Chapter3

Freya had prepared roasted Moon-Elk ribs. Garrick cracked open a clay jar of fermented wild berry wine. The three of them clinked their glasses together, the crisp sound of celebration filling the room.

In the corner of the dining room, my chair sat empty. Nobody looked at it. Luna sat confidently in the Alpha's seat at the head of the table.

I floated in the shadows, my eyes drawn to a small wooden box resting near the edge of the table. It was tied with a thin, grayish-blue string. It was the exact shade of Grandmother Elowen’s old wolf-pelt blanket.

I froze, feeling a sudden, inexplicable flutter in my hollow chest.

I thought it was for me.

I turned my translucent head toward the kitchen window, looking at Soot, the one-eyed rogue wolf crouching in the shadows. "Look," I whispered to him. "The string is grayish-blue. She remembered me."

Freya slid the wooden box across the table, straight to Luna.

"I remembered you mentioning those glazed moon-cakes, sweetie," Mother murmured affectionately. "Take them to your room. Eat them quietly, so we don't start any unnecessary drama."

Luna reached out. With a careless flick of her claw, she snagged the grayish-blue string, snapped it, and tossed the torn pieces onto the floor. She didn't even glance at it.

I stared at the frayed blue ends resting in the dirt. I didn't say a word.

I remembered when I was seven, on the day of Grandmother’s funeral. I was crouching by the edge of the burial pit when my knee slipped against a jagged rock, tearing the skin down to the bone. The sharp pain made me cry out.

Freya had whipped her head around, her amber eyes burning with disgust. "What are you crying for? You didn't shed a single tear when your Grandmother stopped breathing, but you wail the loudest over a scraped knee?"

She repeated that phrase for ten years. She told everyone in the pack: "Briar is naturally cold-blooded. She didn't drop a single tear the day her own Grandmother died."

Nobody ever asked me the truth. Nobody knew that I did cry that day. I just cried too softly, and my tears were buried under the much louder mourning of everyone else.

If I pull a bone, I lose. If I don't pull a bone, I lose. Let her eat it.

I crouched back down beside the window. "What do moon-cakes taste like?" I asked Soot softly. "Have you ever tried one?"

Soot didn't answer. He lowered his ragged body, his nose twitching as he crept toward the sweet, intoxicating scent leaking from the wooden box. As he lunged slightly, his heavy tail swept against the table leg.

Just as Luna reached to lift the lid, she collided with the massive beast's encroaching paw. Startled, she shrieked and her hand jerked. The wooden box crashed onto the floor, shattering the porcelain dish inside.

A sharp porcelain shard bounced up, slicing cleanly into Luna’s exposed toe.

Freya lost her mind.

She didn't blame the open window or the rogue wolf. She spun around, grabbed a heavy clay water jug from the counter, and hurled it violently at my locked bedroom door.

"You absolute jinx!" Mother screamed, her voice cracking with pure venom. "Are you determined to drag her down and ruin her entire life?"

Garrick stepped forward and grabbed his furious wife by the shoulders. "Enough. Let's get Luna to The Mending Den first."

They didn't return until dawn. The moment they entered the house, Freya marched straight to my closed door and pounded her fists against the wood.

"Come out here, you goddess-forsaken wretch!" she roared.

The commotion finally woke our neighbor, Hollis, who shoved his window open. "Is there no end to this, Voss?!" he yelled, sounding both exhausted and furious. "You bang on that door every other day! One more time, and I'm reporting this to the Elder Council!"

Only the threat of the Elders made Mother retract her claws and step away.

By the next afternoon, Freya took Luna to the market and bought her a set of silver-wire claw protectors—a luxury traditionally reserved only for pups who had officially passed their First Howl.

Luna paraded around the living room, showing off how the silver glinted under the lights. "I cried when they stitched my toe at The Mending Den yesterday, so Mom felt bad and bought me these!" she boasted toward my closed door. "And she bought me Moon-Elk ribs! You've never had them, have you? They're so good. If you ever managed to pull the Whitebone, Mom would buy them for you too."

As she spoke, she took a step backward. She didn't notice the floor.

My blood had finally seeped through the tight gap beneath my bedroom door, trailing all the way to the threshold and forming a dark, sticky puddle.

Luna’s foot slipped hard on the blackened blood. She crashed onto her back. Seeing the dark red stain smudged against her sleeve, she started screaming in terror.

"Briar reached her claws under the door and tripped me! That's my blood!"

Freya exploded. She charged forward and kicked my bedroom door. She kicked it over a dozen times, but the heavy wood and lock held firm.

Finally, she stopped, chest heaving. Before turning away, she spat at the wood. "Your talent for playing dead is absolutely first-class."

I listened to her walk away. I thought about all the times this had happened—Luna falls, Luna cries, Luna points in my direction. Then Mother brings out the Casket and says, "Draw a bone first. Whoever loses accepts the punishment."

I had never won. Not once. And I had never been given the chance to defend myself.

I wondered—if I were still alive right now, what would my punishment be? Would I be locked in the damp cellar, or forced to stand outside under the moon all night, forbidden to howl?

Numbly, my soul drifted back toward the dining table.

That was when I noticed something gleaming through the deep fracture running along the side of the Moonbone Casket.

Without warning, tears surged into my translucent eyes.

Finally, after all these years, I understood why I had never pulled the Whitebone.