CHAPTER 5

THE PACK

334 AR

Briar padded on bare feet through the Gatherers’ Wood. The soft leather boots he wore out of respect for Mistress Leesha’s carpets were laced together and slung over his shoulder under his father’s battered shield.

Bare feet told much that boots could not. Where footing was sure and silent. The residual warmth where prey had been. The rush of nearby water. The thrum of hurried feet. Things that made you part of the night, instead of something clumsily passing through it. Things that could mean your life.

Briar loved the Gatherers’ Wood. Too vast to conform to magic’s shape, it was one of the few places in Hollow County not protected by a greatward. After dark, wood demons roamed the boughs and prowled the forest bed. Water demons swam its ponds. Wind demons skimmed the wider paths and circled above the clearings.

But even amid the wild nature, Briar could see how Mistress Leesha was shaping the wood from within. Some changes, like warded crete walkways and posts, were obvious to all, safe as sunlight. Others, their power shaped by natural features and cultivated plants, were so subtle the unwary might never know they were under the mistress’ protection.

It was why Briar trusted Mistress Leesha so implicitly. She had taken the time to understand the cories. How a certain slick moss on the branches could make wood demons avoid a copse of trees, or a patch of dry ground limit how far a bog demon might range. How fruit and nut trees drew cories in search of prey, and other plants urged them away.

Briar helped as he wandered the wood, cutting hogroot stalks and planting them in strategic places. There was a wild patch growing in a ring around an ancient goldwood tree, limbs hanging over the stalks like a parent bending to embrace a child. A half-frozen stream ran through the patch, eroding beneath the thick roots. It created a small hollow Briar could widen and expand, the moist soil pungent enough to drive off demon and human alike.

He grew the wood’s protections with love and harmony, leaving no sign of his shaping hand. The wood returned his love, providing sustenance and shelter from the cories.

The Warded Children were less delicate. Here and there Briar found signs of their passing, scattered like trash in the street. Broken limbs, trampled plants, wardings carved into the living bark of great trees. Some of their traps were cunning enough to catch a demon, but most were so obvious even cories could spot them.

Still, Briar had seen them fight. For all their clumsiness, the Children had power in the night. It would be foolish to underestimate them. Mistress Leesha was wise to want to learn more.

Briar drew near his patch, but he never went directly to the entrance. He circled, checking the defenses. Like Mistress Leesha, he preferred stinks to snares, urging demons gently away. A few shoots of hogroot, transplanted and allowed to grow wild, were enough to turn a stalking demon onto another path.

Other scents had a similar effect on humans. Even the brave souls living in the Gatherers’ Wood hesitated to step into a patch of skunkweed, or a place reeking of rot. In one place, a diverted stream turned the path into sucking mud that woodies and humans alike would avoid.

Everything seemed in order, until he found a fresh snare. It was an area he’d littered months ago with animal carcasses stuffed with hogroot. Unlike plants and diverted streams, some deterrents had to be maintained. The carcasses were gone and Briar saw signs demons had returned to the area.

The trap was a good example of the craft, evidence that at least one of the Warded Children had claimed this place as a hunting ground. The child knew enough to use the deterrents around the Briarpatch to herd the demon into the path of the hidden snare. The loop lay in a shallow groove dug into the soil, covered lightly with the natural detritus of the forest bed.

The rope had been rubbed with sap and dirtied, leaved twigs stuck along its length to give the impression of natural vine as it disappeared into the branches of a wintergreen tree. Briar had to climb the boughs to find the net holding the counterweights.

Even the wary might be caught in so cleverly hidden a trap, but Briar knew this part of the wood intimately, and the snare stood out to him as if ablaze. It was discomfiting—so close to where he laid his head—but it made Mistress Leesha’s request all the easier to fulfill. At dusk, the hunter would be positioned and waiting. All Briar had to do was watch.

Briar woke to darkness in his sleeping hole, but after a decade living without wards, he could sense the approaching night like a chill.

It was no great space, but every time he returned, Briar dug a little more, added a vent, or shored the packed dirt. The walls and floor were lined with tough, dried hogroot stalks—comfortable to lie upon and resistant to water. Even if the entrance was discovered, the scent would keep cories from investigating further.

Stretching, he listened carefully, checking his spyholes one by one. When he was confident no one was about, Briar lifted the trap just enough to slither into the center of his hogroot patch.

As its name implied, the roots of the plant were aggressive, knitting a thick sod that pulled up like a carpet. He quickly and carefully smoothed the trap back down, strewing leaves to obscure the faint impression.

Here and there Briar snapped off leaves as he made his way through the patch, leaving minimal sign of his harvest. Some he ate, filling his pockets with the rest. There was another trapdoor away from the sleeping den where he made his water and squatted out his night soil.

Making his way to the snare, he was surprised to see the hunter in plain sight, not bothering to hide as she waited by the rope with a ready knife.

Mistress Leesha said Stela Inn wasn’t much older than him, but she was taller, looking more a grown woman than he felt a man. Magic had made her body hard, and she wore little to cover it. A loincloth. A binding around her breast. A leather headband.

Her bare skin was inked with wards. The pattern started on her feet, winding up her calves and thighs, twisting about her midsection, then slithering down her arms. Looking at her, Briar felt his chest tighten and his face heat.

He shook it off, circling the area. He expected to find other hunters in hiding to assist, but after several minutes he became convinced Stela was alone.

It was curious. In his experience, the Children hunted as a pack. This was something new.

Slipping quietly behind her, Briar shimmied up the far side of the tree holding the counterweights. From its boughs he could study Stela while keeping view of the surrounding area.

She carried neither spear nor shield, though a number of pouches and ornaments hung beside the knife sheath on her belt. Stela froze as full dark fell, but made no other effort to conceal herself.

There was an unmistakable crunch as the wood demon that claimed this part of the forest lumbered down the path Stela had laid with fresh carcasses. Briar kept expecting her to hide, but she remained in plain sight. Did she mean to use herself to bait the trap?

But as the corie approached, it showed no sign it saw her. The wards on Stela’s flesh had taken on a soft glow, and the demon’s eyes slid past like she wasn’t there.

It was a good trick. The corie moved past her, oblivious as it stepped into the snare.

Stela moved fast, kicking the back of the corie’s knee, driving it into the ground. She spun like a dancer, whipping her knife through the rope that held the counterweight. Laden with heavy stones, the net dropped and the noose caught the woodie at the knee, yanking it to swing upside down. Stela had measured well. The demon’s flailing talons scraped the air just above the ground.

Stela tamped down as the corie’s body swung her way, eyes hard as she watched its claws. When it swung back in, she shot forward, slapping its branchlike arm aside to step inside its guard. Close in, she delivered a quick combination of punches and elbows, blows flashing with magic. Before it could recover, she push-kicked it back out of reach.

She skittered back and forth three more times, controlling the battlespace fully as she kept the corie disoriented, hitting it again and again.

But wood demons were strong, their armor thick. She could cause the demon pain and some temporary hurt, but its magic would heal those quickly unless she brought her endgame. Briar glanced at the knife, still sheathed on her belt.

