Each thaumaturge beckoned to their assigned subjects, leading them through various formations. This too always fascinated her. How some of them would force the control, while others tried to seduce it from their cubs, like tender mothers.
She watched the youngest faction with growing pleasure. Seven had lined up without question, leaving only one cub standing off from the rest. Crouched on all fours, he was snarling at his thaumaturge, fangs fully bared, more wolf-like than any of them. Rebellion and hatred glowed behind his golden eyes.
That one would make alpha. She could already tell.
“Your Majesty.”
She listed her head but didn’t take her eyes off the boy. “Sybil.”
Her head thaumaturge’s heels clicked on the glass floor. She detected the ruffle of fabric as Sybil bowed.
Down in the cave, the cub was prowling a circle around his mistress—a young, blonde-haired girl who looked ghastly pale in her black coat. Her expression held a trace of anxiety, a tinge of doubt that she would have the mental strength to control this one.
“All special operatives have been temporarily relieved from their missions and returned to concealment status. We estimate two hundred, sixty operative deaths.”
“The Earthens will notice the tattoos soon, if they haven’t already. Be sure they take care to mask them well.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I’m afraid I also have one thaumaturge death to report.”
Levana looked up, for a moment expecting to catch Sybil’s reflection in the glass, but there was none, not in this window. Not in any of the royal windows. She’d made sure of that. And yet, after all these years, she still wasn’t entirely used to it.
She raised an eyebrow, prompting Sybil to continue.
“Thaumaturge Jael. He was shot in the chest.”
“Jael? It isn’t like him to abandon his sanctuary, even in battle.”
“One of his betas has informed me that Linh Cinder presented herself—it seems he was attempting to apprehend her personally.”
Levana’s nostrils flared and she turned back toward the training grounds, just as the young cub lunged for his mistress. The girl screamed and fell onto her back, before her entire body seized up in concentration. Even from her overlook, Levana could see beads of sweat forming on the girl’s brow, sliding across her temple.
The cub opened his mouth, teeth glinting, then hesitated.
Levana couldn’t tell what was fighting his animal instinct—the thaumaturge grasping for control, or the remnants of a Lunar boy still clinging to the thoughts in his head.
“Jael’s pack has already disbanded, except for the one beta who was found inside the Paris stronghold. I will send Thaumaturge Aimery to retrieve them.”
The cub fell off his mistress, curling into a ball on his side. Trembling. Whimpering. In obvious pain.
Unsteady herself, the thaumaturge climbed to her feet and brushed the black regolith dust from her jacket. The regolith dust was everywhere in these caves—naturally created lava tubes that would never be clear, no matter how long they continued to develop and build within them. Levana hated the dust, the way it clung to her hair and nails, filled up her lungs. She avoided the tubes whenever she could, preferring to stay in the bright, glistening dome that housed Luna’s capital and her palace.
“Your Majesty?” said Sybil.
“No, don’t send Aimery,” she said, her attention glued to the cub as he writhed in pain. Still fighting his mistress’s control. Still struggling to keep his own mind. Still wanting to be a little boy. Not a soldier. Not a monster. Not a pawn. “Let Jael’s pack go. The special operatives have served their purpose.”
Finally, the cub stopped twitching. The fine fur on his cheeks was wet with tears as he lay there, panting.
His mistress’s gaze was fierce, as animalistic as her charges. Levana could almost hear the woman’s orders, even though no words were being spoken. Telling him to get up. To join the line. To obey her.
The boy did. Moving slowly, painfully, he lifted himself up onto his slender legs and shuffled into the line. Head bowed. Shoulders hunched.
Like a scolded dog.
“These soldiers are nearly ready,” Levana said. “Their genetic modifications are complete, their thaumaturges are prepared. The next time we strike against Earth, these men will be leading the attack, and there will be no disguising them.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Sybil bowed—this time Levana felt the respect rolling off her as much as heard it. “And may I also wish you my warmest congratulations on your engagement, My Queen.”
Levana’s left hand curled, her thumb running over the polished stone band on her finger. She always hid it in her glamour. She wasn’t sure that anyone alive knew she still wore it. She herself so often forgot that it was there, but her finger was tingling tonight, since Emperor Kaito’s acceptance of a marriage alliance.