“Could she have been resurrected?” I ask.
“Not even my mother—the most powerful Shabbin alive—can resurrect a body twenty-five years later,” Mádhi murmurs.
I drop onto the brocade-covered bench at the foot of their bed. “But the Cauldron can, can’t it?”
The look my parents exchange tells me they’ve already considered it.
I frown. “Though, why would it resurrect someone who abhorred its creations?”
After a beat of silence, I suggest, “Iron has a similar appearance to pewter. Perhaps Konstantin made a show of his sister’s death to appease his people, but didn’tactuallygo through with it? I heard he keeps a portrait of her on his castle wall.”
My father folds his arms, straining the black leather jacket he wears over black leather pants—his usual accoutrement, though tonight, his jacket buttons are made of polished gold instead of stained wood. “The boywasalways soft when it came to Alyona.”
Another look passes between my parents; another silent conversation.
“Please tell me whatever it is you’re keeping from me.”
After a beat, my father says, “He had his sister tossed into the ocean after running her through with his blade.”
“Which is a typical traitor’s burial in Glace,” Mádhi counters.
“It’s only a burial if the person is truly dead.”
“Aodhan and a few others surveyed the ocean and shores for days after her body was disposed of,” my mother counters.
My gaze pings between the two before sticking to the golden bands twinkling on my mother’s bicep. “Konstantin owes you a favor!” I gasp. “Ask him if he let his sister live.”
“No,” my parents snap in unison. At least, they’re in agreement on something.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not wasting a bargain on what we can andwilluncover for ourselves,” my father says.
“Perhaps I fish her corpse out of the ocean, and that’s why the Cauldron pictures me killing her?” I venture.
My father grimaces. “After two plus decades, there wouldn’t be much left to fish out.”
“Good point.” I massage my now-queasy stomach. “Do you think the prophecy has anything to do with the civil unrest?”
Dádhi’s lids flex. “How do you know about the unrest?”
“Bisnonno told me there’s been many accidents on the railway, and new weaponry called shotguns is cropping up everywhere—principally in human hands—causing quite the carnage.”
“What else did your mother’s garrulous grandfather tell you, khráach?”
I roll my eyes at the absurdity of his query. My father’s always the first one to fill me in on political upheavals. I take it that he’s either jealous Justus beat him to it, or he really doesn’t want me knowing anything about Glace.
“He mentioned it all started when Konstantin issued an edict granting shifters equal rights and privileges as Faeries to entice Crows and Serpents into moving to Glace.”
“Did he also happen to mention that most Glacins believe we prey on human babes and feed off them to preserve our youth and immortality?”
“No.” I scrunch my nose. “Do the Northerners actually believe that?”
“They don’t know any better,” my mother says with a sigh.
“Since Alyona loathed—loathesshifters, it would make sense that if she’s alive,she’sthe one stirring up trouble, no?” I ask.
“Or her brother is,” Dádhi mutters.