She’s charging her wards, he realized. The symbols glowed a little brighter each time she struck, and instead of tiring, Stela seemed to get faster, stronger. She floated in, changing her combinations and skittering away before the demon could land a blow in return. She treated it like the practice dummy Briar’s father had built in their yard to train his sons in sharusahk.

Patterns began to emerge, telling Briar much about Stela. Her reach, how she moved, the language of her body. Useful to know if he ever needed to fight her.

Everam, never let it be so, he prayed. Stela grew fiercer with the brightness of her wards. Soon each blow lit the darkness like a bolt of lightning, the thunderous report echoing through the trees.

It seemed she would beat the woodie to death, but the demon still thrashed when the light and sound drew unwanted attention. Briar watched as a field demon clawed its way up into one of the surrounding trees with a vantage not much different from his own. Its eyes tracked her movements as Briar had, seeking the pattern.

The corie tamped its haunches. Briar knew well how far fieldies could leap. In one bound it could be on her back.

As the demon sprang, Briar gave a cry, throwing his shield. The corie looked up at the sound a split second before the shield struck, wards flaring as it knocked the demon away. Stela looked up, too, eyes widening as she saw Briar drop from the tree.

Stela stepped out of reach of the swinging wood demon. The snared corie took the opportunity to swipe at the rope, but there were tiny wardplates tied along its length, sparking to deflect its talons.

The knife was in Stela’s hand now, but again she froze in place, wards glowing. The demons blinked at her, eyes unable to focus. After a moment she took three quick, sliding steps to the left. The cories’ eyes searched where she had last been.

But while Stela was safe, the demons had no trouble seeing Briar, who had foolishly dropped into their midst, meaning to rush to her aid.

The field demon pounced, and Briar didn’t have time to bring the point of his spear to bear. He gave the corie a good whack with the shaft, knocking it aside as he rolled out of the way.

The demon leapt again, but stumbled as Stela stomped a foot on its tail. A sweep of her knife severed the appendage, covering Stela in a spurt of black ichor.

The demon’s ichor sparked and sizzled when it touched the wards running over her skin. Power flickered through the net, and her face turned feral. As the demon whirled on her she kicked it in the face, knocking it aside. “Who in the Core are you?!”

Briar had no time to answer. He pointed with his spear. “Look out!”

With a mighty heave, the wood demon had reached high enough to sever the rope. It tumbled down with a crash, even as the field demon shook itself off and began to circle.

Stela was on the woodie before it could recover, impact wards on her palms flaring with a boom as she boxed its ears. Discombobulated, it could not stop her from quickstepping behind its back. She whipped a string of warded beads around its neck, pulling tight. The demon surged back to its feet, Stela’s feet swinging in open air, but she kept the hold, cord wrapped tight around her fists.

A growl brought Briar’s attention back to the immediate danger as the field demon stalked in. Briar growled back and the demon hissed at him, eyes wide as Briar spit juice from the hogroot leaf he’d been chewing in its face.

The fieldie fell back shrieking. Briar raised his spear to finish it off, but he was checked by a cry from behind. The wood demon stumbled back and smashed Stela into a tree, knocking her breathless to the ground.

The field demon would recover quickly, but Briar turned and ran for the woodie as it raised a talon to slash at the helpless woman. He gave a cry, distracting it just long enough for him to put his spear into its back.

The wards on the weapon flared and magic rushed into Briar, thrilling him from fingers to toes. The demon lashed out, but already Briar was faster. He sidestepped one blow, raising the shaft of the spear, its tip still embedded in the demon, to bat another aside. Still the magic flowed, draining the corie’s strength even as it made Briar feel invincible. He pulled the spear free then thrust it again, ducking a return blow and stabbing a third time. His face twisted into a snarl and he shouted unintelligible things, reveling in the demon’s pain as its life-force flowed into him.

Stela’s cry brought him back. She and the field demon rolled in the dirt, locked in fierce combat. Her sides were streaked with blood from its raking talons, and she held its jaws at bay with one hand, warded thumb sizzling in its eye socket, as she punched with the other.

Briar ducked another swing of the woodie’s arms, coming up fast to thrust under the demon’s chin and up into its brain. It jerked and thrashed, pulling the spear from his grasp as it fell to the ground, dead.

Briar whirled to help Stela, but she had rolled atop the demon now, accepting its raking claws as she stabbed repeatedly with her warded dagger. Soon the corie lay still.

Briar rushed to her side, examining her wounds.

He met her eyes. “Cut up bad.”

Stela shook her head, putting a hand under her. “Just scratches. Magic’ll close them up.” She made it halfway to her feet, then hissed in pain, stumbling.

Briar slid under her arm, catching her.

She turned to face him. “You’re the Mudboy, ent you? The one that guided the count to Docktown.” She spat on the ground, and Briar wasn’t sure if it was meant for him or Docktown, the place now synonymous with failure and loss.

“Briar,” he growled. “Don’t like Mudboy.”

Stela wheezed a chuckle. “Ay, don’t bite my head off, I didn’t know. We all get saddled with nicknames we hate. If I snapped at everyone called me Stelly, my brothers and sisters would only do it more.”

“Ay.” Briar’s siblings had been no different.

“Know a place we can rest a bit, Briar?” Stela asked.

Briar nodded. With Stela hunting so close, he was going to have to abandon his Briarpatch in any event. No harm taking her there now. “Safe place. Ent far.”

Stela’s eyes widened as he led her into the hogroot patch. “There’s paths.” She looked back. “You’d never see them from the outside.”

“Cories won’t come in,” Briar said. “Hogroot makes ’em sick up.”

“That what you spit in that demon’s face?” Stela asked.

Briar nodded.

“No wonder your breath smells like an Herb Gatherer’s farts,” Stela said.

Briar laughed. It was a good joke.

“Thought you found my hunting spot,” Stela said. “Guess it was the other way around.”

Briar shook his head. “Don’t hunt cories. Only bother ’em when they bother me.”

“You bother pretty well when they do,” Stela noted.

Briar shrugged, setting her down before disappearing into his hole. He returned with his herb pouch to clean the wounds, but Stela was right. Her superficial scrapes had healed, and the shallower cuts had scabbed over. Only a few needed stitches. When it was done, he ground a hogroot paste to spread on the wounds.

“Night!” Stela barked. “That stings!”

“Better’n demon fever,” Briar said. “Long night, even if you fight it off.”

Stela grit her teeth, allowing him to continue. “Must be lonely by yourself. No Pack to hunt with and keep you warm at night.”

“Got family,” Briar said.

Stela looked about dubiously. “Here?”

“In town,” Briar said.

“Then why ent you with them?” Stela asked.

“Don’t like walls.”

“Arlen Bales said they make folk forget what’s out in the night,” Stela agreed.

“Can’t forget,” Briar said. “Never forget.”

“I’ve got family behind walls, too,” Stela said. “Love ’em, but they ent Pack. Maybe after I rest a bit, you’ll come meet them.”

“They’re so great, why do you hunt alone?” Briar asked.

Stela chuckled. “Pack’s like brothers and sisters. Die for ’em, but sometimes they drive you rippin’ crazy.”

