Though her mother had lived in a pack most like a jungle—vibrant verdant green and lazy humid heat—Kirastasia’s father came from cold places, lands of frost and snow . . . and these were the genes that reigned strongest within her. The icy princess may have grown up in the doldrums of Malignant Felicity, yet her body determined she was best suited for crisp tundra springs and harsh winters. Her luxuriant ivory robes, though she’d shed much of her underlayers considerably, still weighed on her frame as summer poured over the land. Kira tired easily, nodding off in rays of syrupy golden sunshine, warmth sapping what was left of her energy. Because—let’s be honest—the seductress had very little of that to spare. Her pups, those three perfect darlings with half her genetics, were more like leeches than wolves. Voracious. Selfish. Needy. They were constantly hungry, cold, demanding, running around, sleeping in bundles. Oh, they were very cute . . . and sometimes, when Kirastasia gazed upon them in all their youthful perfection, she felt her heart swell painfully in her chest with extravagant adoration. For these children, she would murder in cold blood. The thought of anyone harming a single hair on their colorful pelts stabbed her with a savage rage that often took her by surprise. My babies. Mine. A gift from dearest, lovely Drizzt.

But could one blame Kira for getting bored sometimes? For needing a break? For just . . . walking away while they were asleep, and returning at an indeterminate time when she felt like it? It wasn’t as if she were abandoning them, not like Queens had abandoned her. This was different, because Kirastasia always came back. And when she did play with her pups, and groom them, and find them treats to stuff their gullets with, she let them know explicitly and lavishly how much she loved them all.

Right now, dozing lightly in a pool of lemon-yellow sun, Kira let her progeny use her like a patient jungle gym. Occasionally someone would tug on her tail; someone else nibbled her ears; another skipped between her splayed paws, testing their strength. Through it all, the new mother merely smiled a distant, contented grin, her amber eyes half-lidded and serene. Only when an unexpected howl broke the birdsong silence did Kirastasia jolt upright, ears erect and hackles prickling. “Lady Milo has returned?” The vipera woman harbored a soft spot for the pretty alphess . . . if one could call her an “alphess.” “Crusoe, Ambrosia, Lotus—come on! Our sweet leader has come back to her kingdom a long last. We should give her a proper welcome.” With a delicious stretch of her shimmering reptilian limbs, Kira bounded into the woods toward the source of the call—expecting all three pups to be obediently on her heels.

Of course Kahlan was there before anyone else, toting along her boys. Kira refused to think of the little monsters as her half-brothers . . . sharing even half of their blood with Kershov made them odious, disgraceful competition. But outwardly the creamy damsel was all friendliness and poise, brazenly brushing against her beloved ex-healer before taking a spot fully across from her, smudging a kiss across Milo’s cheek before she sat. “Miss Milo! What pretty pink feathers you have! They suit you rather nicely.” She flicked her honeyed stare toward where her pups should have been, adding as an afterthought: “I have had three children in your absence. They are Ambrosia, Crusoe, and Lotus. Sired by Drizzt . . . a Tempest.”