“No.” Nick would allow her to sell the homestead over his cold rotting corpse.
“I’m not saying I plan to list the house for sale.” She raised a placating palm. “The War Reparations Treaty gave your dad and me a fresh start. The Commission paid us, but we paid first in sweat and blood. We paid with the lives of family we lost in labor camps. That blood money bought our land, which makes our house more than a home. I would never disgrace my family or your dad’s by selling.”
“I’d never allow it.”
His mom chuckled. “The point is there are other alternatives.”
Nick shook his head. “Selling the house isn’t an option.”
“Neither is claiming the Wallach trust.”
“If no one comes forward, the term of the trust expires soon. The bulk of Eton’s wealth will flow back to the War Commission.”
Attention returning to her knitting, Mom arched an eyebrow. “What happens to the money matters to you?”
“The War Commission is still peopled with elders responsible for the executions and purges. Not all of them directed the genocide, but some did.” His gut clenched. “No matter how terrible Eton and Olina were as rulers, their killers shouldn’t profit from slaughtering them. No more than they have already anyway.”
“The people would pressure the Commission to earmark the money for community development and outreach programs instead of passing it on to the ruling council to squander. Those in power would risk riots if they dared otherwise.” Mom hummed under her breath. “Many would argue—have argued—the trust rightfully belongs to the tribes.”
Irritation flared inside him. “The international court disagreed. Eton Marisek left the empire’s treasury to be seized by the rebels. He only smuggled the family’s private property, investments, and cash out of the country for safekeeping.” He ruthlessly squashed his anger at the old debate, gaze focusing on his knitting. “You’re right, though. We wouldn’t need much. As the only direct heir, I could distribute most of the trust to the needy, not according to the entitled demands of a corrupt war commission or to the tribesmen who condoned the murders.” Nick grunted. “Eton gave enough for his people in his short life. He gave everything. The revolution didn’t solve the empire’s problems, though. The peasantry still suffers while the greedy prosper. I could change that. I could try. For him. For Olina. For Toly, Catterin, and Elba. For Averlee and Healer Kott.” He sighed. “They should have a better legacy than infamy and an unmarked grave.”
“If you come forward, you might be forced to give everything, too, as they did. The money isn’t all you’d claim. Have you thought of that?”
He had. Incessantly. “In exile, I’m free of them. They can’t make me do anything.” Nick scowled at his knitting. “I don’t even need to appear in public unless I want. A law firm could handle the early stages of the case with no public exposure to me.”
Mom chuckled. “You think you’d be able to keep who you are quiet?”
“So what if my identity leaks? I’ve done nothing for which I should be ashamed. I’m proud of who I am: your son. Rolan’s brother.” He lifted his chin, gaze sweeping the shop floor. “A college graduate and equal partner in a thriving small business.” After putting down his knitting, he spread his hands. “A contributing member of my community.”
Her brown eyes twinkled. “And their last emperor.”
He sniffed in disdain.
“You never formally abdicated.” She pointed the tip of a knitting needle at him. “A fact the media is sure to descend en masse to remind you of.”
“I chose to rebuild my life among men instead of returning to the tribes. Some would argue betrayal of my kind is abdication enough.” He snorted. “Let the reporters come. Free advertising.” His mouth quirked. “You’ll convince the lookie-loos to buy wool, and the shop will make a mint.”
Mom tipped her head back, and her musical laughter resounded. “You’ll have to go back.” She rested her shawl in her lap to swipe at her watery eyes. “They’ll insist on it.”
“They tried to kill me and murdered everyone I loved to prevent my line from ever rising to power again.” His lips curved into a bitter smile. “They don’t want me.”
“The tribes will demand it, if only to secure your formal abdication,” she repeated, her thin shoulders sagging. “Their ruling council will require it.”
Nick truly hoped so. “I’ll deal with any ultimatums they choose to issue as I see fit.” He may have been born the youngest boy and the most worthless of nine children, but he was nonetheless the son of an emperor. “I’m tired of hiding who and what I am for fear of what the tribes might do should my survival be discovered.”
“You’re safe here, though.” Mom’s grip tightened on her needles until her knuckles shone white. “When you refused to embrace your heritage, your dad and I regretted it, but we understood. Especially when you were small and the tribes still freely roamed the area, but those days ended when the reparation treaty closed the border. You could have—”
“No, I couldn’t.”
Her mouth thinned at his implacable tone. “Your brother never suppressed his tribal blood, even before the treaty made identification as a refugee less dangerous.”
“Rolan’s birth family was only aristocratic in part.” His brother never spoke of his life before the revolution destroyed it, but any fool could see his paws and the ruff of his throat alone lacked the gray, red, brown, black, and ginger fur of peasantry. His adopted brother boasted a slim share of noble blood, but not enough to cause an uproar. “Treaty or no treaty, the council would have responded the moment a white wolf was reported anywhere one shouldn’t be.”
His mom stared at the shawl her nimble fingers created, the clack of her needles soothing to Nick. “You’ve decided then.” She lifted her chin. “Your dad and I always believed you would someday.” She frowned. “You never cared for politics—or for the riches of the Wallach trust, no matter your using the money and my medical bills as a pretext now—but we knew you’d go back home to decently bury your first family.”
Nick glowered. “The tribes aren’t my home.”
“They will be.” Mom sighed. “When you go, promise you’ll take Lydia and your brother.”
He blinked. “Rolan, I get. He’s as loyal as the day is long and a shifter, too, but why Lyd? She isn’t tribe, and the border has been closed to humans for over a decade. Even a tourist visa could be…problematic.”
“If they expect access to their emperor, the tribes can bend the rules for the emperor’s best friend.” She pursed her lips. “If Lydia is with you, I won’t worry. That girl could whip the entire continent if she put her mind to it.”
“I can take care of myself and if I can’t, Rolan will.”
Mom chuckled. “You go on believing that, sweetie.”
Chapter Two