Chapter 49

Panic sears through my veins. Eirik's cries are a sharp counterpoint to my racing heart as I clutch him closer.

Zog stands in the doorway, silhouetted like a dark stain. His eyes are wrong. I had never seen him look this icy. I almost don't recognize him.

"Zog, what is going on?" My voice trembles. Awareness slips down my back like a finger. My heart knows the truth before I do.

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a wolfish smile playing on his lips. "Sorry to disappoint. It wasn't Ursha who brought Shagrat here. That was me."

Shock freezes me mid-breath, my mind a whirlwind of disbelief. All this time, it was Zog all along?

"But… You're Thorn's right-hand man."

His eyes flick down at Eirik. "Thistle's heart was too soft," Zog says, his voice calm, empty. "I told her she shouldn't have married an outsider. Thorn's father would have crushed our enemies under his foot, and Thistle could have been even greater." He releases a sigh through his gritted teeth. "And yet, I'm left with Thorn. Another one enraptured by outsiders. Maybe it runs in the blood."

"I don't understand. Why are you doing this? What Thistle has to do with anything?"

"Everything," he says, snapping at me. "She has everything to do with it, Violet. Because I loved Thistle first and I had to watch the orc I loved die because of some outsider. And worse, her brother refuses to seek revenge."

Zog takes a beat and cocks his head as if listening to something in the distance.

"You want revenge for Thistle's death?" I glare at him, my voice coming out much stronger. "That's ridiculous. You're going to kill your own clan for revenge?"

"Thorn could have avoided this if he had already acted. If he doesn't want to pursue revenge, then I have to bring revenge to him."

"By letting the Wolfbone Clan in?" I can taste the acrid bile of betrayal. "By killing the people Thistle cared about?"

"It's the price to pay. The Wolfbone Clan was easy to convince. Shagrat couldn't resist the offer; he's an ambitious fool." Zog surveys the room, his gaze lingering on Eirik. "It's his death sentence."

"Zog, you can't think this will end well." Desperation wraps around my words. My fingers are cold. I can feel myself shaking. "This isn't a game; these are lives—you can't just sacrifice pawns for vengeance."

"Thistle would have wanted it," he insists, ignoring the pleading undertone of my plea.

"Would she really want her memory honored with the blood of innocents?" My voice cracks, my vision going misty. "The blood of her own child?"

"You didn't know Thistle," he spits.

"Apparently neither did you," says a female voice from the door.