Chapter 2 The King's Test

Lyra's heart hammered against her bound chest as King Kael's amber eyes studied her. The royal forge felt suddenly too hot, the air too thick to breathe. "I smell no secrets, my king," she said in her deepest voice, bowing her head. "Just coal dust and hard work." A hint of a smile touched the Wolf King's face. He circled her slowly, like an animal sizing up its prey. Lyra fought the urge to run. "The others fear me," he said, his voice rumbling like faraway thunder. "But you... you look curious instead.

Interesting." He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could see bits of gold in his amber eyes. Lyra forced herself not to step back. "They say you're from the east mines," Kael continued. "Strange. I don't remember a blacksmith's son there." Sweat trickled down Lyra's back. "My father kept to himself, my king." Kael's nostrils opened slightly. Was he trying to catch her scent? Thank goodness for Mara's medicine. "What's your name?" he asked. "Lyr, my king." The Wolf King's eyes dropped to her hands. Lyra followed his eyes and froze. Her fingers were too thin for a blacksmith's son, despite the callouses from years in the mines. "Show me what you can do," Kael said suddenly, pointing to a broken blade on the anvil. "Fix this." Lyra's mouth went dry. She knew basic crafting from watching the mine's smith, but this was a test she hadn't prepared for. The blade wasn't standard steel-it had strange blue runes etched along its surface. With no choice, she picked up the blade. It hummed against her fingers as if alive. The other smiths backed away, watching. "That's cursed iron," one whispered. "No one touches the king's weapons but Master Krev." Ignoring them, Lyra examined the break. The blade had snapped at its weakest point where two runes joined. Something inside her-some instinct she didn't understand-told her exactly how to fix it. She fired the forge hotter, added curious blue powder from a nearby bowl, and began to work the metal. Her movements felt strangely normal, as if she'd done this many times before. The blade sang under her hammer, the runes glowing brighter with each hit. Time vanished as she worked. When she finally looked up, soaked in sweat, the blade was whole again. The runes shimmered, connecting neatly across what had been a jagged break. Silence filled the forge. The other smiths stared with open mouths. King Kael's face had changed from suspicion to something else-something that made Lyra's skin prickle. "Impossible," the oldest smith mumbled. "Cursed iron can't be worked by untrained hands." Kael took the blade, feeling its weight and balance. "Where did you learn this skill?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. Lyra's mind raced. "My father taught me to... to feel the metal's song." "Your father," Kael repeated, clearly not believing her. "And what happened to this talented man?" "Dead," Lyra said quickly. "Mine collapse." The Wolf King's eyes narrowed, but he didn't challenge her lie. Instead, he put the repaired blade into his belt. "You'll work here now," he stated. "Not in the main forge. I have... special projects that require your unique skills." This wasn't part of her plan. Being close to the king meant more chances to be discovered-but it might also mean access to places where Mara could be held. "As you wish, my king," she answered. Kael turned to leave, then stopped. "The Blood Moon ritual preparations begin tomorrow. My guards will show you your tasks." His eyes stayed on her face. "Don't disappoint me, Lyr." With that, he strode from the forge, leaving Lyra surrounded by suspicious stares. "What magic did you use, boy?" hissed a smith with a gray beard. "No one fixes the king's blades that easily." Lyra shook her head. "No magic. Just skill." "Liar," another smith growled. "The king will see through you soon enough." A wolf guard appeared at the door. "You. New boy. Come with me." Lyra followed the guard across the torch-lit courtyard. Her mind spun with questions. How had she fixed that blade? Why did it feel so natural? And most importantly, how would she find Mara now? The guard led her not to the workers' quarters but to a small room beneath the main keep. It had a proper bed, a washing basin, and even a window-luxuries no ordinary worker got. "King's orders," the guard grunted. "You'll start your new duties at dawn." When the door closed behind him, Lyra sank onto the bed, her legs shaking with delayed fear. She'd come face to face with the Wolf King and survived. But for how long could she keep up this act? She pulled out Mara's map again. Her new room was closer to the dungeons-and to the ritual cell marked with a blood-red X. According to the map, there was a secret passage connecting the lower floors of the keep. If she could find it... A knock at the door made her quickly hide the map. The door swung open to show a stooped old woman with milky white eyes-blind. "I am Elara," the woman said, bringing a tray of food. "The king's healer." "Thank you," Lyra whispered, taking the tray. The old woman didn't leave. Instead, she tilted her head as if listening to something Lyra couldn't hear. "Curious," Elara whispered. "Your heart beats like a frightened bird's, yet you faced the king without flinching." Her blind eyes seemed to see right through