Cappella had watched the king’s body burn. She hadn’t known it, though. She’d smelled smoke, climbed a tree, and reported to her mother that the there was a fire on the bridge and everyone in the kingdom was watching.

“What happens in the kingdom is nothing that concerns us, Pella.”

It was the answer she always gave. Where this used to frustrate Cappella, now it angered her. She didn’t know what to do with this feeling or how to make it go away.

Even though Cappella was grown—as tall as her mother—she knew nothing beyond life in the woods. She’d never been allowed out. Never ventured into the kingdom. Never had so much as a friend, not since her wolf had vanished.

As much as she loved her mother and living in a forest of music, she wanted to know things. Have friends. Understand the wider world, not pretend it didn’t exist. Her mother had kept secrets. She’d once lived in the kingdom, and that’s why Cappella wasn’t to go there.

For years, Cappella had accepted this limit. Accepted the idea that it didn’t concern them. But she didn’t accept that anymore. Whatever was happening in the kingdom did concern her. If it didn’t, then Cappella wouldn’t have questions. Her mother wouldn’t need to lie. The truth became pebble plain: There were things her mother didn’t want her to know. She was hiding something. She’d always been hiding something.

Cappella could pretend this wasn’t the case, as she’d pretended her wolf hadn’t died and was instead roaming another forest happily. But she didn’t want to. The absence of truth felt like a wall between her and Esme. It meant her mother didn’t trust Cappella to know the facts. Either something terrible had happened, or her mother had done something terrible. Possibly both.

“You’re lying to me.” The words were out before Cappella could really consider them, before she could find a better way to phrase things. “You know what’s happened. You know why the air smells of smoke. Why the citizens have lined the streets.”

“Cappella.” The way her mother said her name, it sounded like a scolding. A rebuke. Esme said nothing for quite a while as she dropped nuts into her basket. When she spoke again, her voice was harsh. “You’re not being fair to me. I’ve given you everything I have, everything you could ever want. I’ve loved you the best way I know how. Aren’t you happy?”

“You’re keeping things from me. How can I be happy knowing that?”

“I hide nothing from you. You see me every day. You have for your entire life.”

“Why am I not to step foot into the kingdom?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“If it’s so dangerous, why do I see so many girls my age there?”

“Because their parents aren’t as careful as I am.”

“Their parents. All right, then, who’s my father?”

“You don’t have— There isn’t one.”

That had to be a lie too, but she could not say those words out loud. Not without wanting to leave her mother forever. She took a breath. “Who are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Do you have a brother? A sister?”

Her mother didn’t answer right away, and Cappella knew that she’d hit a vein of truth. “How could it possibly hurt anything if you told me about our family?”

“I had—I have a sister,” her mother said. “Your aunt.”

“Why have I never met her? Does she have children?”

“Come, it is getting late,” her mother said. “Let us talk about this in the morning.”

That was what her mother so often did. Put things off for later. This time Cappella didn’t want to. Maybe it was the effect of the rising moon, one night past full. Maybe it was the smell of smoke. The ringing of the bell at the castle. She was going to keep asking questions. She was going to get to the truth.

“What if I told you I wanted to meet my aunt?”

“It’s not possible,” her mother said.

“Why? Did you do something terrible?” Cappella felt brave and reckless, the way she did sometimes when she climbed too high in trees to get a better view of the kingdom. “It’s all right if you did. I love you. I will keep loving you. But it hurts me when you don’t tell me the truth.”

“I wish you would not ask such things.”

There was something Cappella was afraid to know. Until this moment, she’d never imagined such a thing. Now she feared it was true. “Did you kill someone?”

“Oh!” Her mother dropped the basket. “Of course I didn’t. Cappella—”

Cappella waited.

“It’s so difficult to speak of this.”

“It’s impossible not to know the truth. I’m fifteen. I’m grown. You treat me the way you did when I was small, and I’m not that little girl anymore.”

Her mother’s eyes gleamed with tears. Cappella regretted her questions. They were selfish. She’d been unfair. She led her mother to a moss-covered log. They sat side by side. She felt less heated, less tight, as though her anger was unweaving itself. She slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulder.

Esme leaned against her. Then she wiped her tears and sat up straight. “I can tell you this much.”

Cappella braced herself. She wanted the truth. She also feared it.

“My sister is the queen. Her husband, the king. They made it clear that … that I was no longer welcome in the kingdom.”

Cappella reeled. “But why?”

“It was many years ago.”

That wasn’t an answer, but Cappella couldn’t bring herself to push for more.

“You have cousins. Twins, a boy and a girl. They’d be, oh, around five years older than you.”

Cappella sat with the information. She’d always wanted a family. And here, she’d had one that her mother hadn’t told her about. That her mother had kept from her. Her mother had concealed more than she’d imagined. Still, when she looked at Esme, she saw so much sadness that her own anger felt cruel.

“The girl is a were,” Esme continued. “She has a bear aspect.”

