The free Shifters stand before me. They were given a chance to bathe, eat, and rest after the battle. With fresh clothes, they seem as if they’ve been given something. A second chance, perhaps. A new life.

But if one looks too closely, you can see the death, the pain, and the horror hiding behind their glazed and darting eyes.

Some of them still yell in fear of nothing, reacting to ghosts who live in nothing but memory.

I know, as I have done the same.

Flash stands at my side, a strangely welcome presence.

The Imperial stands beside him, a mountain of a man with weight on his shoulders I can’t see, but can surely feel as well as he.

Sir Rey stands at my other side, Heather and other Were and Shifters behind me.

Morgana is with Shefa Bridge, tending the wounded from the battle two days past. Many more lived than I thought possible… but the casualties were many. On both sides. Far too many.

We stand in the Berserk clearing, as far as possible from the blackened ground that cannot be seen in the darkness before the dawn. But my nose itches as the ash and death coats my nostrils and tongue.

The Shifters' gazes dart, the uneasy, salty brine of perspiration drifts from their pores and fills my nose with the scent of cold sweat.

I realize then what I look like to these Shifters. I look as if I have picked sides, as if I am standing against them… not with them.

I take a step forward. Then another.

They part before me, making less sound than a wraith. Even though their feet should be sucked into the mud and the melting snow should crunch, they are wolves. They are bred in the wild and feast on fresh blood.

They are of the animal kingdom and the Human, not quite tame but not quite wild. They are wraiths of the night and loyal messengers by day. They stand because they have no choice against the instinct pounding in their breasts to live with the stubborn tenacity of the wolf.

I stop when I reach the center, ringed on every side by Shifters who tried to kill me days before.

There are over fifty, and if they so chose, they could attack me before anyone could come to my aid. Their eyes shine like stars in the firelight. If not for the shuffling of their feet and the bow of their shoulders, one might call them statues of reality. Or ghosts.

But then a Shifter cries out at the pop of a fire, sinking down to the ground and putting her hands around her knees. She rocks, whimpering.

Ghosts of times past. If only one could deal with the ghosts once, but no. They will haunt these poor Shifters for years to come.

An older woman puts her arm around the girl and holds her as the flashback comes to completion and she is left sobbing on the ground as the elderly woman lends comfort.

I move forward, my fists clenching and unclenching as I can do nothing to help. Even when I get too close, she moves her eyes to me.

The terror there, of me, makes me grimace.

I move back to the center. I feel like a spoke in a wheel, with two horse lengths between me and the nearest Shifter. A wall between me and them I don’t know how to cross.

I look over the faces grimacing in both pain and empathetic horror as they watch the girl break.

One woman breaks off from the rest, racing for the trees lining the edge of the forest.

I hear a creak of wood and the brush of a hand against string as a Were beside the Imperial pulls back on a bow. Tension still lines the shoulders of Shifter and Were alike. They were enemies not long ago.

“Let her go,” I say.

The Were nods his head and immediately drops his bow. I recognize the broad figure and beard. Brendon, the Imperial’s brother. It makes my soul a touch lighter to know he survived the battle.

I turn back to the Shifters in front of me. “Do you serve the Imposter?”

One watches me, awe shining in his eyes. He drops his gaze when I look at him. “Not anymore, sire. You are Alpha,” he says, not meeting my gaze.

I want to rub my forehead with my thumbs to ease the growing headache. I hope they don’t see my wince.

You asked the Allfather for an army, Cynic says, an almost-humor lining his sad voice.

The price for such an army was too steep.

I turn in a circle, trying to meet their eyes, gauging their reactions. “So soon after you were enslaved… I hate to ask this of you, but I must. A small town is under threat. A village of good people who saved my life.” Despite how I wish otherwise, how I need to embolden my words with emotion and passion—I have nothing left to give. My words are spoken as if from a soul devoid of emotion. Numb.

But yet, the Shifter who spoke strikes his hand to his chest and kisses his fingers. “The Alpha has spoken.”

The rest of the Shifters do the same, repeating the words.

“The Alpha has spoken.”

My stomach curdles.

“I will not force you. There is a good chance we will not return alive. The Empire will outnumber us three to one at best. I need many here to protect the wounded and the refugees coming from Videlia. Any who do not wish to come with me may still help. Do what you feel best,” I say, meeting eyes to convey sincerity. A spark of hope tries to light in my chest as some nod, but it’s too soon for such emotion.

I know what is coming. I know we are highly unlikely to defeat the army heading to Videlia, but we can try. And we can give the refugees time to flee for the haven in these hills and give the Imperial time to move everyone to Dragon Valley.

Black, silver, and the occasional blue eyes watch me from haggard and malnourished frames. Many lean forward, listening intently to my words.

The scent of unease and uncertainty wafts like curdled cheese from most, but so does the sunshine and almost spring-like scent of hope.

