part obstacle course, part display of nerve and wit. First, a dash over rough, frozen earth, then a balance beam between two icy logs, a test of speed and footwork.
Next, sparring with a pack member (Livia, of course, volunteering), and finally a quick round of riddles and questions, to test “the mind as well as the body,” Bryndis intoned from her seat on a nearby stump.
Thalia tried not to look at the council members—Bryndis, Osric, and Jessa all present, which, according to Mara’s whispers, was highly unusual. Their stares were scalpel-sharp.
Rowan met her eyes, a silent encouragement. “Ready?”
“About as ready as a rabbit in a den of foxes,” she muttered.
He almost smiled. “Run fast, bite harder.”
The crowd pressed closer. Mara grabbed Thalia’s hand, squeezing it hard. “Ignore them. Remember what I showed you. Trust your feet, not your fear.”
Fen’s voice, just audible: “Don’t let Livia corner you. She cheats.”
The whistle blew, and Thalia sprang into motion. The earth was hard, unforgiving, every breath burning cold. She stumbled once but caught herself, snarky commentary running through her mind—fall now and they’ll write songs about your stupidity, not your courage.
She made it across the balance beam by sheer stubbornness, knees shaking, biting down panic. Livia waited at the next ring, already circling, eyes bright with rivalry and pride.
They squared off—Thalia not nearly as strong, but faster and more desperate. Livia lunged, claws out (not allowed, but no one stopped her). Thalia ducked, feinted, let her momentum carry Livia past and landed a quick, surprising slap to the back of Livia’s head.
The crowd gasped. Thalia grinned, adrenaline singing.
Livia snarled, spinning back. “Careful, outsider. That trick only works once.”
“Then I’ll just have to find another one.”
They tangled—Livia nearly threw her, but Thalia rolled, scrambling back to her feet as Mara shouted encouragement and Fen barked a sharp laugh from the sidelines.
The spar ended with Thalia pinned, but not broken. Rowan stepped in, his glare pinning Livia to the earth even more than Thalia’s hand had.
“She made it through. That’s what matters.”
Next came the riddles, delivered by Bryndis with a tone that could freeze sunlight. Thalia stood before her, shaking a little, trying not to let her nerves—or anything else—show.
Bryndis’s eyes glittered. “First riddle:
‘I am not alive, but I can grow;
I don’t have lungs, but I need air;
I don’t have a mouth, and I can drown.
What am I?’”
Thalia blinked, mind scrambling. Then the answer landed. “Fire.”
A few approving murmurs from the crowd.
Bryndis didn’t smile. “Second:
‘The more you take, the more you leave behind.
What are they?’”
Thalia’s brow furrowed. She whispered to herself, “That’s either an existential crisis or…”
She smiled, voice strong: “Footsteps.”
A ripple of surprise from a few of the younger wolves.
Bryndis’s lips twitched, just barely. “Last riddle.
‘What belongs to you, but others use it more than you do?’”
Thalia was silent for a moment, searching for some hidden meaning. She almost blurted out “patience,” but stopped herself.
Her mind flashed to Mara’s teasing, Fen’s smirk, Rowan’s challenge.
“My name,” she said, with a touch of defiance.
That drew a genuine, if reluctant, smile from Jessa in the crowd. Even Bryndis gave a grudging nod. “Well played.”
But as the trial ended and the crowd began to disperse, Thalia’s nerves still hummed. She couldn’t shake the tension building in her chest, the hum of magic barely suppressed beneath her skin.
A young pack member tripped over a training post, yelping in pain. Thalia rushed forward without thinking, kneeling to check his ankle. The boy’s face was white with shock, and for a moment, Thalia’s hands moved on instinct—gentle, competent, the words for healing rising to her lips before she could stop them.
A faint warmth pulsed through her fingers. She looked up, heart pounding, but nobody seemed to notice.
“He’ll be fine,” she said quickly, voice brisk. “Not even a real sprain—just twisted it.”
The boy’s mother pulled him away, eyes wide but grateful. Someone muttered, “She’s quicker than she looks.”
Mara appeared, slipping her arm through Thalia’s. “Let’s get you out of here, champion.”
They started the walk back, Fen falling in beside them, silent but alert. As they passed the edge of the training ground, Thalia overheard Livia’s voice—sharp and jealous but careful not to betray her own secret.
“Acting like she’s some sort of healer. Who does she think she is? Just because Rowan’s got her on a leash doesn’t mean she belongs here.”
Osric’s reply was gruff but pointed. “You saw her hands. That wasn’t all acting.”
Jessa, quiet and watchful, murmured, “Sometimes the best lies are the ones you believe yourself.”
Thalia shivered, pressing closer to Mara.
Rowan caught up, his shirt back on, face drawn and serious. “You did well. The pack will take time, but they saw you stand your ground.”
She looked at him, a hundred questions burning. “Why does it matter so much? Why fake a mate at all?”
He hesitated, looking away. “Silverpine’s enemies are watching. A lone alpha is vulnerable. With a mate at my side, the pack looks stronger—and I get time to root out threats.”
Thalia arched an eyebrow. “So I’m your shield and your distraction?”
He met her gaze, something raw in his eyes. “And you’re the only one who could pull it off. I don’t trust easily. But I trust you—at least, I want to.”
For once, Thalia didn’t have a snarky reply.
They reached the packhouse. Guards returned to their posts. Fen lingered, catching Mara’s eye—a look that spoke of old stories and shared secrets.
“Not bad for your first moon trial,” Fen said softly to Thalia. “If you ever want to trade tricks, I know a few.”
Thalia managed a tired, crooked smile. “Let’s see if I survive to the next round first.”
Mara squeezed her hand, whispering, “Proud of you, wild girl. Don’t let them grind you down.”
Thalia smiled, hiding the rush of relief. Mara was clever—she saw more than she let on—but for now, her friend was just proud. Not suspicious. Not yet.
Inside, as the doors closed and her heart slowed, Thalia let herself hope for the first time that she could carve out a place here—not as a fraud or a weapon, but as something more.
But outside, the council’s eyes lingered on the clearing, and Livia’s grudge curdled in the cold.
Trouble, Thalia knew, was only beginning.
- Writer
