Shadow of the Wolf King

The dirty window of the small hut that Lyra and her sister shared let in just a little of the morning sun. For twelve hours, Lyra dug for the valuable metals the Wolf King wanted. Her back hurt and her hands were dirty from the mines. But something wasn't right. It was too quiet in the hut. "Mara?" When Lyra called, she moved the rough curtain that divided their sleeping areas. Not full. She felt like lightning struck her chest. She always said goodbye to her sister before she left. Lyra ran outside, the cold morning air biting her cheeks.

Neighbors rushed past with their heads down, avoiding her eyes. "Where's my sister?" Lyra grabbed old man Thatch by his sleeve. The old miner pulled away, fear written on his wrinkled face. "The guards came at dawn," he whispered. "In three days, the Blood Moon will appear. The Wolf King... he picked her." Lyra's legs turned to water. She stumbled back against the hut's wall. "No," she mumbled. "Not Mara." Everyone knew what "chosen" meant. Every full moon, King Kael took a human to his obsidian castle. The person never returned. People said the Wolf King needed blood to keep his powers. Without the sacrifice, his pack would lose control and slaughter every person in Vargen. Lyra slid down to the dirt, holding her knees. Mara was all she had left. Their parents died in the mines years ago. They'd promised to protect each other always. "I failed her," Lyra whispered. A scrap of paper fluttered near the doorway-Mara's handwriting. Lyra snatched it up. Don't follow me. Stay safe. I love you. -M Clutching the note, Lyra felt something harden inside her chest. Fear turned to fury. "No," she said, louder this time. "I won't let him take you." Inside the hut, Lyra dumped out her small box of treasures-items stolen from the mines over years. A pair of rusty knives. Black cloth scraps. A stolen knife with a chipped blade. A map of the fortress a dying guard once swapped for water. Her eyes fell on Mara's part of the hut. Her sister's herbal medicines sat in neat rows-potions that could mask smells, heal wounds, or bring peaceful sleep. Mara had always been the smart one. Lyra's hand trembled as she lifted the scissors. She grabbed a handful of her long brown hair and cut. Snip. Snip. Locks of hair fell around her feet like fall leaves. She bound her chest tight with strips of cloth until it hurt to breathe. Next came the dirt-rubbed into her skin, hiding her feminine features. Coal dust blackened her eyebrows. A deep breath, and she practiced lowering her voice. "I'm Lyr," she growled, then tried again. "I'm Lyr." Better. The mirror-a small piece of shiny metal-showed a stranger's face. A boy's face. Not pretty Lyra with the storm-gray eyes, but Lyr, a rough mine worker with a hard mouth and harder eyes. Perfect. Lyra-no, Lyr now-packed Mara's potions, the map, and the knife into a small bag. One last look around the hut that had been home. She might never see it again. Outside, the village bell sounded-the call for new workers. The Wolf King's castle always needed strong backs. Guards would march chosen workers up the mountain at noon. That was her way in. Lyr slipped into the crowd gathering in the town square. Keeping her head down, she slouched like the boys did, taking up room. No one looked twice at her. They were too busy avoiding the wolf guards' cruel eyes. "You." A guard with a scar across his nose pointed at her. "Strong enough for forge work?" Lyr nodded, not trusting her words. "Get in line." Twenty people stood in rows. Some cried quietly. Others stared empty-eyed at the dirt. They all knew some would never return from the fortress. The weak died quickly under the wolves' watch. As the guards checked each person, Lyr's heart hammered so loudly she was sure they could hear it. Wolves had amazing senses-they could smell fear, they could smell lies, they could smell... She clutched the small bottle of shadow-scent in her pocket. Mara's strongest potion, saved for situations. It masked human scent totally. Lyr had swallowed three drops before leaving the hut. If the wolves smelled her real identity, she'd be dead before sunset. The scarred guard reached her, sniffing the air near her neck. Lyr held her breath. "Name?" he growled. "Lyr," she mumbled in her deepest voice. "Blacksmith's son from the east mines." The guard stared at her face. His yellow eyes narrowed. "You smell... strange," he said. Lyr's stomach dropped. "Got burned in a fire," she lied quickly. "The healers used herbs." For a terrible moment, the guard leaned closer, his hot breath on her face. Then he shrugged and moved on. Lyr almost fell with relief. The potion worked. The march to the fortress started at noon, just as she'd planned. Twelve miles uphill, through woods where normal wolves wouldn't dare hunt. The king's pack ruled here. As they walked, Lyr listened to the other workers talk about the fortress. About King Kael. "He's seven feet tall..." "...claws like daggers..." "...eats hearts raw during the Blood Moon..." "They say he can smell your deepest secret just by looking at you." Lyr clutched her bag tighter. The plan was simple: Find Mara. Free her. Run. The castle would be busy preparing for the Blood Moon ritual. Guards would be distracted. The trees thinned as they climbed higher. Then, around a bend in the road, the fortress appeared. Lyr stopped dead. No story had caught its horror. Black towers stabbed the sky like claws. Walls of obsidian gleamed in the afternoon sun. Massive iron gates stood open like a mouth ready to swallow them. And everywhere-guards. Wolf guards with bright eyes and hands that sometimes showed claws. They walked like men but watched like animals. "Keep moving," a guard shoved her forward. Inside the gates, workers were split into groups. Lyr found herself pushed toward a burning building-the forge. Perfect. The blacksmith's tools might help with Mara's bonds. "New blood for you, Krev," the guard called to a huge man hammering metal. The blacksmith barely looked up. "Put him on the bellows. Boy looks strong enough." Lyr took her place pumping the bellows, making the forge fires roar. Her arms burned with the effort, but she didn't whine. From here, she could see most of the main plaza. A horn blew three long notes. Everyone stopped working. Guards stood taller. "King's coming," Krev whispered. "Keep your eyes down if you want to keep them." The crowd separated like water. A tall figure walked across the courtyard. King Kael. Lyr couldn't help looking up. Her breath caught. He wasn't seven feet tall, but he towered over his guards. Broad shoulders pushed against a black leather tunic. His face was all sharp angles-high cheekbones, strong chin with a jagged scar running down it. His eyes glowed orange in the sunlight. Those eyes swept the courtyard, cold and calculating. For a heart-stopping moment, they landed on Lyr. Something passed across his face-curiosity? Suspicion? Then he looked away, continuing toward the main keep. "The chosen sacrifice arrived this morning," a guard near Lyr whispered to another. "Pretty one this time. Hair like fire." Mara. Lyr's grip tightened on the bellows. Her sister was somewhere in that huge keep. Three days until the Blood Moon. Three days to save her. As darkness fell, workers were moved to sleeping quarters-straw mats in cold stone rooms. Lyr waited until the others slept, then pulled out Mara's plan. The prison was deep beneath the main keep. Getting there meant crossing the courtyard-patrolled by guards who never slept. Lyr was studying the map when the door creaked open. She shoved it under her blanket just as a guard poked his head in. "You," he pointed at Lyr. "King wants all new smiths in the royal forge. Now." Lyr's blood turned cold. Why would the king want to see new workers? She followed the guard across the moonlit courtyard, toward a smaller building near the keep. Inside, the heat hit her like a wall. This forge was different-cleaner, hotter, filled with strange tools and metals that glowed blue instead of red. And standing beside the main anvil, arms crossed over his chest, was King Kael. His amber eyes locked onto hers. "So," the Wolf King said, his voice a deep rumble like distant thunder, "you're the one who smells of secrets."