“Ilsa only arrived yesterday afternoon, and she’s been on an opposite clock,” Cassia said. “Oren proposed we gather in the meeting room this morning and explain everything. Your presence is requested, as always…”
“And your presence in my chambers is deterred, as always, yet here you are.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and Ilsa gaped, open-mouthed.
“Ain’t you in charge?”
Hester laughed acerbically. “Only as a last resort, cousin dearest.”
She made the endearment sound like a grave insult, and Ilsa recoiled. She looked to Cassia, whose mouth was pressed into a hard line.
This was so very far from everything Ilsa had imagined. She had a nauseating sense of things she had only just grasped spinning out of her control, and she reached wildly to grab hold again. “I ain’t waiting for no meeting to find out what you ain’t telling me.” She pushed off the couch, gaze swinging between them. “I want to know why I’m here!”
“Damned if I know,” said Hester.
Ilsa swallowed hard. Captain Fowler had said he was working for her, hadn’t he? If she hadn’t summoned her…
“Hester—”
“It’s Alpha Hester to you, Miss Sims,” Hester snapped, her expression suddenly fierce. “And this is some hour to be springing long-lost relations on me. Fliss! I’m tired.”
Fliss reappeared and wheeled Hester into the next room. The door closed behind them without another word.
It had begun and ended so fast, and now Ilsa had family – this cold, hostile woman who had no time for her; who hadn’t wanted her home at all.
A feeling Ilsa didn’t want to name – hot, gutting, leaving her feeling exposed – set her lip trembling, and propelled her out of the room, Cassia hurrying after her. In the corridor, she took a deep breath, buried the awful feeling and replaced it with something stronger.
“That man Fowler said Alpha Hester paid him to find me!” She gestured at the door Cassia was hurriedly closing. “That woman don’t even know why I’m here!”
“Technically, Captain Fowler was hired on Hester’s behalf,” said Cassia, at a volume that alerted Ilsa to the fact she’d been yelling. “I was the one who arranged the contract.”
Ilsa folded her arms and levelled a glare that dared her to go on.
“There was a messenger. They said Ilsa Ravenswood was alive in the Otherworld, and that the acolytes would kill her in three days’ time. We didn’t understand it at the time, but if there was a chance… well, thank the stars we acted anyway.”
“We?”
“Hester’s other lieutenants and myself. We’ve had to make all the decisions ourselves since the last attack. Since Hester was hurt.”
The last attack? Was that what Hester had been referring to when she talked about December? How many attacks were there? And by whom?
Cassia glanced back at the door and beckoned Ilsa back towards the stairs. “It’s only been six weeks, and she lost her ability to shift or walk and—”
“She can’t shapeshift?” said Ilsa, and Cassia shook her head. Ilsa’s mouth fell open in horror. Her talents had caused her so much pain, but the only thing worse would be to know what it was like and have it taken away.
“My point is,” said Cassia gently, “that Hester’s not always this way.”
“Just often,” said an amused voice behind them.
Ilsa turned to see a young man with rich brown skin, classically handsome features, and a neat moustache. He was leaning against the wall, one wing-tipped shoe crossed over the other, and a cane topped with a gold wolf’s head tucked under his arm. Everything about him – his cream three-piece suit, his gleaming gold cufflinks – was immaculate and spoke of wealth. He had pale brown eyes – weak eyes; a colour like dye faded in the sun – and they regarded Ilsa with a wicked glint from below a straw boater pulled low on his brow. Ilsa wondered at such a proper-seeming gentleman wearing his hat indoors, but perhaps the etiquette was different in the Witherward.
“Aelius,” said Cassia, sounding relieved. “This is Ilsa. Ilsa, this is Aelius Hoverly, another lieutenant.”
Aelius inclined his head to her and smiled, revealing impish dimples and perfect white teeth. “The wolves who witnessed your arrival have not oversold you. You are every bit as beautiful as your mother was.”
Ilsa narrowed her eyes at Aelius and Cassia in turn. “And do them wolves also know why them Oracles tried to kill me?”
Aelius’s eyebrows shot up and his smile grew wider. “The same fire too, it would seem.” He turned to Cassia. “Shall I take it that Hester won’t be joining us?”
“Careful, Aelius. That’s Alpha Hester to you and me.” This must have been a joke, because Aelius chuckled. “And thankfully, no. Where are the others?”
“Oren is taking breakfast. Young Master Whitleaf is, shall we say, heavily occupied down on the lawn—”
“That’s… concerning,” muttered Cassia.
“—and the eminent lord of self-pity is no doubt still abed. I sent a servant to aggravate him but we have ample time to take the scenic route down to the meeting room.” He flashed another grin at Ilsa. “So let us show our newcomer around.”
He gestured with his cane for Ilsa to walk with him, stepping around her purposefully so that he was on her right, and Cassia followed.
“Ilsa visited the portrait gallery in the night,” Cassia told him. Ilsa might have been mistaken, but she sounded nervous again. “She also spoke with Captain Fowler and… Ilsa, what exactly did he tell you?”
Pushing her grief aside, Ilsa recounted what the boy had told her in the moonlight. The factions. The Principles. How her parents had died. How they’d thought her dead. But if Cassia had fallen for her lie, Aelius was not so easily fooled. As he listened, his gaze focused in on her until Ilsa felt like every evasion and twist of truth rang like a bell.
“This Wraith,” he drawled when Ilsa was done. “He has quite the mastery of the facts. Which is especially impressive, given that some of them are highly privileged. Such a pity he’s
