five

Chapter Five — The Name on the Photograph

"No one leaves this fortress until we know what she is."

Cordelia’s order traveled faster than the sunrise. By breakfast, the guards had doubled outside my suite, the servants had stopped meeting my eyes, and the council had summoned every elder in Night Shadow. The story had already changed three times: I was a witch, a curse-maker, a White Wolf, and a spy sent to destroy the Voss bloodline.

No one seemed interested in the simplest truth. I was a frightened woman who had been forced to poison a man she had never met.

Kieran arrived with a tray of untouched food and a stack of records. "The council wants to examine you."

"Then tell them no."

"I did."

I blinked, suspicious of how easily he said it.

"They will try again," he continued. "Cordelia believes your power could save the pack. Others believe it could be used against us. Both groups will call their demands necessary."

"And what do you believe?"

He set the records on the table. "I believe we need the truth before anyone decides what you are worth."

It was not a declaration of trust, but it was more than I had expected. I sat across from him and opened the first book. The records described the White Wolves as guardians who could heal poisoned blood, close wounds, and absorb certain forms of dark magic. Their line had vanished after a conflict more than a generation ago.

The last page had been torn from the volume.

"Someone removed the ending," I said.

"Someone removed several endings." Kieran laid out another document. "The official history claims the White Wolves died during a border war. My family records say the war began after a White Wolf healer tried to break the Voss curse."

"And failed?"

"The records do not say."

I thought of the fang, the photograph, and Gareth’s sudden fear when I asked about Silas. The pieces did not fit, but they belonged to the same puzzle.

"My stepfather knew about this," I said. "He had the fang and photograph hidden with the poison. He tried to take them from me when I asked."

Kieran’s expression sharpened. "What photograph?"

I hesitated. If I showed him the keepsake, I might lose the only thing my mother had left me. But keeping it secret had not protected me so far. I pulled the chain and torn photograph from my pocket and placed them on the table.

Kieran stared at the image. His face drained of color.

"You recognize him?" I asked.

"I recognize the crest on his coat." He turned the photograph toward the light. A small wolf insignia had been stitched near the man’s shoulder. "This belonged to the royal guard before my grandfather took power."

"The name on the back is Silas."

Kieran went very still. "Silas Voss was my grandfather’s younger brother. He disappeared the year the White Wolves were declared extinct."

The room seemed to tilt around me. "Why would my mother have his photograph?"

"That is what we need to find out." Kieran looked up, and his usual cold certainty had been replaced by unease. "If your mother was connected to Silas, your presence at Night Shadow may not have been an accident."

"Gareth forced me to come. He threatened Iris."

"He may have forced you, but someone could have arranged for him to have the poison, the invitation, and that keepsake."

I remembered Gareth’s expression when he saw the photograph—not annoyance, but fear. Had he known what it meant? Had he sent me to kill Kieran because he believed the curse would destroy the Alpha, or because he wanted the White Wolf power to awaken?

Before I could answer, the door opened. Iris rushed inside, escorted by two guards. Her cheek was bruised, and her hands shook, but she was alive.

"Elara!" She crossed the room and hugged me. I held her so tightly that she winced.

"What did they do to you?"

"Questioned me. They wanted to know whether you had spoken about White Wolves before we left Silver Creek." She pulled back, confused. "I do not know what that means."

"Neither do I."

Kieran signaled for the guards to wait outside. Iris told us that a messenger had arrived from Silver Creek before dawn, carrying a sealed letter for Cordelia. The messenger had asked to see the Alpha and insisted that the assassination attempt was only the beginning.

"Who sent him?" Kieran asked.

"He would not say. But he left this." Iris took a folded scrap from her sleeve and handed it to me. "He slipped it to me when the guards changed."

I unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was brief.

THE GIRL MUST NOT REACH THE WHITE TREE. SILAS IS ALIVE.

The white fang turned hot in my hand. A vision flashed behind my eyes: snow beneath a black sky, a white tree with roots wrapped around a stone altar, and a man standing beneath its branches. His face was hidden, but his voice reached me clearly.

You have your mother’s eyes, Elara Quinn.

I gasped and dropped the paper. Kieran caught my elbow as the room blurred around me.

"What did you see?" he demanded.

"A tree. A man. He knew my name."

The white mark on my wrist spread into a delicate pattern, curling toward my palm. Kieran’s own curse stirred in answer, dark veins rising beneath his skin. We both felt it—the bond tightening, the curse waking, and something ancient recognizing us.

Then a horn sounded from the outer wall. A guard shouted that riders were approaching under a white banner.

Kieran went to the window. Below, a line of armed strangers waited at the gate. Their leader carried a staff crowned with a pale wolf skull.

"Open the gate," the leader called. His voice carried across the courtyard. "We have come for the White Wolf."

Kieran turned toward me, and for the first time since I had met him, he looked genuinely afraid.

"Elara," he said, "whatever happens next, do not let them take you to the White Tree."