Page 36 of Wolf of Ashes
CHAPTERELEVEN
My title’s meaning is layered. The empire was started by the Family Nostra, so at first, the title was simply connected to their surname, but it evolved over time to take on a greater meaning.
Literally translated into modern English from the old tongue, it meansOur Ultimate, orOur Last. To those who are part of the empire, it gives a sense of belonging and complete loyalty to the Ultima Nostra, who stands at the end of all things and to whom they owe their lives. No matter what other debts they may owe, and no matter what other allegiances they might carry, the Ultima Nostra’s demands can override it all. If the Ultima Nostra commands them, they obey.
The keeper’s gaze darkens until I imagine his blue eyes are the color of a stormy sea—not that I’ve ever seen the sea in person.
“That is truly a title worth killing for,” he says.
I acknowledge that truth with a nod. “The empire controlled by the Family Nostra is vast and powerful. I have no doubt it still exists. It survived through centuries of changes in the human world, through medieval wars and the Industrial Revolution, and it evolved with technological advancements. There’s no way it would have crumbled in the last two decades.” My lips rise in a snarl. “Whoever controls it now is living off my mother’s blood.”
The tips of my claws extend as I speak. I fight to pull them back before they slice up my beautiful burger. Nothing and nobody will ruin this food, not even me.
My voice is quieter as I continue. “She watched my father die and then she was forced to flee or she would have been next,” I say. “But she wouldn’t tell me the name of the man responsible.”
Wait…
I suddenly sit bolt upright. “Fuck! I’ve been so stupid!” I spin to the keeper. “If you can see the memories of dark creatures whose magic you tethered, then you would have seen my father’s death and his final memories.” My eyes are wide. “You can tell me who killed him.”
The keeper withdraws a little, a wary light growing in his eyes.
“I don’t want your hopes to rise,” he says. “I’ve tethered the magic of countless creatures since my creation. Thousands in the last century alone. Murder is a common occurrence. I rarely take note of it. And I don’t bother with a creature’s identity, only their power.”
I won’t give up so easily, not when something—anything—he remembers could help me. “My father’s name was Valdemar Nostra. He was a powerful being. More powerful than others. He would have stood out.”
The keeper’s brow furrows. “Well, what kind of supernatural was he?”
“He was a fallen angel, but fallen by birth, not choice.”
The keeper’s eyebrows rise. “That is rare. And also dangerous. Creatures born into dark magic can take on the power of their ancestors.”
“Making each generation stronger than the one before.” I incline my head since my ancestors’ power was also born in me, the accumulation of a thousand years of chosen darkness.
“My father’s grandfather was a Sentinel,” I say, “who turned to the dark when he bathed himself in the blood of his enemies in an act of personal vengeance. His name was Cormorant Nostra. He founded the family and ruled for centuries until he passed control to his son, who finally passed it tohisson—my father.”
The keeper’s eyes are narrowed. “Yes, I would remember them.”
His gaze becomes distant and I wait for him to sift through his memories, trying not to hold my breath as the silence stretches.
His forehead is fiercely creased as he says, “I do recall the death of a dark angel…”
I lean forward, my tension rising.
“But that was near the end of medieval times,” the keeper says.
My shoulders hunch a little. “That would have been my father’s grandfather.”
The keeper’s eyes remain narrowed as if in deep concentration. “I remember another dark angel during the Industrial Revolution.”
I nod. “My father’s father. He died before the beginning of the human war known as World War II.”
But my hopes are rising again because it seems the keeper is searching his memories from the oldest to the newest, so he should recall my father’s death next.
The keeper folds his arms across his chest and lets out a deep breath. “That is all,” he says.
I stare at him. “That’s all? No, that can’t be all.” I can’t keep the tension from my voice. “If you remember my father’s ancestors, then you must remember him, too.”
“I don’t,” the keeper says, returning my stare without a hint of a lie in his expression.
