The next council meeting began with an argument.
Which was becoming a pattern.
Sera sat at the far end of the war chamber with her back close enough to the wall that no one could stand behind her without being noticed. The position had been her choice. Valerius had not commented on it when she entered, though his eyes had moved once to the chair, then to the door, then back to her face.
He understood why she had chosen it.
That did not make the understanding comforting.
The war chamber smelled of ink, smoke, wet wool, and contained aggression. Maps covered the massive blackwood table, held in place by knives and brass weights shaped like wolf heads. Pins marked border attacks. Supply routes. Pack territories. Possible traitors. Red thread connected one murder site to another, then ano