It was more than ten years since Briar lost his family to the night, but he remembered. How his brothers and sisters tormented him. How he hated them. How he would give anything to have them back.

“Corespawn it!” Stela hissed as she looked down at his stitches. “Just had those inked, and already I need them retouched.” She pushed her loincloth down for a better look at the damage to the tattooed wards, and Briar felt his face heat. He turned away.

Stela caught his chin, turning his face back to hers. She was grinning like she knew a secret. “Got anything to eat? Killing demons always makes me hungry.” She winked. “Among other things.”

Briar broke off some hogroot leaves, offering them to her.

Stela’s eyes rolled. “Please tell me that ent all you got. Din’t even wash it.”

Briar popped one of the leaves into his mouth. “Good for you. Fills your belly and keeps the cories away.”

Stela looked doubtful, but she took the leaves. “Mum always said, Only way to kiss a man who eats garlic is to eat some yourself.”

She bit into one and grimaced. “Tastes like a bog demon’s spunk.”

Briar laughed. “Ay.”

“Gets in the nose.” Stela swallowed and popped another leaf into her mouth. “Can’t smell much else.”

“Get used to it.”

“Better’n a lot of the Children. Half the Pack ent bathed in a month, and fighting demons works up a stink.” Stela pointed to the uneven sod of Briar’s trapdoor. “That where you sleep?”

Briar nodded.

“Big enough for two?” she asked.

Hogroot stalks crunched as Briar pressed himself against the wall, but however far he backed away, Stela snuggled closer. She faced away, round hips pressing against him. The air in the den was hot despite the night’s chill.

Not knowing what to do with his arms, he put them around her, hands thrilling at the feel of her skin. She shifted, giving him a noseful of hair. He inhaled reflexively, and the scent of her was overwhelming. He felt movement in his breeches and tried to pull back, lest she notice.

But Stela gave a sound that was part chuckle, part growl, grinding her bottom into it. Briar groaned, and she rolled suddenly to face him.

“You don’t hunt,” she said, reaching down between his legs and squeezing, “but killin’ demons gets you stiff as any man.”

She pushed him onto his back and Briar froze, not knowing what to do. If there had been room he would have fled into the night, but the den was cramped, and she had him pinned. He did nothing as she pulled the ties on his breeches and set him free. Before he realized what was happening, she raised her hips and took him in hand, sitting down hard.

He gasped, grabbing her hips, but Stela was in control and it was all he could do to hold on as she began grinding.

“Ay!” Briar cried, his limbs going rigid.

Stela kissed him, biting his lip. “Don’t you dare!” she growled. “I ent there yet!”

Briar squealed as something uncontrollable came over him. He thrashed, bucking and kicking, spurting inside her.

He expected Stela to be angry, but she gave that laughing growl and pressed down harder as he spasmed. “Ay, I can work with that. Hold on tight.” She gripped his shoulder, putting her full weight on him. She scratched and bit, but it seemed right somehow, and he held her tight as she bucked against him.

They lay panting and clutching at each other, the air thick and stifling. Stela wriggled, feeling him still inside her, still hard.

She kissed him. “Creator be praised. Ent done by a long sight. Put me on my back.”

Briar swallowed. “I…I don’t…”

Stela laughed and grabbed him, locking him with her legs and rolling until he was atop her.

“Relax.” She kissed him again. “Take your time. Both got a good dose of magic in that scrap. Gonna be hard and wet all night. Might as well make the most of it.”

It was some time before they finally began to drift off. Stela clutched Briar’s arm, keeping it around her like a blanket as she snored. They lay curled together, skin melded by sweat, and Briar felt something he had all but forgotten.

Safe.

He remembered sleeping in his parents’ bed, six years old, nestled warm between them. The night he had woken and thought there was a coreling in the house. The night he stoked up the fire to drive the shadows away, forgetting to open the flue.

The night his family burned.

Briar remembered the black silhouette of their cottage, outlined in bright orange. The billowing, choking smoke that filled the air as he cowered in the hogroot patch.

Demons flitted about in the firelight, waiting for the wards to fail. The Damaj family was already screaming when they broke in the door.

Briar jerked awake, thumping his head against the ceiling of his den.

“Whazzat?” Stela moaned, but Briar couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on him. He had to get out. Get out or die.

He pulled away while Stela was still confused, grabbing at his clothes as he scrambled out the trap.

Outside, he could breathe again. He filled great lungfuls with the cold night air, but it never seemed to be enough. His chest constricted, muscles knotting. He paced around, swinging his arms about to reassure himself there were no walls around him.

His senses were on fire, taking in every sight, every sound. The breeze on the leaves and stalks. The quiet rustle of nocturnal life. The distant cries of demons. He was aware of everything, ready to react in an instant to any threat. His fists were bunched, and he almost wished there was a threat just so he could release the tension, building and building until he thought he would tear himself apart.

He heard the trap open and considered running into the night before Stela found him.

“Briar?” she called. “You all right?”

“Ay,” Briar said, though he felt anything but.

“It’s all sunny,” Stela said. “Don’t need to explain. Know how you feel.”

Briar put his back to her, peering into the night. “No one knows.”

“Started to relax, ay?” Stela asked. “Then remembered what happens to folk that relax. Chest got tight. Hard to breathe. Maybe felt like the walls were closing in. Had to get out into the open air, and been pacing like a chained nightwolf.”

Briar looked at her. “How could you…”

“Got the flux last year,” Stela said. “Half the town was falling down with it. Folk dropping candles and knocking over lamps. Fires everywhere.”

“Fire brings the cories,” Briar said. “Watch and wait for the wards to fail.”

Stela nodded. “Stayed in Grandda’s inn till smoke filled the room, then stumbled out into the night with my little sister and my uncle Keet. Keet was half carryin’ me, and we were slow. Demons would’ve had us…”

She turned away, breathing hard, and Briar went to her. He reached out, not knowing what to say, and she leaned into him.

“But my sister stumbled,” Stela went on. “Got her instead.”

She looked back at him, eyes wet. “Ent just you that hates walls, Briar. Ent just you that wakes with a jump and can’t seem to breathe. Arlen Bales talks of it in the New Canon.”

“New Canon?” Briar asked.

“Brother Franq’s been talking to everyone ever met Arlen and Renna Bales,” Stela said. “Making copies of their teachings so we don’t ever forget again.”

She turned in his arms. “Ent alone, Briar. Everyone in the Pack feels it. We’ve all lost someone, all seen up close what the night can do. Makes us different from folk in town, but we’re there for each other. Can be there for you, too, you let us.”

Briar nodded. He could not imagine wanting anything more.

Briar knew the way to the Warded Children’s camp, but he let Stela lead, drifting along in her wake. It was still dark and the magic tingled inside him, his senses on fire. He floated along, following her as much by scent as sight.

Stela. He felt drunk at the thought of her.

Briar could hear the camp a mile off. By the time they were close, the chatter of it filled the woods. There was a bark ahead, and Briar saw a huge wolfhound leap atop a stone on the path. Moments later a guard appeared.

All the Hollowers were taller than Briar, but this one towered nearly a foot over him, with biceps the size of Briar’s head. He wore wooden armor—helm, breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves, warded and lacquered. At his waist hung a three-foot spear, demon ichor still smoking against the wards on its broad silver blade.

