My eyes widen in surprise. “What are you talking about? I thought the direwolves designed the Trials. That’s what Egith said.”
“It’s a lie,” Anassa growls. “The Bonded were told this to keep them from revolting against the king. This was his way of controlling our population—he wanted our strength, but not in large enough numbers to rise up against him.”
Even after everything I’ve been through over the past two days, after everything I’ve learned, this shakes me to my core.
All of that bloodshed. All of those lives. For nothing.
Anassa senses my grief and says, “It all can change now. You can make the change. The Trials can be whatever you want them to be.”
The gravity of that statement is almost too much to bear.Whatever I want.For the first time, I truly realize that I get to make the calls.
I’m in charge now—of the Bonded, and all of Nocturna.
“First, you need to claim the crown publicly,” Anassa corrects me. “In order to lead, you need people to agree to follow.”
She’s right. They need to know, all of them. Everyone in the castle, and throughout the country. It’s going to be a big undertaking.
“Call Stark back in here,” I tell her, already thinking about what we’ll need to do.
A short moment later, he strides back into the office with Cratos, the two Daemos riders—Helene and Grigore—trailing behind him. “Do they know?” I ask Stark.
Helene and Grigore exchange confused looks.
“I can reach them now,” Anassa says. “I can reach all the Bonded. Shall I try?”
“Yes,” I say. “Show them the truth.”
My mind taps into what feels like the pack unity bond, but amplified by an unbelievable magnitude. Where was once a single river, connecting me to my pack, is now a confluence—reaching out to each individual pack and its riders. Anassa sends the truth spiraling to them both, feeding them images and information.
Helene gasps, her hands covering her mouth. Grigore looks up at me quickly, shock plain on his face, then drops to one knee. “My queen,” he says.
Before I can tell them anything else, there’s a menacing crack and a thud. I whip around, moving to draw my blade. But it isn’t an attacker.
It’s much worse.
Saela’s fallen. She convulses on the ground, eyes rolled back in her head, muscles twisting her body until tendons strain and ligaments pop. Something sickly sweet is in the air, like the smell of rotten fruit.
I lunge for her, desperate to help, to stop her pain. Helene gets there first, running past me to reach down and lift Saela up.
And before I can join them, Stark snatches my arm and yanks me back. I’m about to tear him apart with myfuckingteeth, but then I see it.
Helene flinches backward like she’s been struck. Her hand whips up to her throat, her green eyes wide.
Blood, I realize.
There’s a gaping wound in her throat that she’s trying to hold closed.
Saela twists towards me with terrifying speed. Her body locks into place, feral. There’s blood all over her mouth and chin.
She snaps at Grigore with… withfangs.
“A Siphon!” he shouts.
This is all a mistake. This isn’t real. She…
“Meryn!” Stark begs, pulling me against his chest and closing his arms around me from behind, pinning me in place. I realize that I was still yanking towards her, desperate, as if laying my hands on her could undo all of it.
A scream tears from me that rips my throat raw. I know now what Killian meant.
