“Drop me, then,” Elena rasped, her fingernails tearing at the tough hide of his shoulder guard as black steam scalded her face.
Valerian did not drop her.
He threw her into the churning pool.
Scalding water drove through the tears in her tunic, and her lungs clenched before she could cry out.
Her boots struck the slick bottom.
She pushed upward, silver blood thick behind her teeth, but his hand caught her nape and forced her under.
Elena clawed at his wrist.
There was no purchase on the wet skin.
“Keep your mouth shut!” His shout reached her through the water.
His palm stayed firm against her neck.
She brought both heels against his chest plate and twisted.
In the Silvercrest yard, Tyler had pressed her forehead into kennel mud with a hand in this same place.
The memory gave her something to strike against when her strength began to fail.
Her boots skidded over Valerian’s armor.
She drew her knees up and kicked again, forcing him back half a pace.
Elena breached the surface, gasping scalding air into her raw throat.
“Take your hands off me!”
Valerian stood waist-deep in the water.
“The pressure is holding your beast. The well burns that command only while your whole body is beneath it. Two heartbeats, then air. If the command grips while you rise, go under once more. Do not drink the water.”
“Then tell me before you touch me.” She coughed silver onto the surface and caught the stone rail.
“Count with your fingers where I can see them. I go under.”
He lifted two fingers beside the rail and stayed where he was.
Blood ran from Elena’s lip onto her wrist.
She dragged in a breath and lowered herself, keeping both hands locked around the stone.
The rail kept her from the deep center.
She watched one finger fold, then the other, and drove herself upward.
Her boots slipped on the moss as she reached air.
Valerian reached for her elbow.
“May I hold you clear of the ledge?” She nodded once, still coughing, and kept her hands on the rail.
When the command seized beneath her breastbone again, she drew another breath and ducked under before his fingers closed.
Under the water, the unfinished mate tether snapped taut.
Pain hooked beneath Elena’s breastbone, carrying the same demand she had felt beneath Marcus’s borrowed command.
She could not tell whether Tyler was pulling now or whether her injured body was answering what had already been done.
A signed stay had kept the ropes empty; it had not opened the doors.
*He will never own me,* Elena thought, blood leaking hot from her nostrils.
*Never again.*
Then the pressure inside her chest broke.
A roar struck through her skull.
White fire raced along the vessels of her body, burning away the crushing command that had pressed against her wolf.
Elena opened her hands beneath the water.
No borrowed voice forced them closed.
But under the rush of heat, a finer thread still tugged painfully toward the south.
*He cast us away,* a voice snarled inside her consciousness, ancient and furious.
*He will bleed for it.*
Elena’s back broke the surface.
Her spine lengthened in a succession of cracks, each one driving the air from her lungs.
Bone forced her jaw forward; the scream she tried to make emerged as a rasp through new teeth.
White fur, tipped with silver, spread across her skin and shed the black water.
Talons replaced her fingernails.
She dug them into the submerged stone while her legs found their new shape.
Valerian surfaced three paces away, wiping water from his face.
He stopped when he saw her.
Elena stood on four massive paws, her shoulders nearly level with his chest.
The stone hummed beneath her pads.
Every limb held more strength than she had ever possessed, and the water no longer seemed able to move her.
She could smell the old scars on his neck, the leather of his sword belt, the man beneath the king’s armor.
“Asteria,” he murmured.
“The White Lycan lives.”
She bared her fangs.
Beyond him lay the stairs, the gates, the road south.
For one fierce instant she could imagine running it without stopping—breaking Silvercrest’s hinges, reaching Tyler before anyone could raise a collar, tearing Camilla’s crown apart.
Her foreleg folded before she took that first stride.
The strength drained faster than she could summon it.
Her starving body had nothing left to feed the beast.
Bones contracted with the same violence that had enlarged them; her cry returned to a human shriek.
Fur steamed away. This story is hosted at g.com.
Elena pitched toward the basin, her legs unable to bear even her own weight, silver blood flowing from her gums.
Valerian caught her before her face hit the scalding surface.
He carried her onto the flagstones, pulled away the soaked rags and wrapped his wool mantle around her.
Elena curled on her side, teeth striking together.
When his thumb wiped foam from her chin, she turned her face away.
“Enough.”
His hand stopped.
“You cannot stand yet.”
“I know.” She gripped the mantle closed.
Her legs would not answer, and the small southern ache persisted beneath the hollow left by the shift.
“Why did you hold me under?”
“You were losing blood, and I knew what the well could burn.” He looked at the wet marks on her throat.
“That did not stop you understanding me when you came up. I should have told you before I put my hand there.”
“You had time to give orders. Next time, tell me what your hands are going to do. If I can answer, ask—and wait.”
Water dripped from his knuckles onto the stone.
“If you can answer, I will ask.”
“And Tyler? I can still feel something.”
“The command is gone. His rejection is not finished. You have not accepted it, and he has not bled his life-release oath.”
Elena eased the mantle beneath her cheek herself.
“Then do not tell me I am free of him. And I am not a weapon for your council.”
Valerian looked toward the doorway.
“The white seat in my hall was cut for a queen who could break an army. They will see that beast when they look at you, whether you offer it or not.”
Elena remembered the sneer on Lord Cassian’s face when he saw her silver blood in the courtyard.
“They will never accept an exile,” she said.
“They will have to look at you.” Valerian bent close; warmth reached her through his wet collar.
“Tomorrow night is the Winter Solstice Banquet. Every clan leader from the southern gorge to the northern wall will be at my table. Marcus will answer for Tyler’s terms under guard.”
“You intend to hand me back?” Elena tightened her grip on the mantle.
“I intend to put northern armor on you and walk you into that hall. You will claim the empty seat where they can all see.”
“Cassian will call it treason.”
“He will draw his blade.” Valerian glanced toward the stair.
“And half those lords will try to put steel through your throat before the second course. Dress for that.”