The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3

I left Gabrielle’s study conflicted, uncertain of my place in this world of lycan and werewolves. She told me she’d give her life to ensure I survived it. Though Maximillian and she both had explained how the lycan world waited for me beyond this fortress, this refuge, it wasn’t until Gabrielle shared her purpose for coming here that I gained a better understanding of its ferocity. More than ever, I was conscious of how I needed Maximillian to help me welcome my wolf protector.

“I don’t think she needed to go on about them with you,” he confided in me the following morning when I wanted to ask him for more details.

We started the day in the massive cellar beneath the estate’s pressing facility, where hundreds of barrels, each taller than two men, lay in cool silence containing the preceding years’ yields. At the foot of each were several miniature barrels kept for tasting. This allowed Maximillian to sample a yield’s progress without exposing the larger barrel to the air that would transform it into vinegar.

He separated us from the servants, who labored near the cellar’s entrance, so we might speak in private.

“But I asked her,” I insisted. “I wanted to understand, and I’m glad she told me. You would have her keep the truth of such dangers from me?”

“I wouldn’t keep anything from you, Esprit. But I’m not convinced we’re in danger here. That’s long past now. They will never come for us again, not after the consequences they suffered.” He reached to take my face by the jaw to draw me to his forehead. It was an intimate gesture, one expected from a parent, and I sighed to be interrupted by his affection, though it left me with such comforting satisfaction. “You certainly don’t need to decide on immortality in any rush. You probably still have an inch or two of height ahead of you. Why drag them out for a century? There’s no rush, Esprit.”

“But she said the Vicomté du Chastain’s wolves came again and again,” I pressed.

“Yes, at first, when he didn’t believe the reports of our victories. But his forces haven’t returned in over thirty years. And did Gabrielle bother to tell you why?”

“She said you both held them off and drove them back.”

Maximillian let out an incredulous laugh I didn’t understand.

“She’s very kind to remember it with such generosity.” He grunted to lift a tasting barrel onto the tabletop with a heavy thud, his arms pushing at the seams of his shirt. “I can hold my own, but not against a horde of wolves. It was she who sent them to their maker.”

“What do you mean? How?”

His eyes shifted past me into the distance.

“Why don’t you ask her?” he said with a slight nod.

I turned to see a young servant woman enter the cellar. She approached the others, who bowed or curtsied in deference. I didn’t understand the gestures until I realized the servant woman was Gabrielle. Dressed in a field laborer’s dress with her head covered, she’d never appeared younger to me. To see her now, I understood the illusion she relied upon: the existing narrative in people’s minds, supported by gowns and titles, that cast her as a much more mature woman. The girl I stared at now, devoid of silks or cosmetics, looked almost the same age as me.

“Aunt Gabrielle, I didn’t expect you,” I called to her.

She made her way to the baron and me to offer a wistful smile.

“We all labor in this house, monsieur,” she answered. “I may not have your uncle’s talent for sampling or pairing, but I still have use of my hands, same as any.”

“Forgive me,” I nodded in deference. “I was discussing yesterday’s lesson with the baron, and he disagrees with one of your points.”

“Oh?” she raised an eye to her husband.

Maximillian didn’t turn from his work but let a mischievous smile crack his face.

“He believes we are not in danger here—far from it. And he believes you know the reason. He says you are the reason.”

Gabrielle’s face froze for a moment before something akin to sadness took it. She reached to take my arm and let me walk her down the path of barrels, further from the room’s ears.

“He told me it was not he who fought off Chastain’s wolves,” I said when she didn’t reply. “What does he mean by that?”

“He refers to one of my abilities,” she said with a sigh. “It seems you continue to lead me in my lessons.”

“Your abilities? You said you had the power to alter memories. There are others?”

“For most of our kind, our lycan nature emerges with one simple commonality: we can hear each other’s thoughts. It’s this ability that binds us all. And when we welcome our wolf, when we choose to embrace the power she brings, other gifts may emerge in time. But I am very different from other wolves. While new gifts have come to me over time, I began my first day as a lycan with attributes that wolves a century older didn’t have. I could hear not only the thoughts of other lycan but the surrounding humans as well.”

