Wolf froze.
Nerves humming, Cinder scanned the nearby windows and opened the tip of her pointer finger in preparation for an attack. “What is it?”
Wolf didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He was focused on a house down the street, unblinking.
“Wolf?”
His breath rattled. “It might be nothing, but I think … I thought I smelled my mother. A soap that seemed familiar … though I didn’t have these senses last time I saw her. It might not…”
He looked burdened and afraid.
He also looked hopeful.
A few of the shanties had flower boxes hung from their windows, and some of them even had live flowers. The house Wolf was staring at was one of them—a messy cluster of blue daisies spilling over the rough-hewn wood. They were a spot of beauty, simple and elegant and completely at odds with their dreary surroundings.
They paused in front of the house. There was no yard, only a spot of concrete in front of a plain door. There was one window but it had no glass. Instead, faded fabric had been tacked around its frame.
Wolf was rooted to the ground, so it was Thorne who shouldered past him and gave a quick rap against the door.
With the fabric alone acting as a sound barrier, they could hear every creak of the floors within as someone came to the door and opened it a timid crack. A small woman peeked out, alarmed when she saw Thorne. She was naturally petite but unnaturally gaunt, as if she hadn’t had a complete meal in years. Brown hair was chopped short, and though she had olive-toned skin like Wolf’s, her eyes were coal black, nothing like his striking green.
Thorne flashed his most disarming smile.
It had no obvious effect.
“Mrs. Kesley?”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly, her gaze sweeping out to the others. She passed over Wolf first, then Cinder and Iko, before her eyes rounded, almost comically. She gasped and looked at Wolf again, but then her lips turned down with distrust.
“My name,” Thorne said, with a respectful tilt of his head, “is Captain Carswell Thorne. I believe you may know—”
A strangled sound escaped the woman. Her shock and suspicion multiplied by the second, warring against each other as she stared at her son. She pulled open the door the rest of the way and took one hesitant step forward.
Wolf had become a statue. Cinder could feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves.
“Ze’ev?” the woman whispered.
“Mom,” he whispered back.
The uncertainty cleared from her eyes, replaced with tears. She clapped both hands over her mouth and took another step forward. Paused again. Then she strode the rest of the way and wrapped her arms around Wolf. Though he dwarfed her in every way, he looked suddenly small and fragile, hunching down to fit better into her embrace.
Wolf’s mother pulled away far enough to cup his face in her hands. Taking in how handsome and mature he’d become, or maybe wondering about all the scars.
Cinder spotted a tattoo on her forearm, in the same place where Wolf had one marking him as a special operative. His mother’s, though, was stamped simply RM-9. It reminded Cinder of how someone might mark their pet, to be returned home in case it got lost.
“Mom,” Wolf said again, choking down his emotions. “Can we come inside?”
The woman raked her attention over the others, pausing briefly on Iko. Cinder wondered if she was confounded by Iko’s lack of bioelectricity, but she didn’t ask. “Of course.”
With those simple words, she extracted herself from Wolf and ushered them inside.
They found themselves in a tiny room with a single rocking chair and a sofa, a seam ripped open to reveal yellow stuffing inside. A fist-size holograph node was stuck in the center of one wall and a squat table was pushed beneath it. There was a drinking glass full of more blue daisies.
One doorway led to a short hall where Cinder assumed there were bedrooms and the washroom. A second door offered a glimpse into an equally small kitchen, the shelves and counters overflowing with dishes.
It looked like it hadn’t been dusted in a year. But then, so did the woman.
Wolf hunched in the room as if he no longer physically fit inside it, while his mother gripped the back of the chair.
“Everyone,” said Wolf, “this is my mother, Maha Kesley. Mom—this is Iko and Thorne and … Cinder.” He chewed on the words like he wanted to say more, and Cinder knew he was debating whether or not to tell his mom her true identity.
Cinder did her best to look friendly. “Thank you for welcoming us. I’m afraid we’ve put you into a lot of danger by coming here.”
Maha stood a little straighter, still wary.
Thorne had his hands in his pockets, as if he was afraid to touch anything. “Will your husband be home soon?”
Maha stared at him.
“We don’t want any surprises,” Cinder added.
Maha pursed her lips. She looked at Wolf, and Cinder knew. Wolf tensed.
“I’m sorry, Ze’ev,” said Maha. “He died four years ago. There was an accident. At the factory.”
Wolf’s expression gave away nothing. Slowly, his head bobbed with acceptance. He’d seemed more surprised to see his mother alive than to learn of his father’s death.
“Are you hungry?” said Maha, burying her shock. “You were always hungry … before. But I suppose you were a growing boy then…”
The words hung between them, filled with a lost childhood, so many years.
Wolf smiled, but not enough to show his sharp canine teeth. “That hasn’t changed much.”
Maha looked relieved. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and bustled toward the kitchen. “Make yourselves comfortable. I think I might have some crackers.”
Twenty-Five
Jacin felt heavy with dread as he entered the throne room. The seats reserved for the members of the court were empty. Only the queen sat on her throne, with Aimery at her side. Not even their personal guards were with them, which meant that whatever this meeting was about, Levana didn’t trust anyone to know of it.
Cress, he thought. She knew about Cress. He’d been hiding her in his private quarters, keeping her safe like he’d promised Winter he would, but he knew it couldn’t last forever.
How had Levana found out?
A screen had been brought into the room, a large flat netscreen like the ones they used for two-dimensional Earthen media, only this one was more elaborate than anything Jacin had seen on Earth. It was set on an easel and framed in polished silver, bands of roses and thorns surrounding the screen as if it were a piece of art. The queen sparing no expense, as usual.
Queen Levana and Thaumaturge Park both wore dark expressions as Jacin came to a stop and clicked his heels together, trying not to think of the last time he’d stood in this spot. When he was sure he would be killed, and Winter would have to watch.
“You summoned, My Queen?”
“I did,” Levana drawled, running her fingers over the arm of her throne.
He held his breath, racking his brain for some way he could explain Cress’s presence that didn’t incriminate Winter.
“I have been thinking a great deal about our little dilemma,” said the queen. “I desire to put my trust in you again, as I did when you were under Sybil’s care, yet I haven’t been able to convince myself that you serve me. Your queen. And not…” She whisked her fingers through the air, and her beautiful face took on something akin to a snarl. “Your princess.”