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stayed in control for too long; the hound clan needed to transform regularly, at least once a month. A hound soul also rose in times of great need. But Lukas was safe here, in his room, with just his grandmother.
    Unless—
    â€œWhat do you mean, only you know what I am?” Lukas asked, afraid of the answer.
    Oma looked at him, then shook her gray curls. “You must stay hidden—stay safe—until it’s time. The court can’t know your breed. You can’t tell them. And neither will I.”
    â€œNo,” Lukas said. A begging whine crept in his voice. “Not another secret.” Carrying his terror of the shadows alone was hard enough. It had only been since spring, but it felt like a lifetime to him. Now he had to hide what breed he was? Lukas started to cry. “No!” he wailed loudly. It was too much.
    Hamlin rose all the way and Lukas heard himself snarling at his grandmother.
    It wasn’t a sound he’d heard before. Not even the largest soldier hounds sounded like that, with that deep rumble.
    Some part of Lukas recognized where it came from: A sound from before hounds were civilized, before they’d grown tame.
    He snarled again like a giant wolf, then he nudged Hamlin to the side.
    Let me , he said gently, his tears forgotten.
    Only then did he realize Oma hadn’t moved. She’d gone as still as a field mouse.
    â€œYou are a wonder,” she whispered, her eyes still bright with fear. “No matter what anyone else ever says. You are more than I ever dreamed for. Remember that. You are perfect, a marvel that the fools will never recognize.”
    â€œI will,” Lukas promised, swallowing down the knot that still lingered in his throat. “ We will,” he added. He didn’t want to accept the burden of another secret, but he knew he had to.
    He also already knew what the next day would be like, and cringed, wanting to wail and stomp the ground, but he only wrapped his arms tightly across his chest and shivered.
    The crier would only use Lukas’ name to announce him to the court, and not include any lineage or breed, since they didn’t know.
    All the ministers would wonder and whisper. They’d always question him, his loyalty, his heritage. He’d never follow in Da’s footsteps; the ministers would never let him be king, no matter how brave or strong or smart he was.
    When Lukas turned seven, two years in the future, he’d formally prove to them he was a prince. Only royalty could take on other hound forms.
    It would never be enough.
    However, Hamlin would be there, and together, they would endure.

Chapter Three
    China, 1940s to Present
    Mei Ling
    Mei Ling didn’t like the trader Mama and Papa invited into their little village hut. He smelled too much of bailandi —sour peach brandy—and his crooked smile never met his eyes.
    But the last war had been hard, and the next one was already coming. Chairman Mao had just risen to power. He promised reforms and a great revolution, but according to Grandmama , nothing would ever change in their small village, and the peasants and farmers just needed to accept their fate.
    So Mei Ling didn’t say anything about the trader or his filthy shirt, though she could see the crawling lice from where she sat. That would have been disrespectful, and she’d been beaten enough to have finally learned that.
    Mama and Papa had begged, borrowed, and gone into debt to lay a feast before the trader, trying to drive up their asking price for Mei Ling. On the pretty red and gold hunk of cloth (that they’d borrowed from Aunty Li) lay steamed bamboo leaves wrapped around rice and thick pork sausages, a huge wooden bowl (also from Aunty Li) filled with imported sweet cherries, and a pot full of fatty duck soup with new onions.
    Mei Ling sat in the corner of the front room, reminding herself to keep her eyes on the dirt floor and not stare too much like Papa always accused her