“So you couldn’t transform while in prison, but what about when you got out?”
“I didn’t for a while. It was…I don’t know, it had just been a long time. I started again after we’d been living in Vernallis for a while.”
“When did Jett find out?”
“Last year sometime. He was more surprised than you seem, but I guess he and I have known each other a lot longer.”
“Does he mind?”
“No, ‘course he doesn’t,” he says, sounding almost offended on Jett’s behalf.
“I don’t understand why you would think anyone would. What’s so bad about being a shifter in Thermia? Or is it the half-Fae side that’s the problem? I don’t know why either would be an issue, really. From what I’ve read, there’s not much difference between shifters and Fae, except what we turn into. Fae have wings, shifters have animals.”
“Magic makes us different,” he says flatly. “Shifters don’t have powers like Fae do.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you just weren’t trained to use it. I mean, not all Fae use magic either, because if you’re not trained from a really young age, it’s almost impossible to pick it up.”
“I don’t fucking know,” he growls, sounding agitated for the first time. “If we—they—could have done magic, no one would ever know. All shifters in Thermia are automatically conscripted into the army. Most are born into it, but any who aren’t get thrown in there the second anyone notices they exist.”
“That’s horrible,” I gasp.
He barely reacts. “That’s just how it is. Wolves are the most common type of shifter, at least in the north, so we make up two-thirds of the army. Thermia hasn’t been at war with any other kingdoms in centuries, but there’s still plenty for the army to do. The entire kingdom is crawling with monsters, and without the soldiers to take care of them it would be impossible to live there.”
“Is that why you were drafted into the army so young?” I ask, putting two and two together. “I thought it was strange when you mentioned it before. Did you say you were around five?”
“Six.”
“So you were born there?”
“No.” He laughs hollowly. “Six is actually getting a late start. Most soldiers start training from the time they can walk, but my mother was Fae, so I lived with her for a while. Like I said, half-breeds aren’t treated that well in Thermia, so she didn’t want to send me to the camps.”
It doesn’t sound to me like the full-blooded wolves are treated that well either, if being drafted into the army at six is considered a late start. Who would create a policy like that?
My stomach twists at the realization that it would have to come from royalty—Fae royalty—since the armies always fight for the crown of whatever kingdom they belong to. Does this come back to the missing queen of Thermia…the queen who Beatrix thinks might be my missing mother?
I glance over at Fox, realizing for the first time that he’s probably the best source of information about Thermia I have available to me. If I weren’t going on this mission in part because of him, I probably would have thought of that sooner.
All of this new information is making me feel…something. Something that I’m having a hard time putting into words. I’m not as surprised as I think I should be to discover that Fox has been hiding all this; more than anything, I’m just suddenly realizing that we don’t know each other that well at all.
Clearly, he already realized that. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t care about me beyond the occasional fuck? Because I’m not a wolf?
“Fox is an interesting name for a wolf,” I smile. “I wonder why your parents would name you that?”
“As a deterrent, I think.”
“A what?”
“My mother didn’t want me to get drafted, so I assume she did it hoping no one would realize what I was—because who in their right mind would name a wolf, Fox?” He laughs darkly. “I don’t know for sure, though. She died before I could ask her.”
“How did she die?” I ask, quietly.
“I was really young, I don’t remember,” he says, standing abruptly. Fox pulls his hand back from his shoulder and checks his wound. “It’s almost gone, look.”
“That’s good,” I say stiffly.
It’s blatantly obvious to me that he just lied—he absolutely remembers how his own mother died—but it doesn’t seem like a good moment to push him on it. In any case, he’s right. The skin on his shoulder has almost completely sealed itself.
“Are you done asking questions?” Fox asks shortly. “We should leave now if we’re going to get back before dark.”