I turned back to stare across the room at the servants near the entrance.

Yes, she said. I can hear them just as you hear me.

“But Maximillian cannot?”

She shook her head in response.

“When a lycan brought me to his father’s house, before ever meeting this man who would become my father, I could hear him from far outside the estate. I could sense all the lycan of Castello Palatino to an extent, but I could hear Sempronio’s presence like a dull roar. It wasn’t a sound I heard with my ears, mind you, but a vibration in my very bones. So old was he, so powerful, that I could feel his energy emanate through the castle’s walls. It was by use of this same sense I discovered you.”

“You felt me in Saulieu from here?”

“Oh, yes. It’s likely you came of age because of your proximity to me. When I told Max of you, he recognized your description from a dream and set out that morning to find you. I wanted to come, of course, but he wouldn’t hear of a Baroness leaving her house in daylight to prowl the countryside, even in a carriage.”

“But he didn’t sense me as you did?” I asked, my brow tensing. “You both said the wolves in Dijon would sense me once my family arrived there.”

“His army would not sense you, but the Vicomté would. He is very old. Many times my age, I suspect, and he would likely find you. He would conscript you to his purposes, the same as he did the others of his house.”

I toiled with her words, unable to satisfy myself, and I looked to ask another question.

“Stop,” she said, raising her eyebrows for patience. “You don’t allow me to finish one answer before you insist upon another.”

“Forgive me—”

“Abilities,” she said, cutting me off with her raised palm. “I was telling you about my abilities. Father would tell you how some lycan are born more fortunate than others, but that most of us will develop the same abilities over time if we do not fall to violence at the hand of another wolf. These abilities normally come in answer to the trials or suffering life confronts us with. He was the son of a Roman senator, born without care or need in this world. And thus, he came of age with no other gift than his inherent telepathy. Every other ability came to him over a millennium, until there was no wolf who could dream of conquering him.

“I was born in poverty. We starved often. I suffered horrible cruelties and indignities at the hands of evil men. And so, when I came of age, I emerged with several strengths for my dark protector to wield in my defense. One such ability came when an enemy pack took Max and me prisoner and tortured us. This is what Max refers to.”

I waited when she stopped and looked back down the aisle at him, not wanting to push her, but I couldn’t stop the words from passing my lips.

“How did you free yourself?”

“Fire,” she whispered. “My protector can manifest flame. She can kindle smoke from nothing but cool air or set ablaze the very blood in your veins.”

I stared at her in disbelief, certain that I misunderstood her meaning.

“Other strengths emerged,” she continued. “My wolf threw an axe across the room to drive it through our captors without my lifting a finger. But it was the blaze she lit throughout that cave that freed us both.”

“But then, isn’t he right? How could we be in danger from anyone if you can do such a thing?”

She took hold of both my arms to press her point upon me.

“Because I cannot control those abilities. They are born from malevolence—from pure hatred. I cannot summon the flames at will. My very life—the lives of my beloved—must be in danger for my wolf to wield them. That’s why we remain in danger. We cannot rely upon those abilities. Chastain doesn’t know of my limitations, only the carnage I wrought as his wolves sought to cut us down here. If he knew the truth, he might easily think of a way to end me.”

“But how?” I protested. “If it’s being in danger that triggers these powers, why would you not rely upon them when placed in danger?”

“Because many breeds of danger exist, Esprit! There are dangers for which my heart might bear no hatred. What if he sent someone I love? He might lie to someone I know, turn them against me, and allow my love for them to render me powerless. What if that’s how my brother took our father’s life?”

Tears flooded Gabrielle’s eyes, and I soon drew her to me. She buried her face in my chest and wept in silence.

“Is that how it was done, then?” I whispered in time. “Is that how he killed your father?”

After a long silence, she released herself and dried her eyes.

“I don’t know how it was done,” she said. “I fear I never will.”