Lyra's mask. "What brings you to the wolf's den, brave one?" Lyra nearly dropped the tray. Could this woman know her secret? "I came to work," she answered slowly. Elara smiled, showing teeth filed to points. "We all have our reasons for being here. Some by choice, some by fate." She reached out, her fingers touching Lyra's cheek. "And some by love." Before Lyra could answer, Elara pressed something cold into her palm. A key. "The middle levels are least guarded when the wolves hunt at midnight," the old woman whispered. "Blood calls to blood." With that cryptic message, she shuffled away, shutting the door softly behind her. Lyra uncurled her fingers to study the key. It was made of the same strange blue metal as the blade she'd fixed, with tiny runes etched into its surface. What door would it open? More importantly, how did Elara know she was looking for someone? Lyra ate quickly, then prepared for bed. She couldn't make her move tonight-too many guards would be watching the new smith who'd caught the king's interest. Tomorrow, she needed to learn the castle's rhythms, find the changing of the guards, spot the dungeons. As she lay in darkness, a howl rose outside her window-long, sad, hungry. Another answered, then another, until a chorus of wolf voices filled the night. The Blood Moon was coming. Time was running out for Mara. Sleep finally claimed her, but her dreams were disturbed. She saw Mara chained in darkness. She saw King Kael's amber eyes watching her. And weirdest of all, she saw herself standing before a glowing altar, blue fire dancing over her skin as she worked metal no human should be able to touch. Lyra woke to a rough hand shaking her shoulder. A different guard stood over her bed. "Get up," he ordered. "The king wants you in the war room." "The war room?" Lyra rubbed sleep from her eyes. "Why?" The guard shrugged. "Not my place to question. Hurry up." She dressed quickly, making sure her bonds were secure and her hair was properly messy. The shadow-scent liquid needed to be reapplied, but she had only a few drops left. It would have to last until she found Mara. The guard led her through twisting passageways and up stairs that seemed to go on forever. Finally, they reached huge double doors guarded by two of the largest wolves she'd ever seen. In human form, they stood over six feet tall, with shoulders like bulls and eyes that glowed yellow in the torchlight. "The smith," her escort declared. The doors swung open. Inside, a huge table dominated the center of the room, covered with maps and strange items Lyra couldn't identify. Wolf generals in war armor stood around it, arguing in low growls. And at the head of the table stood King Kael, his face like thunder as he stabbed a knife into the map. "The rebels grow bolder," he was saying. "This is the third attack this month." "We should burn their villages," offered a scarred general. "Show them what happens to those who defy the pack." "And create more enemies?" Kael growled. "No. We need information, not bodies." That's when he noticed Lyra. The room fell silent as every wolf turned to stare at her. "Ah, my new smith arrives," Kael said. "Come forward, Lyr." Lyra approached the table cautiously. Up close, she could see the map showed the lands surrounding the fortress-including her village. Red marks indicated attack sites. "You repaired my blade with unusual skill," Kael said. "Now I need your eyes and hands for something else." He gestured to objects scattered across the table-twisted pieces of metal, broken weapons, and strangest of all, a small silver box covered in runes similar to those on the blade. "These were found at rebel attack sites," Kael stated. "They're using magic against us-old magic that hurts wolves. I want to know how these work and who is making them." Lyra picked up one of the metal pieces. Like the blade yesterday, it seemed to hum against her skin. The sensation was oddly familiar, like recognizing a song heard in youth. "Can you unravel their secrets?" Kael asked, watching her closely. The scarred general snorted. "My king, surely you don't trust this human pup with-" "Silence, Vyrn," Kael snapped. "I asked for his opinion, not yours." Lyra turned the metal piece over in her hands, studying the runes. Something stirred in her memory-patterns her mother had drawn in the dirt when Lyra was very small, before the mines took her parents. "These are trap-bindings," she said without thinking. "Old magic that targets specific blood." The room went deathly quiet. Kael leaned forward, his amber eyes burning. "How does a blacksmith's son know about blood magic?" he asked softly. Too late, Lyra realized her mistake. No average smith would recognize such things. She'd revealed information she shouldn't have-couldn't have. "I-I've seen similar markings before," she stammered. "In the eastern caves." King Kael moved around the table until he stood directly before her. His gaze felt like fire burning through her mask. "You continue to surprise me, Lyr," he said.

No suggestions for ""You" "Perhaps too much." He picked up the silver box and pressed it into her hands. The moment it touched her skin, the runes flared bright blue. A jolt shot up her arms, and the box clicked open. Inside lay a small piece of paper with a single word: "Mara." Her sister's name.