House of Flame and Shadow (Crescent City, #3)

“Sabine’s in a meeting—”

“Not Sabine. I need to talk to everyone else.” Ithan pushed, “You were the only one who checked in to see if I was alive after … everything.” She’d texted him occasionally—not much, but with Amelie as her Alpha and sister, he knew she didn’t dare risk more communication than that. “Please, Perry. Just let me into the courtyard.”

“Tell me what you want to talk to us about, and I’ll consider it.” Even as Omega, the lowest of the Black Rose Pack, she didn’t back down.

It was for that courage alone that Ithan told her his secret first. “A new future for the wolves.”



* * *



Ithan knew it was due to how loved and trusted Perry was within the Den that so many wolves arrived in the courtyard quickly, as soon as her message went out about a last-minute announcement.

He kept to the shadows of the pillars under the building’s north wing, watching the people he’d counted as friends, almost family, congregate in the grassy space. The red and gold trees of the small park behind them swayed in the crisp autumn breeze, the wind luckily keeping his scent hidden from the wolves.

When enough of a crowd had assembled—a hundred wolves, or so—Perry stepped out onto the few steps in front of the building doors and said, “So, uh … almost everyone’s here.”

People smiled at her, bemused yet indulgent. It’d always been that way for Perry, the resident artist of the Den, who at age four had painted her room every color of the rainbow despite her parents’ order to pick one hue.

Perry glanced toward him, eyes bright with fear. For him or for herself, he had no idea.

“Go ahead,” she said quietly, and stepped off the stairs and into the grass.

Make your brother proud.

Though those words had come from the Viper Queen, Ithan held them close to his heart as he stepped out of the shadows.

Snarls and growls and shouts of surprise rose. Ithan held up his hands. “I’m not here to start trouble.”

“Then get the fuck out!” someone—Gideon, Amelie’s third—shouted from the back. Amelie herself was striding through the crowd, fury twisting her face—

“Everything we are is a lie,” Ithan said before Amelie could reach him and start swinging.

Some people quieted. Ithan plunged on, because Amelie’s canines were lengthening, and he knew she’d be making the full shift soon.

“Danika Fendyr questioned this, too. She died before she could find the truth.”

The words had their desired effect. The crowd went silent. But Amelie still charged forward, shoving people out of the way now, Gideon a menacing, hulking mass close behind—

Ithan looked at Perry, standing at the front of the crowd, her green eyes trained on him. It was to her that he said, “The Asteri planted a parasite in our brains that repressed our inherent magic, reducing it to its most basic components: shifting and strength. Yet even those abilities have been cut off at the knees. All so we can remain their faithful enforcers, as we’ve been since the Northern Rift opened.”

Amelie was ten feet away, muscles tensing to jump onto the stairs, to pin him and shred him—

“Look,” Ithan said, and held out a hand. Ice swirled in his palm.

A gasp went through the crowd. Even Amelie stumbled in shock.

Ithan said, letting the ice crust his fingers, “Magic—elemental magic. It was lying there, dormant in my veins all this time.” He found Perry’s eyes again, noted the shock and something like yearning in them. “A friend of mine, a medwitch, made an antidote for me. I took it and discovered what I really am. Who I really am. What sleeps in the bloodline of all wolves, repressed by the Asteri for fifteen thousand years.”

“It’s a witch-trick,” Amelie spat, making to shove past her little sister. “Move,” she ordered Perry. Not as her sister, but as her Alpha.

But Perry, despite her slim frame, held firm. And said to Amelie, her voice carrying, “I want to hear what he has to say.”



* * *



Ithan spoke as quickly as he could, giving the wolves an overview of the parasite and what it did to their magic. And then, because they were still looking doubtful, he explained what really happened in the Bone Quarter: Secondlight. The meat grinder of souls.

When he was done, Ithan found Perry’s face again. She’d gone ghostly white.

“Queen Hypaxia Enador can verify all I’ve told you,” Ithan said.

“She’s not queen anymore!” a wolf called. “She’s been kicked out—like you, Holstrom.”

Ithan bared his teeth. “She’s brilliant. She figured out how to fix this thing in our brains, to give us this magic back. So don’t you take that fucking tone about her.”

And at the snarl in his voice, the order, the wolves in the crowd straightened. Not with anger or fear, but …

“What did you do?” Perry said, staggering forward a step. “Ithan, you’re—”

“There is another Fendyr,” Ithan said, plowing ahead, bracing himself.

The crowd stirred. Perry gaped at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. He couldn’t stand the confusion and hope in her voice, her bright eyes.

“Her name is Sigrid,” Ithan said, throat tightening painfully. “She … she’s the daughter of Sabine’s late brother. And she—”

“That is enough,” Amelie spat, shoving forward at last. “This insane rambling stops now.”

Ithan growled, low and deep, and even Amelie halted, one foot on the step.

He held her gaze, let her see everything in it.

“Why is this traitor still alive?” Sabine’s voice slithered over the courtyard.

Ithan pivoted, carefully keeping Amelie in his sights as he surveyed the approaching Prime Apparent.

A step behind her, emerging from the shadows, strode Sigrid and the Astronomer.





73


“Reaper,” Perry breathed, falling back. Not to run, but to protect a young wolf a few steps behind her, who shook in pure terror at the acid-green eyes of the Reaper in their midst.

Judging by Sigrid’s fairly normal gait, she was still in the middle of her transition. But there was an oddness to her movements already. The beginnings of that unnaturally smooth glide that only Reapers could effect.

And she’d left on her wrecked, bloodied clothes. As proof, he realized—because his blood was also on them. And the wolves would know that with one sniff.

Struggling for the right words as he pointed at Sigrid, Ithan said, “It’s—she’s no threat to you all.”

“That is a Reaper!” someone shouted at him from the back.

The Astronomer was grinning at Ithan. How had the old bastard managed to get her away from the Under-King? He’d somehow orchestrated this, right down to bringing his former mystic to Sabine. All for vengeance on Ithan.

“Whatever story Holstrom is spinning for you,” Sabine said loudly, “don’t listen to a word of it.” The crowd was recoiling, desperate to get away from the Reaper at Sabine’s side. “Ithan Holstrom is a liar,” Sabine declared, “and a traitor to all we stand for.”

“That’s not true,” Ithan growled.

“Isn’t it?” Sabine pointed to where Sigrid stood beside her, gazing out at the crowd with an impassive face. “Look at what you did to my dear niece.”

The word hit the crowd like a rogue wave. He practically felt them piecing it together—that the Reaper before them was the same Fendyr heir he’d been telling them about moments ago.

Niece, people whispered. Is it possible that—

The Astronomer folded his withered hands before him, the portrait of serene old age. “It is true,” he announced. “Twenty years ago, Lars Fendyr sought me out and sold his eldest pup into my service.” He motioned to Sigrid. “She was my faithful companion, as dear to me as my own daughter.” His dark eyes slid to Ithan, sharp with hate. “Until that boy kidnapped her and turned her into that.”

The crowd shifted away, all their focus now on Ithan, their eyes distrusting, damning—