Mated to the Warg (Wargs of the Outland, #1)

Outside

When Thrax had said he'd be waiting outside, she'd thought he meant outside in the lower bailey. But no, he'd meant outside the walls. In the wilderness beyond the bridge. Where he belonged.

She'd never set foot in the outland before. Never even been past the gatehouse. Nothing in the wilds but devouring bogs, eerie moors, and lurking beasts.

Tonight was indeed a night of firsts, but instead of the wedding night she'd expected, she was being evicted from her home like a godsforsaken criminal. That was the fate of all lawbreakers and sinners—exile into the outland. Nevermore to be seen again. Likely why they called this land the Nevermoor Bog.

Rowan glanced back at the castle. The lights of the gatehouse swam and blurred in her tears. A surge of hot anger caught her breath. How could her mother do this to her? She'd only ever tried to make Elgret love her! The High Lady's farewell kiss had been as cold as the tears now soaking Rowan's cheek. The wind slapped her face with icy mist and she turned forward lest she trip and roll off the bridge into the thirsting bog below. Would her mother even care if she died?

At least Meera was by her side. She wasn't alone. Poor Meera. But her friend had readily agreed to go with her into exile when the High Lady had given the girl a choice. Meera had been given a choice, at least. Angelica had not.

"You're too old, good nurse." The High Lady had spoken in a tone that'd brooked no further pleading.

It was for the best, Rowan decided. She wouldn't wish the outland on such a wholesome old darling.

The guard's torchlight jumped in the gusts that swept across the bridge. Though it was a bright torch, the light failed to reach the other end of the bridge. Yawning darkness pressed against the small pool of light.

Rowan shivered, her anger fizzling under the waves of mounting fear. She turned back to glance at Meera. Her friend was using the leather bag as a shield against the gusts, arms straining under the weight. The woolen mantel was flying in the wind behind her. They'd not been permitted to bring much. Elgret said their clothes and shoes would not withstand life in the outland. After tonight the girls would have to start dressing like godsdamned wargs.

It wasn't a large bag, yet it weighed almost two stone. But not with clothes or useless trinkets. It was heavy with Mantor eyes from her mother's garden. She'd have carried it herself, but Thrax would be watching her. And Meera was stronger, so it was up to her to carry out Rowan's scheme in the hours to come.

"You all right?" she asked Meera, keeping her voice low. Her teeth sawed at her lips as Meera nodded. "What if this doesn't work?"

"You're resilient enough to plot something new," Meera whispered against the wind.

Rowan swallowed, her chest tight. The words ought to have warmed her, yet it did the opposite. Such unyielding loyalty was heart-wrenching because it put a lot of pressure on her. The weight of that millstone around her neck was making her knees buckle. And her fear, like rime ice, crept thicker and thicker the further she stepped from home. Another bout of tears began streaming down her face as she faced forward again.

Ahead, the sight of eyeshine in the dark struck terror in her soul. Her feet froze on the bridge and Meera collided into her back with a soft, "Oomph." The girl uttered a strangled sound swiftly after, indicating she'd spotted the wargs, too.

Rowan could see nothing of their shapes. Just their eyes, unblinking and preternaturally still in the shifting mist.

The guard halted, face grim and shadowed as he peered back at her. "My lady?"

Rowan tried to swallow her terror, but her mouth was bone dry. She tried to cling to her anger. With a soft whimper, swallowed by the wind, she forced her feet forward.