“Ay, Stela!” the giant cried. “Nearly dawn! Where in the dark of night you been?”

Stela laughed, shoving him aside. “Needed a few hours away from your donkey smell, Callen Cutter.” Callen gave the ground, if grudgingly. Briar could see with his night eyes that she was dominant.

“Who the Core’s this?” Callen slapped a hand at Briar as he followed in Stela’s wake. Briar seized his wrist and pulled, twisting the blow into a throw that flipped the larger man onto the ground. The wolfhound growled, crouching to spring, but Briar met its eyes and growled right back, checking it.

There were close to a hundred people in the camp. A few were children and elders, but most were of an age with Briar—not yet twenty. Briar saw Milnese faces and Angierian, Rizonan, Laktonian, even Krasian. Some wore robes or bits of armor; others bared warded flesh to the limits of decency.

Now every eye was on Briar, pinning him with the weight of their collective stare. He wanted to flee, but Stela took his hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. Callen got back to his feet, face a thundercloud, but Stela snarled and he held back.

Stela cast her eyes over the crowd. “This is Briar Damaj! The one Gared said saved His Highness on the road.”

“Then led him to his death.” A bearded man stepped forward, his thick brown hair pulled back to show a mind ward tattooed on his forehead. He wore a Tender’s brown robes covered in needlepoint wards, and carried a carved crooked staff. “I remember him. Mudboy. The Krasian traitor.”

Briar bared his teeth. “Ent a traitor. Laktonian. Ent my fault I look like them.”

Stela gave his hand another squeeze. “Mudboy,” she confirmed loudly. “But anyone other than me calls him that, they’ll be doing it with missing teeth. We shed ichor together. He is Pack.”

Pack. The word sang to him, but looking at the staring faces, he knew it would take more than words to make it so.

“That how it works now?” The speaker wasn’t as tall as Callen, lanky instead of broad. His armor was lighter as well, wards burned into boiled leather. He and Stela shared a resemblance. He pointed at Briar with his short spear, wards on its blade glowing with inner power. “You decide who’s Pack and who’s not?”

Stela put her hands on her hips. “Keep pointing that spear at me, Uncle Keet.” She used the honorific mockingly. “Everyone’s here to see me shove it up your arse.”

Keet hesitated. His eyes flicked about for support, but there was little to be had. Few in the camp wanted anything to do with this confrontation. They kept their eyes down, though all were watching with interest. Callen still glared at Briar, but even he seemed unwilling to challenge Stela directly.

Stela leaned in, and Keet reflexively leaned back. “Briar is Pack.”

After a moment, Keet dropped his eyes. “You want to make him a Wardskin, ent my business.”

“We’ll initiate him,” Stela agreed. “But he can find his own path after that. Once folk see what Briar can do, might be some folk start calling themselves Mudboys.”

Briar scowled, and Stela winked. “Better than Hogbreaths.”

Briar laughed in spite of himself.

“We all must find our own path.” The man in Tender’s robe stepped up to Briar. Stela’s grip on his hand tightened painfully, but the man only bowed.

“Welcome, Briar. I am Brother Franq.”

Stela’s grip on his hand eased, and the rest of the Warded Children followed suit. Callen and Keet might not have been able to challenge Stela, but this man could. “You’re the one writing New Canon.”

Franq dismissed the thought with a wave. “The words belong to Arlen and Renna Bales. I merely record them.”

“And help us find their meaning,” Stela said.

Franq bowed to Briar a second time. “I apologize for calling you traitor. The Tenders of the Creator taught me to judge, but Arlen Bales has shown us a better way. All who stand together in the night are brothers and sisters. We are all Deliverers.”

All around the camp, people drew wards in the air, echoing his word. “All Deliverers.”

“Mistress Leesha had us split into three groups at first,” Stela said as she walked Briar through the camp. “Strongest were training to join the Cutters one day. Mistress gave them all specially warded spears, short to make the Draw more efficient. We call ’em gut pumps, because you stick one in a demon’s gut and it pumps magic into you. Callen leads the Pumps.”

Briar turned his head slightly, examining Callen’s faction as Stela gestured to another cluster. “Keet’s group was runtier—most of them tried out for the Cutters and got passed over. Call them Bones, because the mistress put slivers of demon bone in their spears. Makes up the difference in muscle, and to spare.

“My group were folk who had no illusions about being fit to fight demons.” Stela nodded to another cluster, mostly young women dressed as sparsely as Stela. “Not strong enough to swing an axe or wind a crank bow like Wonda’s set.” She held up her warded hand. “Mistress honored us most of all. Warded our very skin.”

“Mistress Leesha tattooed you?” Briar asked.

Stela shook her head. “Drew them on with blackstem, but then she went away. When the stain started to fade, I asked Ella Cutter to take a needle and ink them on permanent before they were lost.”

Briar watched how the others in the camp gave the Wardskins a respectable berth. Though generally smaller in stature, they moved like predators, even here.

“Children have grown since then,” Stela said. “Widows and heirs of the Sharum lost at new moon.” She gestured to the tents and water well used by the Krasian faction. They were not in battle, but every one of them had their night veils up, even the men. Briar noted on closer inspection that several of them had the light skin of Northerners, but had adopted Krasian dress and manner.

“Then Brother Franq joined us and started training Siblings.” She gestured to a smaller group, all in plain brown robes.

A tall woman stepped to the front of the cluster of Krasians, waving to them. The hair that fell from her headwrap was streaked with gray, her eyes full of wisdom, but she did not move like an elder. She was strong.

Stela led Briar to her, bowing. “Briar, this is Jarit, First Wife of Drillmaster Kaval. She leads the Pack’s Sharum.”

The woman studied Briar, trying to peel away the dirt and hogroot resin to see the features beneath. “What is your name?” she asked in Krasian.

“Briar asu Relan am’Damaj am’Bogger,” Briar replied.

“Damaj is a Kaji name,” Jarit noted. “Yet you claim not to be one of us?”

“Born and raised in Bogton,” Briar said.

Jarit nodded. “I remember when your father went missing. The men of Kaji searched for him in the city and Maze, not knowing if he had died on alagai talons or fallen to a Majah blade. Who could have guessed he fled to the North?”

“You knew my father?” Briar asked.

Jarit shook her head. “No, but my husband was the Kaji’s greatest drillmaster. I learned much in his house.”

“Jarit and her granddaughter Shalivah started teaching us sharusahk,” Stela said, “after Wonda Cutter left with Mistress Leesha.” At the comment a girl of ten appeared. She seemed more like Jarit’s daughter than her granddaughter, but Briar knew how magic could shave years from a person. He looked around the well, realizing how many of the Krasians were children. Two young Krasian men wore the brown robes of Siblings with added night veils.

“Tender converted you, like my father,” Briar guessed.

“We still pray to Everam,” Jarit said.

Briar nodded. “My father said Everam was the Creator, and the Creator was Everam.”

