Ares let out a sudden bark of laughter, loud enough to make the cutlery on the stone table rattle.
"It seems the Alpha is being generous. Vivien, why don’t you ask him for that five-centuries-old wine he’s hiding in his cellar? It’s supposed to be the finest in existence—one of a kind, the only bottle left in this world." He wagged his eyebrows in mock seriousness, then tore into another slab of roasted at. "Imagine tasting sothing no one else ever will. Bet it’d knock you flat on your back."
I blinked, taken aback. Five centuries old?
Before I could think of what to say, Raye leaned forward, her grin spreading wide, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Oh, don’t listen to Ares. What you really need to ask for is a room full of jewelry. We trade with Nyrav, and their jewelers are unmatched. The stones there... gods, Vivien, you’ve never seen anything like them. You’d glitter brighter than the Undercity lanterns themselves." She laughed at her own suggestion, brushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.
My breath caught.
Nyrav?
They traded with another continent? I never heard of it. Or maybe I was just too focused in my own little life back in Levian pack to care about what’s happening in the world.
"The flowers in his greenhouse would be much more useful to her."
My head snapped toward Diaval, startled to hear him speak. He’d been silent until now, thodically tearing his bread apart like the feast before him was nothing worth his attention.
But now, a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. His black hair was half-combed back but strands still fell loosely forward, framing the cool gleam of his eyes.
"So of those flowers can heal wounds overnight," he continued smoothly, "while others can kill a man before he takes two breaths. A more practical gift than wine or jewels, don’t you think?"
His voice was velvet lined with steel, and though he smiled, it carried an edge that made the hair on my arms rise.
Raye rolled her eyes. "Really, Diaval? You want to saddle her with poison plants? That’s hardly a gift."
"It depends how she intends to use them," he said, tone light, but his eyes lingered on for a fraction too long, challenging .
Ares snorted, his mouth full. "Forget poison. She should ask for sothing entertaining. What about—" he snapped his fingers dramatically, "—a cask of that firewine from the western isles? The kind that burns twice on the way down. You drink enough, and you’ll be seeing double until sunrise."
Raye shook her head, laughing. "You’d only suggest that because you want so yourself."
"Of course I do," Ares said, grinning, grease shining on his fingers.
I sat back slightly, my gaze flicking between them all. Their voices overlapped, teasing, bickering, their laughter filling the cavernous hall like it belonged here.
They were so different. Ares loud and brash, Raye bright and teasing, Diaval dark and edged, but together, they looked like... family.
And even Rion, seated silently at the head of the table, seed part of it. His ocean eyes glead faintly as he smirked, fingers tapping idly against the rim of his wine glass.
The shadows behind him shifted lazily, curling like smoke. He looked dangerous, untouchable... yet sohow he belonged perfectly here, anchored among them as naturally as breath.
It was almost disorienting.
Because I didn’t.
I was the outsider at their table. The one who didn’t know the nas of their trades, the taste of their wines, the use of their poisonous flowers. I didn’t know how to laugh with them, how to tease like they did.
Watching them felt like peering through glass into soone else’s life, one where belonging ca easily, one I had never been part of.
"So... you only have two Betas? Ares and Diaval?" I asked.
The question wasn’t directed at anyone, but Raye perked up instantly.
She leaned her chin on her hand and nodded, smiling like she was happy to explain. "Just those two."
"Oh." I nodded, though the thought still prickled. Most packs had at least three Betas, often more.
In Levian, there was an entire circle, and above them, a Chief Beta who oversaw the rest. It had always seed the natural order of things—an Alpha with a strong pack of leaders beneath him, a hierarchy too rigid to bend.
But here, in the Undercity, things were different. Larger than Levian by far, its sprawling caverns could have housed twice as many wolves, maybe more. Yet Rion kept only two Betas. Two n who sat so comfortably at his table it felt more like blood-bond than hierarchy.
The question swirled in my mind, unspoken. Why only two? Why trust so few?
"Trust is sothing very... luxurious," Rion answered, as if the question was written all over my face. "I find it hard to trust many people."
He hadn’t flinched when he said it. He wasn’t ashad to admit it.
Of course he didn’t trust easily. How could he, when he himself was not trustworthy? I almost laughed at the irony. He was simply watching his back, because he knew what people were capable of. Twisted. Deceptive. Ruthless.
Because he was the sa.
"So," I said, turning to Raye instead, "what about you? What’s your role in Undercity?"
"?" Her smile spread wide, so radiant it nearly hurt to look at, as though she was sunlight breaking through stone. "I’m the spymaster."
I blinked, then nodded slowly. "Understandable."
It suited her. That cheerfulness wasn’t just charm... it was disarming, the perfect mask to make people forget to guard their words.
And also because of the nature of her ability.
"Does... everyone in Undercity know what you are?" I asked carefully. My voice lowered a little, wary. I knew everyone at this table was aware. They had the kind of closeness that didn’t allow for secrets. Years of shared battles and shadows bound them, perhaps decades.
But what about outside this hall? Among the common wolves?
"Yes," Raye replied too casually. "I don’t hide it here in the Undercity."
She said it like it was nothing, and no one at the table blinked. They carried on as though it was her right, as though there was nothing strange about what she had admitted.
But then, for a fraction of a second, I caught it—Ares’s expression.
A flicker of sothing, too fast to na. Unease? Disapproval? Pity? It vanished so quickly I almost doubted I’d seen it at all.
I bit my tongue, though questions clawed at the back of my throat.
How? How is an Avian alive when the world believes them extinct?
The stories spoke of wings and skies, of a people hunted to nothing, reduced to myths whispered around firesides. And yet here she was, sitting across from , grinning like she’d never been in danger of vanishing.
But I didn’t ask.
So truths were dangerous. So questions better left buried.
So instead, I bowed my head, let my hair fall forward to shadow my face, and busied myself with the food on my plate. I filled my stomach in silence.
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