THE CRIMSON MOON PACT

They left three days later, at first light, with an escort of six wolves Wren had trained beside for most of her life and a wagon full of things her father insisted she would need and she was fairly certain she would not. Garrick rode ahead of the column, already tense in a way that told her he had spent every one of the last three days rehearsing whatever he intended to say to Nocthaven's council when they arrived.

Wren rode in silence for most of the first day, watching the mountains she had grown up in fold slowly down into foothills, and then into the flatter, colder country that marked the edge of Blackthorn territory. She had never been this far east. None of the wolves in her escort had, not the young ones anyway, and she could feel their nerves running under the surface of the column like a current, quiet but constant.

By the second day the land had changed enough that she barely recognized it as the same country. The trees here grew differently, older and darker, planted in the kind of deliberate rows that meant someone had shaped this forest on purpose centuries ago and it had never quite forgotten the discipline. The air smelled different too, less like pine and cold water and more like stone and distance, and underneath it, faint but unmistakable, that same cold scent she had caught in the hollow the night Bram died.

"You feel that," said Elin, riding close beside her. Elin was younger than Wren by two years and had begged to be included in the escort with an intensity that reminded Wren uncomfortably of Tamsin.

"I feel it," Wren said. "We're not in our territory anymore. Haven't been since yesterday, probably. This is buffer land. No one's really claimed it in two hundred years, not fully."

"Does it always smell like that? Like something's watching?"

Wren did not answer right away, because the honest answer was that she did not know, and admitting that felt like admitting how little any of them actually understood about the world they were riding into. "Stay close to the column," she said instead. "Whatever's out there, we're not giving them an easy target."

Nothing came for them on the buffer road, though Wren felt watched the entire way through it, a sensation she could not point to any single cause for but that sat at the base of her skull like a held breath. By the third evening the land opened up ahead of them into a wide river valley, and there, rising up out of the dusk with more lit windows than Wren had ever seen in one place in her life, was Nocthaven.

The city did not look the way she had expected. She had built an image of it over years of secondhand stories and her own grief, something jagged and cruel, all spires and shadow, the kind of place that announced its menace from a distance. What she saw instead was almost beautiful in a way that made her angrier than ugliness would have. Pale stone buildings climbed the hillside in tiers, connected by bridges and stairways lit with what looked like actual fire rather than anything more sinister, and above it all, on the highest point of the hill, a palace of dark stone and tall windows caught the last of the sunset like something out of a story rather than the seat of a bloodline that had killed her mother.

"It's beautiful," Elin said quietly, and then flinched, as though she had said something forbidden.

"It's a cage with good lighting," Wren said, though even she could hear how little conviction was behind it as they rode down into the valley and the city's gates came into clearer view.

They were met at the gates by a party of six, vampires dressed in a style Wren did not recognize, dark fitted clothes that looked more practical than ceremonial, and at their head a woman with pale hair and sharp eyes who introduced herself as Seraphine, First Steward of House Voss. Her voice was courteous. Her eyes were not.

"You are expected," Seraphine said, looking Wren over with the kind of assessment that made it clear she was cataloguing weaknesses rather than offering welcome. "The council was not informed the pact bride would arrive with an armed escort."

"We were not informed our bride would be walking into the city that murdered three of our people two weeks ago," Garrick said, his voice flat and hard. "The escort stays until she's inside the palace walls and I've seen her settled with my own eyes."

Something tense passed between Seraphine and Garrick, a negotiation happening almost entirely in silence, and eventually Seraphine inclined her head, a fraction of a degree, more concession than agreement. "The escort may accompany her to the palace gates. No further."

They rode through the city as the last light died out of the sky, and Wren watched Nocthaven reveal itself in pieces, lantern-lit streets full of people, both human and vampire, who stopped what they were doing to watch the column pass, whispers running ahead of them like water finding the lowest point in a landscape. She caught fragments of it. Wolf. Blackthorn. Pact bride. Early. She kept her spine straight and her face empty and let them look, because she had promised herself in the clearing three nights ago that whatever Nocthaven expected to receive, it would not be a bride who arrived broken, and she intended to keep that promise starting now, in full view of every window in this city.

The palace gates rose ahead of them as full dark fell, iron worked into shapes that might have been decorative once and now mostly looked like teeth, and beyond them the palace itself sat on the hill like something that had been carved rather than built. Garrick reined in beside her at the base of the steps, and for a moment neither of them said anything at all.

"I don't like this," he said finally, low enough that only she could hear it. "Any of it. The timing of the raid, the speed the council moved to invoke the clause, how ready this whole city seems to have a wolf bride arrive with barely three days' notice. None of it sits right."

"I know," Wren said. "I've been thinking the same thing since the hollow."

"If anything happens to you in there, Wren, if anything at all feels wrong, you send word. I don't care what their rules say about contact once the bride crosses the gates. I will come back for you myself."

"I know that too." She managed something close to a smile, though it did not reach very far. "Go home, Garrick. Tell my father I made it. Tell him I'm not broken yet."

He held her gaze a moment longer, and then nodded once, sharp and final, the way he did before difficult decisions, and turned his horse back toward the escort. Wren watched them go until the dark swallowed them at the bend in the road, and then she turned back toward the palace steps, where Seraphine was waiting with an expression that gave nothing away at all, and climbed the stairs alone into the last place on earth she had ever wanted to be.