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“Your brother was upset to discover he would not be keeping the Archives. He believed the new Chronicler would be a SilverPaw and the Archives would be under his control.” There was an air of caution in how he spoke, like he wasn’t sure what side I was on, or how much he should say.
Jerron must have assumed the position stayed with SilverPaw. Idiot. He’d also have been in for a rude surprise that Chroniclers might be packmates, and beholden to the will of the Alpha, but there were times when the Alpha had to defer to the Chronicler.
One of the adjunct Chroniclers would get promoted to the Chronicler position, and none of the adjuncts were Alphas or Lunas or even close to it, nor would they leave their packs to join SilverPaw. The position would leave SilverPaw for the first time in three generations. None of the other adjuncts were in packs that had really embraced the revelation that it was the wolves themselves that had killed off all the female bloodlines. The work (and then the species) would die for lack of a powerful champion.
Then my species would die.
“Are you expecting me to talk reason into my brother? I’ll only make things worse.”
“I know exactly who I am dealing with.”
Well. Shit. “I’m listening.”
“Anais told me he’s become more unpleasant with each shipment. Finds reasons to delay, examine things he shouldn’t have access to, and she’s complied enough to humor him for her own safety. She found something Luna Autumn left for you in the Archives, and he refuses to let her leave with it.”
I sat bolt upright. “What is it?”
“The key to a safe deposit box.”
“A what?”
He ignored my question. “Anais has asked me to get her out of there. The remaining records need to be removed, but she feels the risk to her safety is too high to remain.”
What this Alpha didn’t know—and what my father had told me he’d kill me if I ever breathed to anyone that I knew it existed—was there were two Archives. The “Archives” most wolves thought of were the tomes that the Chronicler kept. The actual Archives, the real ones, were in a doomsday vault. My father’s copies, while old, were in fact just copies. The Archives had moved around over the centuries to highly guarded and secret locations until a deep doomsday vault had been built in the past century. Knowledge of its existence was limited to Elder Alphas and Lunas, the Chronicler, and the adjuncts. Oh, and me.
So Jerron couldn’t do any lasting damage. “Most of what my father had is reference and research material. I’m sure Anais removed the most sensitive and critical information in the first trips. But I’m not sure why we’re talking. Were you just wanting to know how critical those remaining records were?”
“I need my packmate back. You need the key.”
“I might be a Luna, but my pack only has five members, and they’re city wolves. I don’t have the warm bodies for an assault on SilverPaw.”
He snorted. “I’m not asking for that. You’re one of SilverPaw’s finest hunters. A Solstice Hound.”
Ah, yes. My title as Solstice Hound. Something that had come to mean next to nothing. “Your point?”
“Anais is scared. She’s going to run for it. I’m sending a few scouts to rendezvous with her, but I need you to help my scouts choose the location, get them there, and get them out.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” His bitter laugh echoed my own feelings. “You were honest with me, I’ll be honest with you: I know how fighting SilverPaw ends, and wasting blood on that brother of yours is a bone in my throat.”
“So you want to waste my blood and my Alpha’s prestige because you don’t have the courage to send warriors to do a warrior’s job?”
“If I thought you’d get bloody, I wouldn’t ask. That’s exactly why I’m calling you,” he said bitterly. “You’re one of the finest hunters in a pack of fine hunters. You know the territory. If I do this any other way, my Chronicler will die. I believe Jerron will kill her. Do not try to argue with me that your brother will not.”
“I’m sure he’s stupid enough to do it,” I agreed.
A low, bitter chuckle. “And those Betas of his, for whatever reason, will allow him to act as he pleases. So goes EarthSpine’s hope that things would improve between our packs.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We were certain Rodero was grooming you to be Luna,” he said. “You were more like your mother. I had hopes that when you came of age that you would be able to soothe things not just with this pack, but the others in the region.”
“My father did change when my mother died,” I said quietly. He’d always been remote and unyielding, but when my mother had died, her death had stripped away any softness he might have had.
A very long pause. “Your mother was all that stood between the world and Rodero.”
Sometimes I felt like I was all that stood between the world and Sterling.
