The Song Of The Wolf (Edited & Rewritten)

Chapter Twelve, Part Two

The next morning, Maebh stirred awake with a ten ton mallet pounding inside her skull. Slowly, she pieced her surroundings together and remembered she was no longer in Haines Junction. The weight of it pinned her to the mattress, and grounded her to sand. She curled up and wrapped her arms around herself in the mimicry of a hug.

Lying in bed moping, pitying her own existence, was not going to accomplish much. But for five more minutes, she allowed herself the luxury of pretending it might.

En route to breakfast, with her head in the clouds, Maebh missed a turn and did not realise she had until she smacked into a body.

'Where do you think you're going?' Zeff barked at her.

'I was just–'

'These rooms are off limits.'

'Hèmène said I was free to explore,' she said.

'Ánthruine skouralach,' his beady eyes tunnelled into her. 'Scram!'

That strange language, with its tones that rippled like a brook in a sun-dappled glen, fascinated Maebh. But her pride would not allow her to reveal her fascination or ask questions about it, especially not to Zeff. She pivoted in the other direction, away from the man. 

Although he had not physically threatened her, it certainly felt like he was tempted to if she had overstayed her welcome. What were the odds of running into rat-face shy of a day after Benjamin had sworn he would keep her escape attempt under wraps? Granted, she did promise not to try again, a promise nullified by her crossed finger.

Had Benjamin snitched on her? Were they monitoring her more closely now?

Too late to join breakfast in the dining hall, Maebh pushed through the double swing doors and came to a standstill in the kitchen, empty, except for one person. The King sat at a round farmer's table, reading a newspaper.

'The morning chef is sick, eat this,' he said with a tone that could level mountains.

Maebh squared her shoulders and willed her stiff limbs to leave their safe spot. On the table, cutlery lay beside a plate stacked with a sausage, eggs, and a boiled vegetable that defied identification. It wasn't quite what she had envisioned for her morning meal, but she decided not to complain.

'What are you waiting for, girl?' Maccon snapped.

Her traitorous stomach gave a loud growl. She edged closer and sat down on the very corner of the chair, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. The King had not been explicitly unkind to her, but his presence certainly set her on edge.

'Thank you.'

As she ate, the only sounds were the scraping of her fork and knife against the ceramic, her chewing and the occasional rustle of a page being turned. The empty plate couldn't come fast enough. Maebh turned to Maccon after putting her dishes away.

'Thank you for saving me a plate.'

He gave her a small, unexpected smile. 'You're welcome.'

She walked back to the tower, primed for a day of reading and scheming, when Zeff's warning tickled her curiosity. If the woman he called Your Majesty granted her roaming rights, what motive could he have to say otherwise? She stood at the intersection of corridors, her lips pursed as she contemplated her options, and chose the more intriguing one.

What she had not foreseen, was the possibility of rat-face still keeping watch.

'Am I surprised to see you lack any sense of caution?' he said, stalking towards her. 'Not really.'