Jarit smiled. “Your father was a wise man. We have not been converted by Tenders, or they by us. All of us saw Arlen Bales cast lightning from the sky when Alagai Ka came on Waning. If there remained any doubt, it vanished when Arlen Bales cast Ahmann Jardir down in Domin Sharum. The son of Hoshkamin was a false Deliverer. The son of Jeph is Shar’Dama Ka, and we must be ready for his call.”

Briar grunted, having no real response. He nodded to the rising sun. “Why do your men keep their veils up?”

“Everam commands modesty in His light,” Jarit said. “Arlen Bales showed us that it is when we face Nie that we must bare ourselves and stand proudly against Her.”

“Don’t let the modesty fool you,” Stela said as they walked back to the Wardskins’ camp. “Pity the corelings when Jarit and her Sharum drop their veils.”

Briar spat. “Ent got pity to spare, comes to cories.”

“Honest word.” Stela gave his hand another squeeze, sending a thrill through him. “Come on. We’ve got work to do, if we’re going to initiate you tonight.”

“What work?” Briar asked.

They came up to a blond girl weaving her long hair. She could not have been much older than Stela. Like the other Wardskins, she was clad in little more than a few scraps of leather, tattoos twining about her limbs and body.

“This here is Ella Cutter,” Stela said. The young woman gave Briar an appraising glance but kept her nimble fingers about the braiding. “Ella’s our best tattooist.”

Ella smiled. “Bath and a shave first. Need a clean canvas.”

Stela waved a hand before her nose. “First on my list. Got a cake of soap?”

“Not sure about this,” Briar said.

He felt strange after the bath. Stela had found a stiff brush and scrubbed every inch of him while some of the other Wardskins laughed and jeered. His skin tingled, dry and raw in the cold morning air.

Stela ignored the comment. “How in the Core do you still smell like hogroot?”

“Sweat some, you eat enough,” Briar said. “Keeps the cories away, even when someone forces you into the bath.”

Stela laughed at that, giving him a clean robe and bringing him to the tent where Ella knelt by a small fire with her implements. “Show Ella your hands.”

“Not sure about this,” Briar said again. “Said I’d come to camp. Din’t say I’d get inked.”

“Arlen Bales says yur body is the only weapon yur never without,” Ella said.

“Just your hands for now,” Stela said. “Every Wardskin does it. Gives us weapons we can’t ever lose.”

Briar couldn’t deny he liked the sound of that. He didn’t resist as Ella reached out to him. Her hands were soft as they took his, turning them over to inspect the palms.

“Blackstem first,” Ella said, taking a brush and inkpot. “Hold still.” With a quick, bold hand, she drew an impact ward on his right palm, and a pressure ward on his left.

“Offense and defense,” Stela said. “The first tools of gaisahk.” The word was Krasian, meaning “demon fighting,” but Briar had never heard it before.

Ella finished her work, glancing at Stela. “What do you think?”

“Perfect!” Stela said. “Do it.”

Ella put a small table between them. “Arm here.” The table had straps on it, and when Ella reached for them, he snatched his hand away. The last time he saw a table like that, it was an instrument of torture.

Stela steadied him. “Just to keep you from flinching. Even the best of us do sometimes. I’m right here, Briar. Ent gonna let anyone hurt you.”

Briar met her eyes and took a deep breath, putting his arm on the table, palm up. Stela pulled the straps tight as Ella took up what looked at first like a small brush. It wasn’t until she began passing it through the fire that he saw the bristles were needles.

“What do you think?” Ella asked, wiping the blood from his left hand. His right was already poulticed and wrapped in a bandage.

Briar flexed his hand, watching the ward conform. He straightened the palm and curled his fingers and thumb in tight around it in the proper form his father had taught for an open-hand sharusahk blow.

“Beautiful,” he said. A weapon he could never lose, a part of him, even more than his hogroot sweat. The thought made him hopeful in a way he had never known. As Ella wrapped his hand he looked down at her long legs, covered in wards, and envied her their protection and power.

Stela gave him a smack on the back of the head. “Ay, that’s enough of that. Go have a bite and a rest while I talk with Ella a spell.”

Briar nodded, leaving the tent. The sun was high in the sky, and most of the people in camp were asleep in the shade. Still, enough moved about that he felt crowded. He needed time to himself.

He circled behind the tent before anyone noticed him, meaning to make his way out of the Warded Children’s camp and back into Gatherers’ Wood.

“Honest word?” Ella’s voice was clear even through the tent wall. “Ya stuck that filthy little bugger?”

“Didn’t just stick him,” Stela said. “Took his first seed.”

“No!” Ella squealed. “Ya sure?”

Stela laughed. “Didn’t have a clue what he was doing.” Briar felt his face heat at the words. Her laugher, so beautiful a moment ago, cut at him.

“Bad, then,” Ella guessed.

“Didn’t say that,” Stela said, and Briar perked up. “Little stinker made it up in enthusiasm. Popped quick the first time, but I wasn’t far behind. Then it was popping all over.”

Briar smiled from ear to ear.

“Do all Krasian men have small cocks?” Stela asked, freezing the grin on his face.

“Not ones I been with,” Ella said. “Not as big as Cutters, but bigger’n most.”

“Briar’s half Laktonian,” Stela said. “Maybe that’s why.”

“How small are we talking?” Ella asked. Stela must have shown with her hands, because her squeals of laughter followed Briar as he fled the camp.

Briar cleared the few possessions from his hideaway, returning to the hollow he dug beneath the goldwood tree, far from the Warded Children’s hunting grounds. He didn’t know how to feel about Stela anymore, but he knew he would never be able to sleep with the Pack nearby.

His thoughts were still in chaos when he made his way to Mistress Leesha’s keep. There were guards on patrol, but they never saw Briar slip over the wall and through the courtyard, scaling a shadowed wall of the manse.

His bandaged hands were a hindrance in the climb, both for the loss of grip and for the reminder of all that had transpired in the past day. For better or worse, a simple scouting mission had changed his life forever.

He ran across the roof, crouched too low for any to see, until he came to the spot above the mistress’ office window and clambered down to the sill.

Careful not to be seen, Briar checked the hall window first. Two of Wonda’s guardswomen stood at the chamber doors, attention outward. He moved to Leesha’s office window.

The mistress was on the office divan, Olive in her arms. Her back was to the window, and Briar could not see or hear anyone else in the room. He reached out to knock.

“Come in, Briar.” Leesha spoke before he could make a sound. “Close the window quick. Cold as a demon’s heart out there.”

Briar slid a wire between the panes, tripping the lock. Warmth from the roaring fire engulfed him as he slipped inside and shut the pane. Cold seldom bothered him, but few things did. He adjusted easily to the heat, stepping carefully to avoid leaving dirt on the warded floor.

The mistress’ dress was unlaced, the babe latched at one breast. A day ago, Briar would have thought little of it, but now he felt himself flush, casting his eyes down.

“No need to look away,” Leesha said. “Nothing to be ashamed of, using them for the purpose the Creator meant for them. Folk are going to have to get used to the sight.”

She gestured to the laden tea table. “Help yourself to tea and a bite.”