Then there is the anger rising from more than I can name, the coal-like scent coloring the air and smelling more ashy than the fires ringing us and leading into the large round shadows that are the huts at our backs.

“You have a choice. You are free to leave, free to stay, or free to help me fight. Whatever you choose, you will be respected in your decision,” I say with conviction, knowing just how terrifying it is to be at someone else’s mercy—and then to be free. It is not easy to choose once you have been trained, nay, conditioned, to have no thoughts of your own. In such a state of mere survival, you almost became a base animal surviving off instinct and impulse, throwing change to the wind, as all you tried to do was survive in a hopeless and desperate situation.

But once free?

You have choices. To do right or wrong by your own volition. To move beyond your chains. To actually live.

But… then you must deal with your choices and how they affect you and those around you. Having the consequences for your actions purely on your head is both freeing in unimaginable ways… and terrifying.

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It means the guilt of your actions will lay purely on your own head.

It means Pa’s death is on mine.

Cynic hisses something within my mind of another language, and deep rage from within almost rocks me back on my heels.

Do not ever dare, you hear me, idiot? Do not.

I try to ignore him, turning my mind back to the Shifters before me. But his rage still boils, and I know he wishes I wouldn't feel this guilt. And at the core, I know Pa’s death wasn’t my fault. But it does not stop the pain I feel at the simple what ifs?

“Will you Command us again?” the girl who was rocking with the flashback asks, her voice soft and wobbly, as if afraid to ask. But she meets my eyes with a straightforward braveness I have seen in very few. A respect for her rises in my breast.

“No,” I say. “I only did that to save lives. I give you my word as Alpha I will only use the jilisnit in the direst of circumstances.”

She nods, meeting my eyes with a strength I wouldn’t have thought, before she puts her head back on her knees with a sigh. I hope she knows how much I mean those words. The Command is not to be utilized—I hate myself for doing it, but good came of it.

Someday you will stop blaming yourself for things you cannot control.

My lips almost tip in a smile. Almost. Perhaps. But today is not that day, I reply.

A Shifter with mismatched eyes steps forward. He meets my gaze with a confidence and poise, not challenging but neither does he back down. An Alpha.

Just how many Alphas did Yellow have?

The Alpha before me strikes his fist to his chest and bows. “I am Hiphrite of Pack Ircot, sire. How may we serve?”

I look around, and the Imperial catches my eye. I nod.

“There is a battle coming. Are you sure you wish to stay?”

His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “Don’t doubt our honour, sire. We are your pack now.”

The Imperial coughs into his hand from the hill where I stood. Flash looks like he ate the canary and got away with it. I glare at the two who know very well I’d like nothing more than to send these wolves packing... but for the sake of Videlia, I can’t.

“Good. We leave for Videlia at sunrise. Prepare those who wish to go, and let those who wish to stay, stay. This is a fool's errand with a high likelihood we will not come back alive.”

Great way to inspire your new army, sire.

The Shifter strikes his chest again, as do most of those around him.

I cross the divide, holding out my hand for the Alpha who spoke.

He furrows his brow, his black and blue eyes flicking from my hand to my face in question. I hold still.

He shrugs, then clasps my forearm.

“What do you need?” I ask.

His brows furrow again, and he looks back at the Shifters behind him, as if looking for the answer. He straightens his shoulders and turns back to me.

“We could use more blankets for the youngest, sire. And cloaks for the elderly. They will have a place here?” His voice deepens at the end.

I give him a small smile. “The Were are no longer enemies. I trust them with my life. They will care for them while we are gone.”

He nods. Some burden seems lifted from his shoulders.

“Blankets and further clothes will be provided. Should you need anything else, come and find me. I will leave at sunrise for those who wish to come, but until then, I am at your disposal.”

I gesture to the Imperial. “Imperial, this is Hiphrate of Ircot. Hiphrate, the Imperial will care for those who stay behind.”

The Shifter is a head smaller than the Imperial but stands strong under his glare.

Then the Imperial smiles and holds his hand out. Hiphrate hesitates but places his hand on the Imperial’s forearm as if it might bite him.

He jumps at the Imperial’s booming laugh. “I’m not going to harm you, boy. This one here came mighty close to death a few times, but we saved his a—”

“Could we stay on track, sir?” My eye twitches.

Hiphrate relaxes. Bet that was exactly what the Imperial was after.

I go to the girl to escape the Imperial's mischief. She stands quickly, her eyes not meeting mine. The elderly woman eyes me, putting an arm around the girl’s shoulder and making sure I know my place.

I nod to her. I feel a little awkward. It was my wish to ensure the girl was alright… but now I’m feeling foolish. She likely doesn’t wish for any further attention on her, and neither would I had I just broken down in front of so many.

I’ll keep this short.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly.

“I-I am Ephora of the Ilshik, sire,” she replies, bowing her head and almost trembling in the presence of my wolf.

I stagger back.

Ephora of the Ilshik.

