Chapter 3: Five Minutes

Dawn. The war room. Fourteen wolves at the table. Me at the wall with a kettle and a stack of cloths, because Seraphine made sure everyone saw exactly what I was for. "That's Marlowe," she'd said on the way in, loud, warm, cruel. "She handles the kennels. Don't mind her." One of the King's lawkeepers had actually laughed. Theo Vale's vein map went up on the wall, and my whole body moved before my brain did — that old animal lean toward the light, that itch in my fingers for a blade. I made myself look at the floor. Seraphine presented beautifully. She's good at this part. Voice like warm honey. Drawings like art. Then Cassian Vale started asking questions. "You've listed ninety minutes of Burning." "Correct." "Six healers told me my brother is beyond saving. You're telling me ninety minutes." "Six healers were cautious." "Or six healers were honest." He tapped the table once. "Explain the heart-vein." Seraphine didn't blink. "The Rot approaches the heart-vein. The Burning will drive it out through the flank." "Drive it out." "Yes." "Which direction does silver drive Rot, Healer?" Silence. Three seconds. Four. I have watched wolves lose a whole rank in four seconds. It doesn't sound like anything. It's just a person breathing wrong. "Away from the silver," Seraphine said. "And the silver goes on the flank." "...Yes." "So the Rot goes where?" "...Inward. Predominantly. But the moonlight—" "Predominantly." His voice never rose. That was the worst part. "My brother's heart is not predominantly important to me." Elder Grey jumped in. "Alpha, Healer Locke is one of the finest—" "Elder, I've read your border reports. You need my Alliance more than you need your dignity, so stop talking." Grey stopped talking. The King looked back at Seraphine. "I'll ask once more. What is your plan when the Rot reaches the heart?" "We would... adapt during the ritual." "To what?" "That would depend on the — on the wound." "You don't have one." Flat. "You have beautiful drawings and no plan for the only thing that's actually going to happen." He stood and buttoned his coat. "We're done. The Alliance withdraws. Theo goes to the Eastern Sisters on Thursday." Grey stood too fast, knocked his cup over. "Alpha—" "The Sisters have a nine-week waiting rite," the scholar said quietly from the screen. "He doesn't have nine weeks. Day six Rot reaches the heart in eleven days." And that sentence went through me like silver. He doesn't have nine weeks. I know exactly what a wolf's time running out looks like. I know what it looks like at 4:39 in the morning when your hands are black to the wrist and the heart under them just... stops. Two voices in my head. Not your fight. You're the kennel girl. You have a small cold life and it doesn't hurt anymore. It always hurt. You just stopped calling it that. The King was three steps from the door. The kettle was still in my hand. "Alpha Vale." My voice came out steady. That surprised me more than anyone. Fourteen heads turned. Seraphine's face went white, then red. "Marlowe—" "Give me five minutes," I said. The room made a sound. Someone laughed. Grey said, "Get her out—" "She's holding a kettle," Seraphine hissed. "Alpha, I apologize—" Cassian Vale didn't look at Seraphine. He turned fully around and looked at me, and what was in his face was not surprise. It was recognition. A man confirming something he'd carried since the night before, when he watched a scentless girl in a gray shift read a vein map in nine seconds and go pale. "And who exactly are you?" he said.