Claude had called himself a victim in his first letter, and now she was going to find out what he was a victim of, and why Jamie’s mother was part of this.

Tracing each image, Lottie caught her breath. Picking up the blank envelope and turning its contents out, she whispered, ‘I’m ready,’ but she knew it was a lie.

A single square of card fell out, and on it was written the exact question that haunted Lottie whenever she looked at Jamie. Why is Jamie your Partizan?

It was written in a seductively elegant script. The answer was on the other side, the ink bleeding through the card. She’d got the answer wrong in the summer when Ingrid had asked her, foolishly believing his tie to the Wolfsons was purely out of obligation. She knew better now, and she had the scar Ingrid had given her on her skin as a reminder.

Still, Lottie was too afraid to turn over the card. Instead she pulled out the folded paper that remained nestled in the envelope, and with shaky fingers she unfolded it.

Lines upon lines revealed themselves, each one forming a branch in a tree of names spanning back through centuries.

One name caught her eye in a flash: Eleanor Wolfson. This was the Wolfson family tree. But it wasn’t Ellie’s name that sent the world spinning. It was the lines that extended above and around her, threads like a spider’s silk twisting around every name and trapping them in their web of secrets.

Ellie had always said she was the only heir to the throne. That she had no cousins or siblings. That it all fell on her. Yet the threads revealed the dark truth. Beside Ellie was the name of a boy Lottie knew so well, and now the strings on the paper linked them by blood.

The truth bloomed in front of her. The name beside Ellie’s was Jamie Volk, and, above him, two names declared him their child: Claude Wolfson and Hirana Rajput.

There was no denying it. Claude was Jamie’s father.

Claude burst forth in her mind. His eyes, Jamie’s eyes. The fiery gold and emerald green swirling together like a forest fire. The two became one, the twitch of his lips, the demons that lurked somewhere beyond his stare.

Blinking away a tear, Lottie gripped the card, her throat thick. Why is Jamie your Partizan?

She choked, imagining she held the knife that would cut all their ties. Gritting her teeth, she bit down hard, bracing herself. On the reverse of the card, written like a stab in the centre, was the answer.

As punishment.

25

Lottie burst through her bedroom door, her heart racing so fast she thought it might beat out of her chest. ‘We need to book a trip back to Maradova. You, me and Jamie. I must speak to your parents.’