INICIAR SESIÓNThird person’s (pov)"Don't get up," Lyra said, because nobody had, and descended the last three steps with one hand trailing lightly along the cold stone wall. "Please. I'd hate to interrupt."She had dressed for the occasion in a silk blouse and narrow black trousers, her hair coiled at her nape and her pearls at her throat, and she looked, in the beam of the flashlight, like a woman arriving at a very expensive dinner. In her left hand she held her phone, face out, and on its screen a small gray window showed three figures clustered around an open iron cabinet."You're looking well, Luca," she added. "Considerably better than at the gala."Luca did not move. He stood in front of the two women with his back very straight and his fists at his sides, "Lyra.""I do wish you'd told me you were redecorating," she said, and strolled across the flagstones to the tasting table, and lifted a vial from the lamplit shelf and studied it. "I'd have lent you my designer. A cellar like this dese
Third person’s (pov)"Please stop breathing on my neck," Mira whispered, "because I'm only on my third lock-picking tutorial, and I've been told that concentration is the key.""I'm not breathing on your neck," said Helen."The Alpha is.""I'm standing very still," Luca murmured, from somewhere above her left shoulder, in a voice so low and level that it made the hair stand up on her arms. "And if you open that cabinet, Mira, I'll buy you a house.""I'd settle for a new keyboard.""A keyboard and a house," Luca said gravely. "Done."It was ten past one in the morning, and the three of them were crowded around the iron cabinet at the north wall of the wine cellar by the light of one small flashlight, with Corwin safely asleep in his quarters above the kitchen and Lady Lyra, according to the Alpha, still dining with three visiting elders at the far end of the fortress. Mira knelt on the cold flagstones with a tension wrench in one hand and a slender steel pick in the other, her tongue c
Luca’s pov"Three hundred and four transfers," Mira said, and pushed her glasses up her nose with a finger, "and I've traced every single one, Alpha, which took me eleven days and a great deal of cold pizza."It was two in the morning, and the data center hummed around them in the half dark, rows of black servers blinking behind glass, I stood at her shoulder with my arms folded and jaw tight, watching a map of the pack's finances unfold across three monitors in a web of glowing green lines."Show me," I said."Here." She clicked, and the screen zoomed in on a single node, a blue dot labeled *Harrow Grain Supply*. "Every transfer ends here, and Harrow ends here." Another click, and a second line tracked northward across the territory map and stopped at a small gray square marked in red, with a postal address beside it. "A shell company, registered to a mailbox in the Blackthorn district, with no staff, no warehouse, and a registered agent who turns out to be a retired accountant who
Adele’s (pov)"Poisoned," I repeated, and set my spoon down so carefully that it made no sound against the bowl. "You're telling me my husband has been poisoned for three years, and nobody noticed.""Somebody noticed, my lady, but it was the wrong somebody, and by the time anyone noticed anything, you had already gone." Garrett sat across from me at the little scrubbed table in the clinic's back room, with a mug of Orla's stew steaming untouched at his elbow and his big scarred hands wrapped around it as though it were the only warm thing in the world. "A wolfsbane compound, refined and slow-acting, put in his wine every night and in a morning tonic by Lyra's own hand. It dulls the bond, and the instincts, and the will, and it was working beautifully until the night he stopped drinking it.""Why did he stop?""Because of a cardigan." He almost smiled. "He found one in the back of my SUV, your gray one, and the smell of it broke through the fog, and he's been clearing ever since."I tu
Adele’s (pov)"Evening, Healer," said the man in the doorway, and wiped his boots on the mat with exaggerated care, as if he had been invited. "Nobody's sick, are they? Only I saw the lights."He was tall, broad, and not young, with a gray-streaked beard and a silver thorn pinned to the collar of his black jacket, and behind him in the lane I could count at least eight more men standing in the half-dark, silent, patient, watching. I kept my pen moving across the chart in my lap, and said without looking up, "We close at eight, and it's nearly nine, so unless it's an emergency, you'll have to come back in the morning.""It might be an emergency.""Then tell me what hurts.""My pride, mostly." He came a step farther into the room, and his eyes traveled slowly over the cots and the patients' charts and the little glass cabinet of medicines, and finally settled on me. "I'm Captain Vane, of the Blackthorn guard, and we're looking for a lady who has been described to us as slim, brown-haire
Third pers(pov)"He was sedated," Lyra said, to the screen on her dressing table, "or so the chart claims, and he slept until noon, and when I went in to see him he was lying very still with his eyes closed and a glass of water untouched on the nightstand.""And you believe it?" said Kendrick.He was a broad, weathered man in his late thirties with a face that might have been handsome if it had ever relaxed, and he sat in a leather chair in a dark-paneled study somewhere in Blackthorn territory with a tumbler of whiskey at his elbow, watching her over the video link with the heavy, patient attention of a hawk on a fencepost. "Because I don't, Lyra. A man who has been drinking your wine for three years does not run out of a gala and vomit in a potted plant on a whim.""His body is rejecting it.""His body is being *helped* to reject it." Kendrick took a swallow. "By someone who knows what it is.""Helen," Lyra said, and her voice was very quiet. "Helen drew his blood on Friday, and my







