Page 90 of Reign

“Smith, what are you doing?” Bash called over his shoulder.

I hesitated, creeping forward. What if there was more than one Black Shuck in Lyonesse—and this one wasn’t my companion?

Bash appeared beside me, his voice cautious as he murmured, “Do you wish to die?”

I shook my head, and then I heard it—a familiar, guttural growl. It was her. I hurried toward Dog, spotting her tufts of fur bathed in moonlight. I crouched and opened my arms. Dog approached slowly before collapsing into my embrace.

“Hund!” Dog, I cried as she feebly licked my face.

“Thou missen thee.” I missed you, I mumbled into the scruff of her neck.

As she panted, Dog bopped her snout against my hand. It felt rough and dry like the scales on a pine cone. Dread coiled in my gut—she was sick.

“Schew me.” Show me, I commanded.

Dog whined, reluctant, but obeyed. She turned to reveal her hind leg, and I gagged at the stench of her festering wound; a film of green pus coated her red-hot sores, while larvae writhed within small holes in her flesh. Dog craned her neck to gnaw at the fur near the injury, visibly agitated.

“Fitzroy!” I called.

Fitzroy edged closer as Bash knelt, hands open in silent assurance that he meant no harm.

“She needs help,” I cried, stroking Dog’s head.

“Is that the beast that killed the villagers in the Wetlands?” Bash asked, his widening eyes betraying his unease.

Dog growled.

“Don’t call her that,” I snapped, defending her. “Someone I trusted overheard me speaking in Yfelle. She threatened to expose me as a—” I hesitated, almost saying witch. “Wizard.”

I looked deep into Dog’s amber eyes. “I owe her my life.” My heart ached as Dog bowed her head dutifully.

“That’s why you were heading to the Walled City?” Bash pressed.

“Yes,” I replied, and he nodded slowly as he added another piece to my story.

“Did she kill your sister to protect you, too?” Bash whispered.

“No,” I said, offended by the suggestion. “Dog would never hurt Niamh.”

Dog barked as if agreeing.

Bash placed a compassionate hand on my shoulder. “It’s cruel how quickly lifelong friends can turn into enemies when they suspect magic resides in your palms.”

I nodded, grateful for his understanding, while his touch lingered—gentle and reassuring. He offered me a slight smile that lit up his kind eyes, bright enough for our gazes to meet in the low light of eventide.

The crunch of leaves tore me from Bash. Nearby, Fitzroy was approaching, while Fletcher kept his distance, leaning against the trunk of a tree and watching on.

Fitzroy cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Carpenter,” he said—his voice lower than usual.

After a slight hesitation, Bash stood, withdrawing his hand and his warmth, leaving my shoulder cold.

Fitzroy swiftly took his place, covering his nose and mouth to try to shield himself from the malodorous stench.

“Is this the creature that killed Avice?” he asked, sneering at the odor.

I nodded.

“I owe her my life, too,” Fitzroy remarked, though it was unclear if he was being sincere or jesting.