Chapter 8

Four cold-iron cages were carried into the room. Their bases dragged across the floor with a high, scraping sound that crawled up the back of the neck. Each cage held a person.

In the last one was Lyra. My thirteen-year-old sister. She should have been in the deepest part of the Elf Forest — the safest place we had.

Lyra saw me. She crawled to the bars. "Sister." Her voice was raw. Her eyes were threaded with red. Her body was a map of wounds. There was a cold-iron collar burn at her throat — the same one I had at mine. She had been wearing it for more than a day.

Ophelia crouched beside the cage and gave a small smile. "Elf light-wings don't grow in fully until twelve. Your sister just had her thirteenth birthday, didn't she?"

I lunged forward and caught the hem of Ophelia's gown.

"Ophelia, anything you want — my eyes, my voice, my blood, the rest of my life. Take it. Let her go. She is a child."

Ophelia looked down at me. "I've used everything you have, this year. I want something new."

The maid opened Lyra's cage. The cold-iron shears bit into Lyra's shoulder blade — the first cut. Lyra clamped her teeth into her own wrist and didn't scream. The second cut, still no scream. By the third, her body went slack.

I tore loose from the guards and threw myself over Lyra, putting her under me.

"Kill me," I said to Ophelia. "Kill me. She's thirteen."

"But you're not new anymore." Ophelia smiled.

In my arms, Lyra was breathing in shallower and shallower pulls. Her lips were going white.

"Ophelia Vance." I said it slowly. "On the day you became Luna, you swore an oath at the altar. On the name of the Moon Goddess. You swore a blood oath — that you would not harm an innocent life outside the pack."

Ophelia's expression locked. Without thinking, her hand went to her own belly.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Nothing to do with you," I said. "It has to do with the Moon Goddess."

I lifted Lyra, carried her to the room's highest skylight, and spoke in elvish:

"Moon Goddess. Hear me. Ophelia Vance, Luna of Thorne pack, has broken her blood oath. Four times."

"Nyssa Vaelorien. Seven elves on the snow. Lyra Vaelorien. And the unborn elf in her own womb — her own child is half elf."

Her child is half elf.

Damien's mother had been an elf. Damien carried a quarter of Elf blood. The child Ophelia carried was an eighth elf. Each elf she had harmed added another mark to the oath. And the punishment from the Moon Goddess always falls on the thing the oathbreaker values most.

Outside the skylight, the moon turned red. Ophelia looked up. The blood drained from her face.

"No—" Her hand flew to her belly. "It's not — I —"

Her abdomen began to convulse. Blood seeped, slowly, through the white of her gown.

The door of the workroom flew open. Damien crashed in, stopped short. He saw Lyra unconscious in my arms. He saw the cut light-wings on the floor. The blood went out of his face. Then he saw Ophelia, on her knees, hands clamped over her belly.

"Elara —" He turned to me, his eyes red. "What did you do to her."

"I didn't do anything. She swore the oath herself. The Moon Goddess is collecting."

Damien rushed to Ophelia and pulled her into his arms. He looked up at me, his vision gone scarlet.

"Elara Vaelorien. You killed my child."

I held Lyra. I was tired. I had tried, this year, to explain. Every time I said it isn't what you think, he didn't believe me. I was done explaining.

"Yes," I said. "That's what I want. Your sister. Your wife. Your child. All of it."

Damien's Alpha-aura ripped loose. He raised a hand, and his strongest strike began to gather in his palm. I closed my eyes, ready.

The hand came down — and stopped, an inch from my forehead. He was shaking. His eyes locked on mine. Then he slammed the strike into the stone pillar beside me. The pillar cracked open. Splinters of stone flew. He bent close to my ear, his voice clawed up from somewhere underground.

"Lock her and the elf-child in the deepest cage. After Ophelia delivers, I'll handle her myself."

I was dragged to the deepest of the iron cages. Lyra was thrown in after me, dropped against my chest.

The door of the cage closed — and behind Damien's shoulder, Ophelia tilted her head up at me. She mouthed two words: Thank you. Then her body convulsed again, and Damien lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the room without looking back.