Ilsa took several deep breaths, but it didn’t stop her head from spinning. A missing brother. A house under attack. She looked up and made eye contact with Eliot, who swept her face with an assessing gaze.
“And my brother’s just disappeared? In the middle of all this?”
“Of his own volition,” said Aelius. “Took a dozen wolves with him.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a folded note. “One of them left this for his sweetheart, who is one of my foxes and brought it to me. It says they were under strict instructions from Gedeon to tell no one of their departure; that he had shared no details of why or where they were going and said nothing of their return.” The last words hung over the table, their weight showing on every face. “My best guess is that he discovered something. Before he disappeared, he was devoting all his time to trying to find out what the rebels wanted from these attacks. It appeared an awful lot like they were searching for something, yet as far as any of us know, there’s nothing in this house that could be so important to them. I believe Gedeon learned something of the true location of whatever it is they seek and has gone after it himself.”
“And why’d he do that if he’s got you lot?”
This appeared to strike a nerve with everyone. Cassia drew in a shaking breath. Fyfe chewed on his lip and sank into his chair.
“That,” said Oren, “we cannot tell you. Gedeon and the wolves simply slipped away in the night.” If Ilsa wasn’t mistaken, Oren’s gaze flickered to Eliot. “We’re piecing together the evidence we can find, but for the most part, it’s guesswork. Gedeon has made no contact. And now, this matter with the Seer’s apprentice and this petty tit-for-tat. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know you’re alive. He doesn’t know he’s made you a target.”
Aelius smirked. “Welcome to the Witherward, Ilsa my darling, where we measure our successes in blood spilled. Is it not enough to make a lady swoon from fright?”
Ilsa’s head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at him. “You forget I weren’t no lady ’til yesterday. I ain’t the swooning type.” She pushed out of her chair, startling them all, but she needed to breathe, and she couldn’t do it in this room with all these people telling her unfathomable things. “Am I excused? Or is there more you got to tell me? And think very carefully before you answer because I ain’t got much patience left for things I din’t know yesterday.”
“Nothing springs to mind,” said Oren levelly. “Though I hoped we could discuss some measures for your safety given that—”
“Oh, earth and stars,” sighed Eliot.
All eyes swung to the end of the table, to the boy they were pretending wasn’t there. Eliot’s head was tilted back to rest against his chair, his eyes were closed, and he was massaging the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. He appeared mildly bemused to glance up and find everyone looking at him, like he hadn’t heard himself speak.
Oren regarded him over the rims of his glasses. “If there is something you wish to add, Eliot, the floor is yours.”
Aelius snorted. “Anything that might have slipped your mind, Quillon? Something pertinent to the whereabouts of our alpha and renegade wolves, perhaps?”
“You’re wasting your time, Aelius,” said Cassia.
Eliot sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Imagine my surprise in finding there’s no point in being me at this little get together after all,” he said, unfolding himself from his chair and straightening the lapels on his jacket. His eyes landed on Ilsa, just briefly, then on the door.
And Ilsa understood. She had needed space, and he was giving it to her. A chance to slip away. A distraction. As Aelius made another snide remark about the hours Eliot was keeping, she skirted the table and softly turned the handle of the door. Then she slipped out into the hall and made for the stairs. She couldn’t have explained it to the lieutenants, but she knew where she needed to be.
The smell of furniture polish and gardenias hit her when she stepped into the chamber she had thought belonged to her parents, and that uncanny quiet, like the room was holding its breath. Ilsa looked numbly at the papers strewn across the desk. The quarter-full decanter of liquor. These weren’t her parents’ chambers, kept as Lyander and Thorne had left them, like some sort of shrine.
Her brother had lived here. And now he was gone.
She sank onto the couch, her breath rushing out of her in a sigh. Gedeon had kidnapped an Oracle, in return the Oracles had tried to kill her, and somewhere in the middle was a messenger who had saved her life and brought her home. It felt like a cruel trick that she was only here because he was gone. That she was in his house, in his rooms, on his couch, and he still believed she was dead. Just another vicious twist of fate, like her mother birthing a healthy daughter only to die before she was a day old; like Lord Walcott contracting smallpox; like Martha dying for her blonde hair and hazel eyes. The unfairness of it pounded on the back of her skull, too much to comprehend.
Someone knocked on the open door, and Ilsa looked up. She didn’t know who she was expecting, but she was surprised when it was Fyfe who entered. “I looked for you at your room,” he said awkwardly. “Then Cassia told me you might be here.”
He sidled closer, but didn’t speak again. Ilsa didn’t want to share, but her thoughts and frustrations built inside her until they spilled out.
“So