Briar’s mouth watered when he saw the sandwiches on the table. Not the delicate crustless fingers Duchess Araine served, these were thick brown bread with generous cuts of meat. He stuck one in his mouth, holding it while he took a handful of dried hogroot leaves from his pocket, crumbling them into a cup and pouring hot tea over it.

Briar glanced warily at the empty couch across from the mistress. He was freshly bathed but still felt too dirty to sit on such fine material.

“Sit, Briar,” Leesha said. “Elissa told me they didn’t want you muddying the furniture in the Monastery of Dawn, but here you are my guest.”

Briar sat stiffly, legs tight together to put the least surface of his backside possible on the couch. He hunched, gnawing on his sandwich while the tea steeped.

Leesha cleared her throat. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need a napkin.”

The scolding was one his mother had given a thousand times, and Briar quickly snatched a napkin off the table, laying it across his knees.

“What happened to your hands? Let me look at them.” Olive began to thrash and cry as Leesha broke the latch.

Briar raised his hands to forestall her. “S’fine. Just scraped. Washed and wrapped.”

He meant to tell her about the tattoos, but when the moment was upon him the lie came easily. He didn’t know himself what the ink meant, and had no desire to share the question before he thought it through.

Leesha looked ready to insist, even as she allowed Olive the nipple once more. “You’re not the clumsy type, Briar. What happened?”

“Found Stela Cutter fighting cories and threw in,” Briar said, skipping the details. “She brought me back to the Children’s camp.”

“Stela Cutter was out hunting alone?” Leesha demanded. “Does she have a night wish?”

“Safer’n you think,” Briar said. “She’s strong. Leads the Children.”

“Stela?” Leesha gaped. “She’s the sunny side of a hundred pounds and eighteen summers old.”

“Everyone’s afraid of her and the other Wardskins,” Briar said. “Act like they’re not, but I can tell.”

“Afraid why?” Leesha asked.

Briar shrugged. Stela changed dramatically when they were no longer alone. There was still so much he didn’t understand about her and the other Children.

“How many are there?” Leesha asked.

“Hundred, at least,” Briar said. “Wardskins, Bones, Pumps, Sharum, and Brothers. Call themselves the Pack.”

Olive fell asleep at the breast. Leesha pried her gently away and rose, throwing the babe over a shoulder. Olive gave a contented burp, still sleeping as Leesha glided to the crèche and laid her down.

She returned a moment later, dress laced tight, and sat across from Briar. Her eyes, the color of sky, pierced him.

“Tell me everything.”

The sky was darkening when Briar returned to the Warded Children’s camp. He’d told Leesha everything about the Children, but kept private the details of his own interactions with them. Wasn’t her business.

The Children bustled about, preparing for the coming night. They mended and folded nets of wardplates, sharpened blades and painted wards on their skin. The young Krasian girl Shalivah was teaching sharusahk to a large class with all factions of the Pack in attendance. The girl looked like a snake, flowing from pose to pose with impossible grace.

Briar moved close, mesmerized.

“Everam blessed my granddaughter,” Jarit said, moving to stand next to him. “She used to watch Kaval train her brothers. One time he caught her practicing the moves and struck her. If you dare take the sacred poses, you had best do them properly! he cried. If a man who is not your husband lays hands on you, will you shame the house of Kaval, or will you break his arm?”

Jarit smiled. “My honored husband made her repeat the move a hundred times, and set her to endlessly cleaning in the training room.”

“Fifty miles in any direction is Sharak Sun.” Briar used the Krasian term for the Daylight War, the conquest of humanity that the Evejah taught was necessary to win Sharak Ka. “What side will you take, when it reaches you?”

“The Pack will not fight in Sharak Sun,” Jarit said. “As the son of Jeph revealed to us, There is no honor in shedding red blood.”

“Honest word,” Stela said, coming to stand with them. She slapped Briar on the back. “Starting to worry you weren’t coming back.”

“Like to be by myself,” Briar said.

“Ay, I get it,” Stela said. “But the light’s fading. Time we went to the initiation ground.”

Briar looked at her curiously but followed as she led him to where the Wardskins were mustered. There were more than twenty of them, dressed in scraps and covered in wards. They were often small and thin, but with predator’s eyes. Brother Franq stood with them, clad only in a brown bido. His thickly muscled body was covered in tattoos, but he kept his crooked staff as well.

They ran into the night, coming to a high bluff, warded with pillars on all sides save the path upward.

“Wait here,” Stela told Briar. Without waiting for him to respond, she gave a whoop, thrusting an alagai-catcher into the air, then ran off with the others.

Briar itched to follow the sounds of battle and flashes of wardlight that followed, or to flee them, but he waited patiently as it went on, noting after a time that the sounds and flashing grew closer.

Soon the Wardskins came back into sight, led by Stela and Franq. Between them they dragged a struggling wood demon, bent almost double by the alagai-catcher’s cable and crooked staff hooked around its neck. Behind, the other Wardskins jeered, kicking and punching to keep the corie off balance as it was dragged into the warded circle were Briar stood.

The sight answered any questions Briar might have about his “initiation.” He began unwrapping the bandages on his hands as the Wardskins formed a circle around them. His palms were a little tender, but the impact and pressure wards were sharp and clear.

Stela looked at him as she and Franq dragged the demon to the center of the bluff to stand before Briar. “Initiation’s over when it’s dead.”

Briar nodded, and she pressed a button on her alagai-catcher, releasing the cable even as Franq unhooked his staff. He drew a ward in the air over Briar. “Blessings of the Deliverer upon you, Briar Damaj.” Then the two of them stepped back into the ring of onlookers.

The wood demon shook itself off with a roar, hauling in great breaths and scratching at its throat. It was not seriously injured, and in moments its magic would restore it to full combat ability.

Briar never gave it time, leaping in close and driving his open right palm into its knee. The impact ward flared and the demon toppled with a shriek as a rush of power rocked up Briar’s arm. While the demon was prone, Briar spit hogroot juice in its eyes, blinding it. The Wardskins cheered.

Briar gave ground as the corie lurched back to its feet, seven feet tall with arms long enough to drag talons on the ground. It tried to pinpoint Briar by sound, but the shouts of the Pack drowned its ears. It sniffed for him, sneezing at the scent of hogroot.

Like humans, demons closed their eyes and clenched up when they sneezed. Briar used that moment to step in, catching the woodie’s arm in his left hand. The pressure ward smoked against its skin, flooding Briar with strength as he shattered its wrist with the impact ward.

The demon howled, clutching at its limp talons as Briar slipped back out of reach, circling.

Wisdom dictated he take his time. He was growing stronger with every blow, delivering harm quicker than the demon could heal, especially with Briar draining its magic. That kind of caution was why Briar had survived so many years, living in the naked night since he was six summers old.

He struck again, hitting the corie in the back and knocking it off balance. It swept its good arm at him. Briar ducked back, then shot forward, delivering an open-palm blow to its snout.

His mind told him to retreat again, but the demon seemed to have slowed. It was vulnerable as it reeled back, and Briar kept the offensive, landing blow after blow. He forgot caution. Forgot defense. He sensed the kill.

A wild swing of the wood demon’s great gnarled arm took Briar in the stomach, cracking ribs and launching him through the air. He hit the ground hard several feet away, and the crowd, cheering a moment ago, gasped.