A were. Cappella sucked in her breath. She’d seen a werebear in the woods. Two, in fact. The brown one and the black one. Could one of them be her cousin? Had her mother seen the werebears too? And if she and her mother were related to the king and queen, then how could the kingdom be a dangerous place for them—unless Esme was a criminal? Cappella had so many questions, questions she hadn’t the nerve to ask.

Her mother had always seemed like a kind and easy soul. A middle-aged woman who gathered nuts and berries in the forest. Who, with her green eyes and light brown hair, looked as though she’d been made of the same gentle material as the woods themselves. She was more than how she looked. She was a fugitive. Her mother had hidden much, and Cappella suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to know all of it.

“What are my cousins like?”

“They were toddlers when I left, but they both were dear to me. Ursula looked like my sister. Albrecht favored his father.”

“Which of them will take the throne?”

“That’s always been the question. Traditionally, it’s been the firstborn. But that was Ursula. Many believed it should go to the son, Albrecht, on account of the fact that he’s male.”

“What would have happened if they’d had no children?”

“The king had no brothers or sisters,” her mother said. “There is no heir on that side.”

“But the queen had you.”

“That’s right. And I have you. You would be the next in line, if things hadn’t happened the way they did—and, I suppose, if they knew about you.”

If they knew about you. Her cousins must have had everything they ever could have wanted. They had each other, and no doubt everyone loved them. No doubt they had never imagined her or felt the longing that she’d felt for family. For them.

“Shall we go?” her mother said.

Cappella didn’t want to. She wanted to leave the forest. She wanted to see what the kingdom was like. She wanted to meet her cousins. Perhaps whatever had divided their parents would not divide them.

“Cappella, please.” Her mother looked at her as though she knew exactly what Cappella was thinking. Another thing that was unfair between them—Cappella didn’t know what her mother was thinking at all.

The music of the forest shifted. There was a rustle. Cappella turned her head. A red cloth that hadn’t been there a moment ago hung from a low branch a few yards away. Strange. She lifted the cloth and shook leaves and dirt from it. It was a cloak. Or had been, once. It was the worse for wear. But the fabric was still soft. She touched it to her cheek and sniffed. A bit like rat, a bit like dirt, and a bit like a scent she’d know anywhere.

Her wolf.

Cappella wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood over her hair, wishing she had a pin to keep it closed. She never wanted to take it off. She inhaled his scent again, and that’s when she knew. Somewhere, somewhere close, her wolf was alive.

“Wolf!” she cried. “Wolf!” And then a third time.

He did not reply. He did not come running.

“Cappella—” Her mother looked afraid. “Where did that cloak come from?”

“I found it on a branch. I don’t know how it got there, but—”

Her mother grabbed Cappella’s wrist. “Let’s go.”

Cappella pulled away. “I want to find my wolf.”

“No. We don’t know that he’s still safe for you.”

Cappella stared hard at her mother, weighing her options, considering what price she was willing to pay to defy her mother. Esme had hidden so much of herself that Cappella didn’t know what she would do in the face of defiance. Cappella had never tried. And then in an instant she knew. She wanted her wolf. More than anything. And she trusted him.

So Cappella ran. The music accelerated. The air felt harsh and smoky in her lungs, but the woods were with her. She knew this. She ran through the last rays of daylight, looking everywhere, her heart in her mouth.

As she came upon a grouping of rocks that she and the wolf had always loved climbing, she saw a heap of gray fur.

He lay on his side, his front paws bloody, his muzzle matted and damp. Cappella put her hands on him, feeling his ribs, wondering where he’d been and what he’d endured. He was breathing hard and whining as though he was in pain. But his eyes were the most worrisome. They couldn’t focus and kept rolling back in his head.

And even though she’d run from her, Cappella wished for her mother. She didn’t want to be alone, not when her wolf was sick. Her mother would know what to do. And then Esme arrived, breathing heavily. She dropped beside Cappella and offered the wolf water from her leather pouch. He closed his eyes and let it drip onto his tongue and down his throat. He let out a high-pitched whine, and then his mouth closed. He shuddered and he became a boy with a bloody mouth, shredded fingertips, and a naked body covered in filth and bruises.

Her wolf. Her wolf was a were. He’d had a human aspect he’d hidden from her.

“Mother.” Cappella couldn’t manage anything beyond this.

Esme, on the other hand, didn’t seem surprised. “Let’s wrap him up and carry him home. Quickly now. Use the cloak.”

Cappella wrapped it around him and tried to lift him, but she couldn’t. He was too heavy.

“Let me.” Esme lifted him over her shoulders, her face straining. Cappella had always known her mother was strong. Now she was seeing the extent of it.

By the time they reached the tree, darkness surrounded them. But the tinge of smoke in the air felt menacing, unsafe. All Cappella wanted in that moment was for her wolf—her were—to open his eyes. But he did not, not for hours. And as he slept, the scent of smoke grew worse.