The walls of the high chamber trembled with Oona's fury. Magic boiled off her like steam from scalding water, curling around the air, stroking the drapes, lashing the firelight into a wild, maddened dance.
"How dare he?" she spat, pacing in tight, controlled circles. "How dare he speak it aloud? That boy—boy-that moon-cursed creature—as his mate? Andrew was supposed to adhere to the plan!"
Lilith was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, enveloped by the purple glow of the lanterns suspended in the air, looking at her mother with the kind of quiet only danger knows. "He didn't follow the plan because he's never been part of it," she whispered.
Oona turned around. "No. No. He was born for it. Bred for it. Trained to lead this pack and command it with you at his side."
Lilith's smile was delayed, wolfish. "And yet, he selected a wolfless boy with too many questions and eyes that do not flinch."
He won't get away with it." Oona's voice slashed through the room like a whip. "I will not have years of labour undone by a bond that was never supposed to stir. He is mine to control. And you, Lilith. You are the true Luna of Furstone. Right where you belong.".
Lilith tilted her head to the side, black hair cascading over her shoulder. "Then I suppose we'll just have to break him, won't we, mother?"
That earned a smile from Oona. Cold. Cruel. "Yes. We will."
A glimmer in the corner of the room—a faint ripple in the veil between shadow and magic. Oona stiffened.
"She's here," she said. "You must go. I don't want her to find you here. Not yet. Not until the time is right."
Lilith rose with indolent grace. "She dislikes leaving you," she said, amused in a dry way, watching Oona with the same sparkle in her eyes that always promised more than she revealed. Then she billowed out of the room like vapor, her going coiling into quiet.
A moment later, the figure appeared.
Cloaked in fur-lined black, she stepped out from the shadows, boots silent against the stone. Her presence was like winter wind—sharp, cutting, and cold enough to burn. Oona didn't need to look at her to know who she was.
"You're late," Oona said without turning.
"I was being watched," came the reply, voice hushed but strong. "It's getting harder."
"And yet you came." Oona eventually turned, examining her like a blade she held hidden in her sleeve. "What did you discover?"
The woman hooded back. Moonlight caught the edge of her hair, warrior-cut, wet with the remnants of sweat from wherever she'd escaped.
"Maelin and Rufus were together in the woods in the Black Pines. He's furious. He blames you. And he's getting reckless."
Oona snorted. "Maelin is born reckless. He's a fool in Wolf's skin. Let him stew. He still thinks this is about Cassian taking the title. Let him chase that illusion."
"What of Andrew?" the woman asked.
Oona's jaw tightened. "He's already revealed too much. Claimed the bond. It's gotten the Council restless."
They're watching Jamie," the mole informed her. "More than half of them are waiting to see if he survives the Trial of Becoming."
"He won't," Oona replied bleakly. "That trial will kill him if fate is kind. And if not, then Lilith will take care of it."
The woman frowned. "And if he does survive it?
"Then we rip them apart," Oona said flatly. "We weaken him. We keep Andrew away. From what you've said, Jamie's wolf is only just beginning to stir—and it's because of Andrew's presence. Their bond."
The woman nodded. "You think it will fade without him?"
"We will see," Oona breathed. "The trial is approaching. Let them think they have hope. Let Andrew think love is stronger than the curse."
"And me?" she asked. "What do you require of me?"
"You'll see soon enough." Oona's smile could cut like a blade. "There are still plays left on this gameboard."
The woman hesitated, then added, "Maelin is pushing harder. He wants Cassian to be named successor. He's becoming careless."
"Good," Oona said. "Careless men are easy to control. Maelin is a pawn—he's always been a pawn. And he'll keep on playing his part, blind to mine."
Her eyes turned steel-cold. "Just be certain who you're reporting to."
There was a hesitation. Then the figure inclined her head.
"Always."
When she had gone, vanishing into one of the hidden stone passageways, Oona turned back to the fire. It snarled, red and angry like something half-alive.
She stared into the flames, lips twisting.
Soon, all of Furstone would be hearing the cry of change.
And she, Oona, would stand in the centre of it, smiling.
Her laughter rose, low and throaty, and her wolf churned behind her bones, howling not in grief, but thrill.
More was coming.
And the fire would only grow hungrier.