Iola sat the chair on the fifth day of the visit.
She was young about twenty, only slightly older than Aria. She came from one of the scattered packs Helsa had located and Vael had returned to the homeland, a small group hidden deep in the northern forests for five centuries, preserving the old bloodline without understanding its purpose. Iola had grown up thinking she was simply a quiet girl who occasionally knew things before they happened.
Cress sensed the power in her the moment the column reached the camp. That first night, she pointed her out across the fire.
“That one,” Cress had said, nodding toward Iola. “She carries it. Strongly. Possibly stronger than me. The northern packs kept the line purer than the southern circles ever managed no dilution, no broken pairing, just centuri
