Alex POV
I find Agatha outside her hut.
She's sitting on a rock, and her garments spill around her in heavy folds. The bracelets on her arms and wrists clack softly as she places a kettle over a stove. Orange flames lick the black bottom. Wood hisses as it cracks and burns. The smell of smoke fills the air, irritating my nose. Agatha smiles at the fire.
"I expected you a while ago. What kept you?"
I don't answer. I'm standing a good distance off, my entire silhouette hidden in the shadows. It's a moonless night and despite that, the stars are not out.
Yet when she turns her head and stares into the woods, her eyes find mine instantly, uncannily. "Well? Do you plan to keep waiting? I married the last man that made me wait. That is a threat, young deGeneris."
I take a hesitant step forward. The dry leaves crunch under my boot. "I didn't want to bother you."
She snorts. It's an undignifying sound but Agatha aes Shaynap has never been conventional.
"If you didn't want to disturb me, you wouldn't have left your mansion, alpha." Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she adds the last word.
I sigh as I reach her. The fire casts a perimeter, illuminating it, us. I stare into the flames, my mind creating dancing shapes and phantoms within them. When I speak, my voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. "You mock me as they do."
She cocks her head to the side, that amused smile still playing on her lips. "Can I speak freely?"
I walk around the perimeter. The night is cold so I imagine the fire's warmth reaching across the distance and seeping into my pores. I can feel Agatha's eyes on me, and yet I'm in no hurry. I find the rock next to her and settle into it, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning towards the fire. The heat is a welcome pressure on my skin.
"You may, priestess. You may."
"Then to answer your question: Yes and no."
I frown. "Riddles?"
She shakes her head. "Two parts of a truth."
I tip my head back and stare at the sky. The clouds are thinning. Yes, the stars are coming out now. They glimmer, like glowing pebbles strewn in a black pond. I lower my gaze to meet hers. The firelight dances in her pupils. "Explain, Agatha," I command softly. "Answer truly. Do you think me unworthy? Do you mock me?"
She smiles a knowing smile. "I believe that you do not think yourself worthy, and it reflects in how you carry yourself. Too hard, too stern, as if you intend to fold the world under the pressure of your will. As for mockery…" She laughs, tittering. "I do it for your benefit. Out of good intentions."
Her laughter cuts off abruptly, her eyes hardening. "Without your pack's symbol, without your trident, your coronation is illegitimate. The Pack will pay lip service to you, but they will always doubt, always question. They may rise against you and usurp you, but there is reason to think that they won't do that just yet. Because—"
"Because of the Conclave," I interrupted. "The Conclave of Alphas."
Agatha smiles predatorily. "Yes, yes, the Conclave. The Conclave at which your attendance is necessary, but also impossible since the alphas, the most powerful people in the world, will not recognize your legitimacy. It will mean excommunication, it will mean blood and fire, it will mean death. For you. For the pack."
We both sit in silence. The kettle whistles as its contents boil. Agatha ignores it so I don't say anything.
"Can you advise me?" I ask. "I … I don't know what to do."
"Oh, but you do. You've found it, haven't you? The numbers on your father's corpse. The location." She laughs at the look on my face. "I know things, but never fear, Alex, I am not your enemy." She waits for me to nod before she continues. "That numbers are your destiny. You know what you have to do."
I rise to my feet. Agatha watches me with curiosity, her grey eyes reflecting the orange glow of the fire. My mouth feels dry, my heart thumps a heavy rhythm against my ribs. My hands clench into fists at my side, the knuckles white. "Am I …" I hesitate, draw in a deep breath of the smoky air. "Am I making the right choice? By leaving?"
Agatha spreads her hands out in front of her. "I don't know. Yes. No."
I nod, understanding. When I leave, my position as alpha will become even more perilous. The old betas, Marcus and Jorah, watchful and ambitious, will see my absence as their chance. I may return to a pack that has revolted and dethroned me, my things burned, my name cursed.
But if I don't, worse things will happen. The Conclave will hold in three months' time. I will not be there, which the other alphas will take as an insult or, worse, a sign of weakness. We will be excommunicated, and then a year later, they will meet to vote our fate. The same thing happened to Pack Greyhound. They were encircled and utterly destroyed to the man. Their territory was salted. Nothing remains of them except stories and myths told to frighten disobedient children.
I feel cold fear crawl up my spine, snaking around my ribcage.
To stay is to accept a slow death for my people. To go is to gamble on a faster one. There is no safe choice, only a necessary one.
"I see you've made your decision," Agatha says. "Go. I do not envy you, deGeneris, son of Silver, son of war. Go."