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Inside a weather-worn hide tent of the Trueflame Tribe, smoke-smudged walls glowed amber in the firelight.
The Wolfmother sat swathed in a snow-white fur cloak, her lithe shape cinched by a silver silk dress. She stretched her long legs, the flames outside painting a faint, quivering red halo over her skin.
Li Yuan met her gaze in silence.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“From my memories,” she replied.
“I think you’re simply afraid the tribes will produce another power to rival you,” Li Yuan said.
Silence pressed in.
“Yes,” the Wolfmother admitted at last, then added, “but that isn’t the whole of it. I don’t want you to lose your mind with grief when your child dies young. Your offspring’s strength matters less than your despair. If you lose control, this frozen...
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