Coughing blood, Briar shook himself off, rolling to his feet. Already the magic was healing him, but the world spun as he tried to take a step, and the recovered demon leapt at him.

The Wardskins shouted encouragement, Stela loudest of all, but none of them moved to help him. This was part of the initiation. Either the initiate killed the demon, or the demon killed them.

Wood demons’ arms were long and powerful, but they were not nimble. Too dizzy to fight, Briar fell flat on the ground. The talons whiffed overhead as the demon passed.

Briar kept prone, letting the magic rushing through his body do its work. The world had stopped spinning by the time the woodie pulled up short, talons tearing the soil atop the bluff in great clumps.

It roared, rushing him again. Briar rolled away at the last moment, throwing a pouch into the demon’s gaping maw. The woodie snapped at it instinctively, filling its mouth and nostrils with powdered hogroot.

While the demon choked and retched, Briar got back to his feet. He watched for a moment, then saw his chance and rushed in, using the woodie’s gnarled knee as a step to climb onto its back. He put a leg into its armpit, hooking it around the corie’s good arm to lock it in place as he caught its throat with his left hand. The pressure ward smoked and burned, Briar’s grip growing strong enough to crush steel. The demon’s neck was filled with powerful corded muscle and sinew, but it was only flesh.

Briar put his right hand against the back of the woodie’s neck. The impact ward flared, pushing forward even as Briar’s other hand pulled back. Slowly, his hands moved closer together.

The demon thrashed wildly, stumbling around the bluff. It drew close to the onlookers, but the crowd only jeered, shoving it back toward the center with warded kicks and punches.

The demon threw its free arm at its back, but with the wrist broken, it could not bring its talons to bear. Briar accepted the blows, keeping his hold. The more the magic built, the stronger he felt.

The woodie threw itself to the ground, rolling to try to dislodge him. The wind was knocked out of him, but Briar sensed desperation and tightened his grip. The Wardskins stood silent, holding collective breath until the corie’s neck broke with an audible snap.

The crowd erupted in cheers, everyone rushing in as Briar lifted the huge demon clear over his head and threw it off.

Then he was up in their arms, bounced above the crowd as they carried him about the bluff chanting, “Wardskin! Wardskin! Wardskin!”

Briar had never felt so alive.

One of the girls produced a pipe, playing a lively song, and the crowd began to dance.

Briar tired of being tossed about, slipping down to his own feet right in front of a beaming Stela Inn.

“Knew you could do it!” Stela kissed him, his lips still tingling from magic. “That was the fastest kill yet, and I didn’t pick a little one.” She winked. “Wanted to show you off.”

Briar knew he should say something, but no words came. He just stood there, stupidly grinning at her.

Stela drew her knife and flipped it in her hand, holding it out to him handle-first. “Ent over. You have to cut out its black heart.”

Briar stared dumbly at her for a moment, then shook himself, taking the knife. He strode over to the demon, catching one of its armor plates and prising the knife underneath. Cutting wards flared as Briar yanked on the plate, half cutting, half tearing its chest open.

Black ichor covered the wards on his hands. They glowed, leaching its magic, making him strong beyond belief. He dropped the knife, ripping the next armor plate off with his bare hands. He weakened the demon’s rib cage with the pressure ward, then struck hard with the impact, shattering bone.

Briar thrust his hands inside the creature. In a moment he held up its heart, and the Wardskins cheered again. They had produced a great barrel of ale and were passing sloshing cups.

“My uncle Keet didn’t think Mudboy had it in him!” Stela boomed to the crowd. “Said Briar Damaj wasn’t good enough to be Pack.”

There was jeering in response, and Stela put her hands on her hips. “What do the Wardskins say?”

“Pack!” the others shouted, punching fists in the night air. “Pack! Pack!”

Stela stepped up to Briar, putting her hands on the heart. They came away black with ichor. “Pack.” She wiped the fluid across her breast, gasping in pleasure as her wards glowed, absorbing the power.

“The Deliverer is strong within you,” Franq agreed, stepping up next to touch the heart. Like Stela, he wiped the blood across his tattoos, shivering as they brightened. Then he turned to Briar, reaching out a black finger to trace a ward on his forehead. “Pack.”

The Wardskins formed a queue, each touching the heart and wiping ichor across their wards. “Pack,” they whispered.

“Want another taste,” Stela said, giving the heart a squeeze, rubbing ichor onto her warded arms like lotion.

“Ay, you going to take a bite of it, next?” Ella Cutter jeered.

“Don’t think I won’t!” Stela said.

“Hear that, Wardskins?” Ella cried. “Stela’s going to take a bite of the demon’s heart!”

“Do it!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“She ent got the stones!” a girl cried.

“You’ll slosh for sure!” a gangly young man added, laughing.

“Gatherers say ichor’s poison!” someone said.

Stela looked at Franq, but the Brother did not try to stay her. Indeed, he eyed Stela and the heart intensely. Hungrily.

“Eat it!” the crowd boomed. “Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!”

Stela gave a wild smile, chomping down and tearing free a chunk of demon flesh. Her mouth ran black as she chewed, a mad look in her eyes. She retched once, but managed to swallow the mouthful.

“Tastes like a coreling shat in my mouth!” Stela cried, and the crowd laughed. She turned to Briar, offering him the heart. When he balked, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him wetly on the mouth.

The ichor was foul on his lips, clinging and noxious, but he felt its power, even so. He felt his bile rise and swallowed hard, feeling the ichor burn its way down into him.

Franq strode at them as she pulled away. Briar half expected him to condemn them as corespawned. Instead the man stepped up and kissed Stela, tasting the ichor from her lips as Briar had.

Briar expected her to push him away, but Stela seemed to welcome the kiss, ecstatic in the rush of magic.

Briar lost sight of her as the other Wardskins swarmed forward to take their own bites from the heart. Soon the heart was consumed, everyone retching and laughing, faces black with demon blood. Unsatisfied, some went to the demon’s body, tearing into its chest and pulling out gobs of meat.

More of the Wardskins began kissing, rubbing ichor over one another’s faces and bodies. Briar saw Ella and the gangly young man move away from the demon, smeared with ichor. Ella laughed at Briar, wiggling her littlest finger at him as the man laid her back in the dirt.

Briar felt his face heat, turning away, but it was becoming a common scene atop the bluff, the few scraps of cloth the Wardskins wore being pulled away, wards glowing brightly in the night.

Stela had vanished. Briar wandered through the cavorting Pack looking for her. The chaos was surreal amid the magic flooding his senses. Stela was nowhere to be found atop the bluff. He moved down the pathway into the woods.

He heard her grunting and picked up his pace, not knowing what he would find. He burst through the trees to see Stela naked on all fours, growling. Brother Franq knelt behind her, bido pulled aside to reveal a cock thrice the size of Briar’s. His hands were on her hips, pulling her onto it.

Briar clenched his fist, every instinct screaming at him to strike the man. To kill him. To tear open his chest as he had the demon’s and feast on his heart.

But then Stela looked up. “Briar! Don’t be shy! I’ve openings for two.”

