Page 8 of Devoured

I wish I had it in me to care. Instead, I slump in my chair, not even bothering to flinch when Cora takes a seat right beside me. She slings an arm across my shoulders, and the chill of her touch cuts deep into the hollows of my chest.

Setting the goblet on the table, I push it away from my plate and lean into Cora’s touch. She sighs appreciatively before clearing her throat. “I believe emotions are too heated to continue this morning’s feast. Why don’t all of you find your new rooms and unpack the trunks of belongings we’ve left on your beds? Citrine, Limerick, and Luca will help you find your way. You’ll find all rooms have been created exactly the same. No one in our court deserves more than anyone else.”

It’s the last thing I want to do, but finding my new room is preferable to sitting here. I move to stand, but Cora pins me under the weight of her arm. “Not you, Vanessa, darling.” She flicks my nose, then waves a hand to the rest of the hall. “Out, out, everyone! Enjoy yourselves!”

Her werewolves swarm away from the tables. Jasper drags Lyra from the room. Evie carries her stake out with her, and Calix stands.

Calix hesitates.

His gaze sears through my periphery, but Cora has never had any patience for him. “Go, Nephew.” Her voice descends into frigid loathing. “I will not ask again.”

His knuckles crack. He exhales hard. But he has no other choice, and he knows it.

So Calix leaves. And suddenly, Cora and I are left alone for the first time ever.

“Darling, innocent Vanessa. How have you been sleeping? Any riveting dreams lately?” Her palm slides over my cheek. She pinches my flesh just a touch too hard to be maternal. “Come on, now. Give me a smile. You’re much too pretty to frown.” We stare at each other for a long, decisive second.

I don’t need to pretend here. At least, not as much as I do with Sin. Cora is smart enough to know I am not yet unfailingly loyal to her, so I give her just enough truth to survive. “I don’t feel like smiling.”

“Growing pains are very difficult within a new court,” she agrees with a solemn nod. “However, they are necessary. Give it time, Vanessa. We will achieve peace eventually.”

I tilt my face toward hers. She looks so much like her sister, all sharp angles and harsh lines, but the longer I stare, the more I see pieces of Sinclair too. Her strong nose. Her straight brow. The mole above her lip. As much as I detest it, they are similar.

I only wish I had noticed it sooner.

She fingers a purple streak of my hair. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Why?”

“Because I would much rather hear it from your mouth than root around your brain while you dream.”

I bite my tongue until the sharp pain gives way to a slow flood of copper.

“Vanessa,” Cora almost sings, tugging that lock of hair sharply. I refuse to wince. “Our relationship doesn’t stand a chance unless I know what you’re thinking.” She presses closer to me, until the scent of her—pungent rose and wet earth—makes my eyes water. Play the game.

“I’m thinking that I must be misunderstanding your definition of peace.”

“Freedom from disturbance,” she answers immediately, releasing my hair and sitting back.

“And you considered your sister a disturbance?”

With a sigh, she pushes her chair farther from mine and crosses her legs. “I considered my sister a traitor.”

“She followed the laws of her court, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did. Many years ago, Sybil Severi chose to murder me for them. She wanted to slit my throat for the crown. Does that sound perfectly utopian to you, Vanessa? Was the old court one of joy and happiness and equality?”

No. It wasn’t. I push an errant curl behind my ear, studying Cora’s impassive expression—as if we’re discussing the weather instead of her militant sister. Her dead sister. Sybil tortured werewolves for the slightest transgression. But Cora—

She murdered everyone.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” I say carefully.

“Ah.” She clicks her tongue. “Such a sweet human turn of phrase. Though, it’s not terribly accurate, is it? Justice and morality can’t be measured so simply as right or wrong.” Cora lifts the diadem from her hair and sets it on the table between us. “If you think purging the seven werewolf courts of poison is bad, then what, exactly, is good? What would the alternative solution be? If I had walked out of that clearing with a peace treaty in hand, would my sister have signed it? Or would she be sitting here instead, with my head on a pike behind her?”

I swallow hard, unable to speak for a moment. Because she’s right, and not only does she know it—she knows I know it too. The only way to remove Cora from her throne is with more death.

My goal, however, is no longer to be right or moral or virtuous. Those things don’t exist in the Wolf Queen’s Court. They never have, and I was naive for thinking they ever could.