Xavier's Arc

Chapter 26 of 21

The gate held. Outside, the wolves scraped stone and gave up. But the safety lasted only a breath. Inside the walls, the tiger's ears flattened. Its gray sides heaved. The stone floor rang under its claws. It had never stood on ground that did not smell of swamp. The narrow halls closed around it. It spun, searching for open sky, and found only cold walls. Xavier felt the vine leash go tight. The tiger jerked back. Its lips peeled off yellow teeth. A servant near the gate froze, then bolted down a corridor, shouting. Aurora's hand flew to Xavier's arm. "If it strikes someone in here, my father won't spare it twice," she said. Xavier knew she was right. The tiger's fear could turn this whole keep against him in one heartbeat. He needed it calm, and fast. He let the leash slacken. Looming over the beast would only make it worse. He knelt on the cold cobbles, low, small, the way Berry had taught him at the start. He kept his hands open and still. "Easy," he said. His voice stayed low. "Easy now." The tiger's eyes rolled toward the tall walls. Xavier followed its gaze and understood. The beast wanted the trees. It wanted a green roof and a floor that gave under its weight. He looked around the courtyard. Against one wall stood a leaning hut of old wood, wrapped in hanging leaves and tangled vine. Someone had built it here long ago, half a treehouse without a tree, its silhouette soft and overgrown. Green covered the stone. It was the only thing in the keep that looked like the swamp. "There," Xavier said. The silver fox cub darted ahead across the cobbles. It slipped through the leaves into the dark doorway of the hut. The tiger's ears turned. It always followed what it loved over what it feared. Xavier stood slow and walked toward the vine-covered hut. He did not pull the leash. He let it hang. The tiger watched the cub vanish into the green. It took one step. Then another. Its claws still scraped, but its head dropped. Inside, the walls were wood, not stone. Leaves brushed the tiger's gray flank. The smell of green filled the small room. The beast turned once, twice, then folded down onto the plank floor. Its breathing slowed. The cub curled against its chest. Xavier crouched in the doorway and rested a hand on the tiger's shoulder. The muscle under his palm went loose. The panic drained out of it. Aurora leaned in the doorway, breathing hard. "You made it a swamp inside the walls," she said. "For now." Xavier looked past her. Torches moved in the far corridor. Voices carried. Aurora's father had heard the servant's shout, and he was coming to see what beast his daughter had brought inside his gates.