Words drilled into me, words that came from a Shifter who saved my life, return to my mind as I go back to that place, the place where I saved Barry with the help of the Were and Vex died a worthy death with the honourable death of those who should have lived.

"You have freed me, My Prince and lady... my life is a small price in return. I am Magnus of the Ilshik, and she was Cassandra of the Krishil. Despite... the words of that human the first time we met weeks... ago... my children are out there... somewhere. I pray they are... free.”

“Sire? Are you alright?”

I glance up, and the elderly woman beside Ephora watches me with concern tightening her brow, even as Ephora shrinks from me.

I give them a smile, forcing it to crinkle my eyes and seem genuine. “I am fine. Thank you. If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask,” I say.

They bow, and I beat a hasty retreat.

I wonder if it’s a coincidence. Packs have many members. She could just be a pack mate.

But her scent… she smells like her mother.

I can make good on at least one promise. She will want for nothing, and perhaps someday, I will tell her what her father did for me. What he did for many.

The darkness is almost complete and there is not much time until we leave by the time I extract myself from the Shifters and return to Flash. He sits on the hillside, playing in the mud.

I sit beside him, and he splatters me.

I raise a brow. He grins, shrugging his shoulders as I wipe flecks of mud from my cheek.

“Essie has more manners than you.”

“Essie is a lady,” he replies, as if that explains everything.

“Essie is a child.”

“Essie knows how to laugh.”

“I laugh.”

I see him raise a brow at me from the corner of my eye.

“I do!”

“When? You seem to have a constant case of the Gussep Bel Flankden.”

I can’t help it. I look at him.

“You don’t know who that is, do you? He was a general with the Elves, said to have a stick up his—“

“Flash, I know who Gussep is.”

He hasn’t the wherewithal to be embarrassed at the comparison, or his words. “Good. I was afraid my comparison would fall on death ears.”

“It’s deaf ears.”

“You sure? I thought for sure it was dead ears. Dead ears can’t hear… get it?”

“Deaf ears cannot hear, either.”

...

“Good point,” he concedes.

I shake my head, a smile twitching my lips I try to hide from the crazy Were.

But his fish-eating grin says he did exactly what he set out to do.

The Imperial is still cutting up with Hiphrite and a few of the other Shifters. Zephora, Heather, and Essie along with a few other Were bring blankets and folded clothing for those who need it.

A smile turns my lips as I watch the Were and Shifters intermingle, and especially when Essie launches herself at Ephora.

The Shifter staggers under Essie’s weight, but then leans into the hug, a smile on her face. The first I have seen on the gaunt-faced girl.

I chuckle. Essie has that effect on people. Even Morgana smiles more when the kid’s around.

A sharp pain tugs from Beast, a keening sound coming from him as something far in the distance tugs at my soul. Something in pain. Something wild being forced into servitude.

I waver, and Flash catches my shoulder before I tip over. “You ok?” he asks, concern turning his brow.

“Fine,” I grunt. What was that? I wonder, but the Beast is now… still. More still than I’ve ever felt him. And that terrifies me.

Flash watches me with concern.

I glare at him, tempted to pull a knife and show him just how fine I am so he stops with the pity.

His lips crease in an almost-smile.

He pats my back. “Glad to have you back, mate.”

I raise a brow, unsure what he means.

He grins, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He lost people, too.

The Imperial plops down beside me, and I just about have a heart attack.

How can such a large man move so silently?

“Would you stop that?” I ask, shoving my knife back into place with more force than is perhaps necessary.

He gives a quick bow, his face blank… except for the twinkling of his eyes. “I’ll see to it those who wish to stay are welcomed and those who wish to go are armed. Is there anything else you need before you go?”

“No, sir. Thank you.”

He nods, clasping his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t forget what we spoke of, Roland. You are a leader, and this world has need of you. Be courageous.” He strides away before I can say anything further.

I shake my head, him and his son are the biggest thorns under my saddle. But they are also just as loyal and stubborn as wolves and are the best pack mates one could ask for.

I look back over the Shifters, and the blue eyes of Ephora catch me. She can’t be more than fourteen. She quickly looks away, but not before I saw the fear, the terror in her eyes.

My jaw clenches.

I imagine she sees me much like those who controlled her before. How could she not? I can force her to do things against her will, just as they did.

The Command is a tool. Do you stop using a dagger because the jingoist use daggers to torture? No, you use daggers to protect instead of maim. Any other talent or Gift you have is the same way. Use it wisely and it can be used for good. Just look at Essie, alive and well thanks to Command. See Ephora? The Shifters before you? They are why you used it.

But when I send the wolves to their deaths?

You gave them a choice. Those who go now go to their deaths willingly.

That... is true.

You aren’t your father, Roland.

The words are a sock to the gut.

That is the real crux. My father used Command on anyone and anything. Even his children.

The Masters... the Black could also Command me, which led me to believe he or she is an old relative. Which is somehow worse than if I’d never known.

For this means the Black is of the King’s line.