The Call of the Night King

Chapter 4

Tears poured down her face. Veyla dragged herself upright and searched the ragged corridors of her mind for what was gone, but she could never be sure. She still remembered Aeris. She still remembered Veal. Selene. But there had been others. She was sure of it.

And now, they were gone.

“Oh, the poor little helpless wolf,” Freyr laughed into the air, dripping with mockery. “Whatever will you do when you have no memories left? You’ll be nothing. Really nothing.”

She spat at Veyla’s feet before turning and walking away.

Why did the fairies hate wolves so much? Why did being a wolf mean she could be treated like this? If a fairy had stumbled into Lykeria, Veyla didn’t believe they would’ve maimed and tortured her like this.

She sat up, wiped her face. Enough tears. Enough weakness. She had to stop being pathetic. Channel Aeris’ bravery. Selene’s cunning. She had to find a way out.

She stepped outside the cabin. Cold air slapped her skin. The forest loomed just beyond the trees, Elarion. It bordered Duskari. If she ran... if she just kept running, maybe she could escape.

But they would send hounds after her. The magic in those woods was chaos, illusions, compulsions, things that tore into your sanity until you forgot your own name. It could be fatal. Still. There had to be a way. This couldn’t be the end of her.

The next few days passed in the same agonizing rhythm, cleaning, scrubbing, cooking. Once, Tarin poured hot stew down her arm. The blisters burst, peeled, then bled. She still had to carry the water buckets. Back and forth. Back and forth.

She couldn’t stop. If she didn’t fill the drums, she’d be punished.

Freyr stood by the door. “If you don’t hurry,” she said with a bored smile, “we’ll cut your legs off again.”

Veyla didn’t respond. She ran. Into the woods. Toward the stream that shimmered like spilled silver.

The creatures in the water stared at her, half-naked women with fishtails and razor smiles. They shimmered on the surface like reflections that shouldn’t exist. They whispered, beckoned.

She never looked at them. She dropped her bucket into the stream, dragging it out with trembling hands. Water sloshed over the rim. A fish thrashed inside. Again. Again. Until the buckets were full. Then she turned.

Something flashed through the trees. Her whole body went cold.

Coming into the forest was always a risk, especially as a wolf. The fairies didn’t just hate her kind. They ate them.

She quickened her steps, heart hammering.

Fairies were only brave about what they understood. The unknown frightened them. She had to move fast. Before whatever was out there got closer. Or braver.

Then the air behind her changed. It heated.

She spun. A man stood there, no, not a man. Round-bellied. Thick, sweaty arms. But his face, his mouth, was wrong.

Tentacles. Long, slick limbs, like octopus arms, spilled from his jaw.

And he charged.

Veyla screamed, dropped her buckets, and ran. She looked back, it was still coming. Not running, just walking. Unhurried. Yet somehow, it was closing the distance.

Her scream rose higher. She ran blindly, then crashed into someone’s chest. Arms caught her. She looked up.

It was Magnus.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, brow raised. "Something chasing you? I could hear you for miles."

Veyla could barely breathe. "There’s a monster out there," she gasped, pointing behind her.

"Monster?" Magnus repeated with a small chuckle. "Pet, everything here is a monster to you. Why are you still afraid?"

Her heart pounded like it wanted out of her chest. "What?"

"Be lucky you survived," he said, already turning. "Now come, prepare the outfits for the Night Queen’s selection. This year’s event will be the grandest. Wait till you see the materials I brought, sun-threaded silks from the northern witches, beetle-lacquered gowns..."

As he spoke, her terror became nothing. Just another ordinary day in a place where wolves weren’t living things, but pets. Or meat.

“Get ready,” the Magnus called, walking off into the woods. “We leave for the palace at dawn.”

Veyla stood shaking, sweat sliding down the nape of her neck. Her limbs trembled as she turned toward the house.

Then something shoved her. Invisible.

She hit the ground hard, breath knocked from her lungs. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift herself. It felt like something pinned her, something she couldn’t see.

Magic.

She turned her head, and saw Freyr and Tarin standing nearby.

"I can’t believe Master’s taking her," Freyr sneered, face curled in disgust.

"Should we spell her legs together again? Just because," Tarin said, grinning like she'd already done it in her head.

Veyla said nothing. Panic pressed in, heavy and fast, but she fought it. She blinked away the tears, no. They liked that. Lived for her pain. If she cried, she’d give them what they wanted.

"Let’s cut off one of her ears," Freyr said, smile widening. "Hide it behind that ugly hair."

"The Magnus asked you not to hurt me," Veyla said, her voice shaking despite herself. She wanted to scream. Don’t hurt me. But she held it in.

"I know exactly what we’ll do," Tarin whispered.

They moved toward her. Grabbed her by both arms. Lifted her off the ground.

Veyla felt the scream rising again, then crushed it back down. Her breathing trembled, coming out faster as they dragged her away.