She beckoned, and Briar froze, terrified. The thought of joining them was horrifying. A perversion of the beauty they shared. He was repulsed, but his cock betrayed him, hard in his breeches.

He shook his head sharply, turning and running into the trees.

“Briar, wait!” Stela cried. He heard Franq’s bellow as she threw him off. He picked up speed at the sound of her feet, pounding across the forest bed after him.

Briar zigzagged through the trees, but while Franq’s angry shouts receded into the night, Stela kept pace. “Corespawn it, Briar! Will you please stop and talk to me?!”

He kept running, but he had no plan. The territory was unfamiliar, his thoughts still reeling. Stela gained ground until she could reach out and catch his arm. “What in the dark of night’s gotten into you?!”

Briar whirled to face her. “You were…You…!”

Stela crossed her arms. “Ay, I was what? Don’t belong to you, Briar Damaj, just because you stuck me.”

Briar shook her arm off. “Din’t say you did! Know you want more than the little stinker with the small cock.”

Stela’s expression softened. “Heard me and Ella, din’t you? Night, I’m sorry, Briar. Din’t mean it cruel.”

Briar barked a laugh. “Else could it be?”

“Just girl talk,” Stela said, giving him that wicked smile. “Don’t mean you won’t still get your turn.”

“What?” Briar stumbled back as Stela stalked in.

“Like you, Briar,” Stela said. “Din’t lie about that. Felt safe with you at my back last night.”

Briar backed into a tree and she was against him, still wearing nothing but tattoos and ichor. His heart thudded in his chest.

She put a hand between his legs, squeezing. “Did good work on my front, too, when the scrap was over. Small cock or no, I ent letting go a man who can kick a demon’s arse and curl my toes when it’s done.”

She kissed Briar again, breath still hot with magic and hinting at the noxious ichor of the corie.

Stela took his chin in her free hand as their lips parted, turning him to meet her eyes. “We don’t own each other in the Pack. I’ll stick who I want, when I want, and you should, too. Ella may joke, but don’t think she ent curious after what I told her.”

She undid the laces of his breeches, freeing him. Everything seemed to be spinning, but in that one place he felt rigid—ready to explode. “But not tonight.” She took him in her hand, skin on skin. Briar shut his eyes and grit his teeth to keep from crying out. “Tonight is your night, Wardskin. Let’s get the first one out of the way, and then you can have me as you please.”

She pushed him back against the tree, mounting him standing. She ground her full weight down on his crotch, reaching back between their legs to fondle his seedpods. Briar howled, and Stela gave a whoop of delight, picking up the pace as they gripped and scratched at each other.

Stela slipped off him when it was done, taking a few unsteady steps before turning around and kneeling on all fours. She turned to look him in the eye, smiling. “This is what Franq wanted. Now he’s pulling himself and it’s yours.”

The words teased a primal hunger—the exquisite pleasure of thrusting aside a rival and taking what was his. And why not? Dominance was the natural order of the world. Wolves did it. Cories did it.

Gonna be like them now?

He looked at Stela, covered in ichor, beckoning, and something churned in him. Was this the life he wanted?

He shook his head, reaching down to pull up his pants. “No.”

Stela threw him an angry look. “No? What in the Core do you mean, no?”

Briar finished lacing himself up. “Last night in the Briarpatch, I thought…”

“What, Mudboy?” Stela snapped, springing to her feet. “That we were one spirit the Creator tore in half?”

“That you understood,” Briar said.

“We killed two demons and stuck each other,” Stela said. “What’s there to understand?”

“World’s bigger than this,” Briar said. “Folk struggling for their lives outside Gatherers’ Wood, and all the Pack are doing is…”

“Hunting and killing the demons that prey on them,” Stela growled.

Briar shook his head. “Prey on them yourself. Stealing ale and supplies, even from your own family. Ent looking to protect them when night falls. You just want…” He swept a hand at her.

Stela put her hands on her hips. “Just want what, Mudboy?”

There was danger in her eyes, but now that he had started talking, Briar was past caring.

“To bathe in ichor and rut,” he said. “And corespawn any that ent Pack.”

Stela lashed out at him. The magic made her fast, but Briar had tasted it, too. He took a quick step back, avoiding the slap.

“So what, you’re just gonna walk away?!” Stela demanded. “No one walks away from Stela Cutter, you quickshooting little stinker, least of all you.”

She snatched at him, and Briar batted her arm aside with his right hand. There was a flare of power as the impact ward struck, throwing her off her feet.

Briar looked at her in horror. Stela wasn’t a demon, but covered in ichor, the wards reacted as if she were. He could still taste it in his mouth, and spat.

Then he turned and ran into the night.

Briar returned to Mistress Leesha’s keep, slipping unseen past the night guards and into her private garden. If Stela or the other Warded Children were hunting for him, this was the last place they would think to look.

The hogroot patch looked inviting, but sleep was far from Briar’s thoughts. Just the opposite, his limbs shook with unreleased energy.

So he paced until he knew the garden intimately. There were three entrances—two grand and inviting, and one carefully hidden against one of the manse walls, obscured by flora.

Briar dug a small burrow in the hogroot for future use. He practiced sharusahk. Anything to keep his thoughts from drifting back to Stela Cutter.

Leesha had shown an affinity for Duchess Araine’s gardens, walking the rows at least twice a day. Sure enough, while the sky was still brightening, the hidden door opened and the mistress slipped out among the herbs.

When he was certain she was alone, Briar stepped out to face her. “They’re dangerous.”

Leesha’s hand snapped into one of the many pockets of her dress, but then recognition caught up. “Night, Briar! One of these days you’re going to end up with a faceful of blinding powder.”

Briar nodded at the distance between them. “Can’t throw powder that far.”

Leesha tsked. “Are you all right, Briar?”

He didn’t know how to answer. He’d washed every inch of himself, but still he felt the ichor on his skin, tasted it in his mouth. Stela’s scratches had already healed, but he could still feel them itch.

“Who’s dangerous, Briar?” Leesha asked.

“The Children,” Briar said. “Ent fighting to keep the wood safe. Fighting because it feels good to fight. Magic makes us feel unbeatable.”

“Us?” Leesha asked. She stepped close, taking one of his hands and turning it over. She gasped at the ward there.

Briar pulled his hand away. “Thought they were like me. Ent. Ent like me at all.”

“Briar, what’s happened?” Leesha asked.

“Ate a coreling’s heart tonight,” Briar said. “Made’m…drunk. Wild. Only going to get worse.”

Leesha looked taken aback. “Idiot girl,” she muttered to herself. “Told us himself! Said he ate them.” She growled, clenching her fists.

“Ay?” Briar asked, confused.

“The tattoos are only half the reason Arlen Bales can ripping fly,” Leesha said. “It’s the corespawned meat!”

Briar looked at her dumbly, having no idea what she meant. After a moment she collected herself, looking back at him. “I need you to go back, Briar. I need you to convince them to meet with me.”

Briar shook his head. “Ent going back. Not now, not ever. Going home.”

“Home?” Leesha asked. “Elissa and Ragen won’t head north for weeks yet.”

“Not north,” Briar said. “Home. Lakton.”