Alex POV
Ivan's right eye is swollen purple. Tears pool in the ruined eye. His top lip is split, marred when he was punched earlier tonight. The hair on the back of his head is bloodied, the white hair stained crimson.
I look at him — with revulsion, with lust that even now, I cannot help — and I have never hated him as much as I do now.
"Why did you do it?" My hands form fists at my sides. The prison bar separates us, thick metal poles the size of my wrist.
He doesn't answer. He's sitting on the floor, his hands manacled behind his back. New wounds blossom over his chest like rose petals.
"Why did you KILL THEM!" I roar. My voice echoes in the dungeon. I hear the rage in my voice. I feel my powerlessness.
Ivan continues to look at me. A shiny orb of tear gleams at the corner of his ruined eye. Despite it, despite it all, he's still perfect. Like a terrible spear that has been chipped from use.
My strength leaves me. I sag against the metal bar. "Why won't you speak to me? Why won't you tell me what happened?" My voice breaks. I feel tears warm my eyes.
"I hate you," I hiss. My tears fall. I remember my dead brothers. I remember the blood on my mother's necklace. I remember the sight of a great man, the greatest I'd ever known, brought low in his final hours.
All because of the man before me.
"They're going to make me do it, you know?" I say, voice acrid. "They're going to ask me to kill you. To punish you, but more importantly to prove that I have what it takes to be alpha. To rule. 'We bring the storm.'" My family's words. "I must be the storm. For them."
But I know I can't do it. I know that when I hold the knife over Ivan's neck, I will be holding it against my heart.
So I flee. Because I'm a coward. Because I'm afraid.
Trellis finds me in the woods. I hide my bloody palms and the stinging wounds I've cut into them. If Trellis notes them, he doesn't say.
"What do you want?" My voice is cold. I sound like my father. It makes me die a little more on the inside.
"The results of the investigation," he says. His eyes are red, like he's been crying. He feels my sorrow, my anger. He loved my family as much as I did.
I look away from him. "Tell me."
He tells me. About the magic trace found in the house where my family died. About the regrowth elixir in my father's cup. About the man my father was secretly meeting that night, the man no one has seen or heard from since.
It takes a while to explain everything, but when he's done, I'm more confused than ever.
"There's more," Trellis says.
I steel myself. I nod.
"Your father's safe was stolen. His valuables. His ring. The pack symbol. Everything is gone."
I break out in cold sweat. "What does this mean?"
But I know. Our pack symbol is a trident. I've held it once when I was a child. It was to be my inheritance. My father said so. "You will lead after me, and this is how the world will recognize you." Without the trident, a new alpha cannot be crowned. Without being alpha, I cannot attend the Conclave. If I don't attend, our position as one of the Twelve is forfeit. My pack will become outcasts. It will mean blood. It will mean death.
"What do we do?" I hate that I sound like a child. If my father was here, he would know what to do. But I'm not my father. I'm not worthy. I'm out of my mind. Out of my depth.
Trellis looks haunted. "I do not know, my prince." The poor man is shaken. Will he be of use to me in the terrible times to come?
We both go silent. The forest around us keens as the wind rides the night.
"How long do we have?" I ask.
"A couple weeks. The other alphas will give us time for your coronation. A week maybe. Then the Conclave will hold in a month."
Thirty days. Thirty days to find a man I do not know, and recover an object beyond value.
"I feel small, Trellis," I say, voice soft. "I feel insignificant."
Trellis places a hand on my shoulder. He smiles. "I remember you as a boy. You were nothing like your father at that age. Too quiet, too timid, too meek." Trellis shakes his head. He looks fatherly. My grief opens like a wound in my chest. "I mourn for the responsibility we must place on your shoulder, my boy. But the great men are dead, Alex. Only the small men are left. Whatever comes, you will have to do. Remember that."
Remember that.
Remember…
Rem—
I'm running before the word can register in my mind.
Thirteen years ago, my father returned with a white-haired boy. A boy with eyes as black as night. A boy so beautiful that some called him cursed. A boy without a past because he could not recall a thing. My protector. My shadow.
Ivan.
I'm out of breath when I reach his cell. He has not moved an inch since I left him. His eyes find me in the dark. He watches me, cold, impassive as ever.
"What were you wearing that night?"
He blinks, confused.
"What did you discuss with my father? How did Jacob die? What was the colour of my mother's dress?"
Ivan's composure cracks. He looks at me with terror in his eyes. Sweat pools on his face. I don't stop. The questions fly out of me.
"Who was the other man? Was my father wearing his ring? What was the colour of my father's shirt? What time did you leave the feast?"
Ivan is on his feet so quickly that I feel fear lance through me. He looks at me like a animal caught in a trap. I can smell his fear in the air. I take a step closer, and he retreats until his back is pressed against the wall. I unlock his cell and step in. His face twists with rage, but he doesn't attack me. He shakes his head, refusing to meet my eyes. I continue with my questions.
"What time did we arrive at the house? What did the gnome say to my father? What was the name of the gnome?"
Ivan hits the wall with his head. Once. Twice. Thrice. His skull impacts the wall with a sickening thud. Blood pools behind his head. His mouth is open is a wordless scream. Tears stream down his face. The veins on his neck bulge.
"WHAT WAS THE NAME OF THE GNOME? WHAT WAS MY MOTHER WEARING? WHERE WERE YOU THAT NIGHT?"
He screams. The sound is loud and guttural. And gods, his pain… I can almost feel it. He's in so much pain.
He closes his eyes. There's finality in his features. It's how I know he's come to a decision. A terrible one.
He cocks his head forward and prepares to smash it against the wall and end his life. But I'm faster that he expected. I tackle him. We both fall to the floor. He tries to fight me off, snarling like a wild animal, and he almost succeeds. But his hands are manacled behind his back. Mine are not. I hook my arm around his neck and put him in a chokehold. My legs loop around his waist, restraining him. He continues to scream and fight me. I don't let go. He screams. The pain. The sorrow inside of him. I feel it. Gods, I feel it. Tears stream down my face.
After an impossible time, he slackens in my hands. His sobs echo in the cell. I hold him as he weeps.
"What was my father wearing, Ivan?" I feel tired. There's a weight in my soul. What do I want? For him to speak to me? To tell me that he didn't kill my father? Why do I want him to be—
He says my name. One word, but it crumples my world into a ball. He says it again. "Alex. Alex." It's like a plea. I let him go, stunned. Afraid.
He turns to face me. His eyes are red. Tears carve paths on his cheeks. He looks lost. He's looking at me.
"Alex … I … I don't remember. I don't remember anything from that day," he says.
And my world will never be the same again.