Chapter 37
“Alaric… are you quite certain this is the correct way?” Evelyne asked softly as the pack drew near the outskirts of Velenshire.
Alaric slowed and looked back at her. “You doubt it?” he asked. “Yes, of course it is. We grew up here. What troubles you?”
Evelyne hesitated. The question felt foolish once spoken. They were deep enough within the southern territories now that if anyone knew the proper road into Velenshire, it would be Alaric.
Still, something was not right.
The path stretched ahead, strewn with fallen leaves and loose stones.
Soon the ground beneath their feet would give way to the familiar cobblestones of the city streets.
She should have found comfort in that, in the thought that home lay only moments ahead.
Instead, the air seemed to press against her.
There was a tension before them, as though an unseen barrier lingered on the road and urged them elsewhere. Every instinct pulled her slightly to the left.
A warning.
Or perhaps it was a test, as Evelyne was not the only one unsettled. Cillian walked beside her with the same faint crease between his brows, and behind them several of the Oathroot wolves shifted uneasily. At last, one of them spoke.
“I do not believe this is the right way,” the male said.
“Are you from Caltheris as well?” Alaric asked, his voice edged with agitation. “Velenshire? Rosewyth?”
“No, but… I cannot explain it. It only feels as though we ought to go a little farther east.”
“With all due respect, you are mistaken. Velenshire lies this way. Why are you all behaving so strangely?”
Evelyne had no words for the feeling and the Ironwolf wolves remained silent.
None of them had ever ventured this far south before; Velenshire was little more than a name to them, perhaps even the stuff of stories.
And from what little Evelyne had gathered of the Oathroot pack, most had been raised along the western edges of the southern territories, drifting between villages and forest settlements without ever truly belonging to a pack.
Alaric gave a small shake of his head. “This is the way into Velenshire. I know it.”
Evelyne studied him for a moment, then nodded. Alaric would get them home.
They pressed forward, following the trail as it sloped through a small stand of trees and opened at last into a wide meadow.
Beyond it, half-veiled by thinning branches, the outskirts of Velenshire came into view—the first rooftops lifting above the orchard lines, a pale ribbon of smoke curling into the late-afternoon sky.
Home. The sight of it stirred a fragile sense of relief. Perhaps Alaric had been right. Perhaps they had only needed to move beyond that strange, lingering wrongness.
Then he stopped. Behind them, both packs slowed and fell still, boots and paws quieting in the grass. For a moment, Alaric said nothing, only stared toward the distant town.
“We can’t all walk in there like this,” he said at last, turning to face them.
His gaze swept over the assembled group of the Ironwolf pack and the battered remnants of Oathroot. Some still bruised, some still filthy from the tunnels. Most dressed in travel leathers and scavenged clothing that would draw every eye in Velenshire’s tidy streets.
“If we marched into the city as we are,” he continued in a calm voice, “we’d have half the town watching us before we reached the market square.”
The sun had started to set and soon the sky would be black, but he was right. The bustling market did not sleep and the cobblestones and shops would be lit up for everyone to see.
Evelyne glanced at Kaldrek. He stood with his arms folded, saying nothing, while Alaric continued.
“There is a field just past the orchard lands,” he said, gesturing across the meadow.
“The Shaw estate keeps grazing land there. It is quiet and tucked away enough that travelers pass through without much notice. We can make camp there and blend into the countryside until I have spoken with Lord and Lady Shaw.”
Several of the Oathroot wolves exchanged glances before nodding their agreement.
“They are good people,” Alaric added. “If anyone will help us shelter everyone safely, it will be them.”
As the plan took shape, Evelyne’s attention shifted to Holden. He had been standing slightly apart from the others, arms loose at his sides, his gaze fixed resolutely anywhere but near Aurelia, though he had clearly heard every word. The moment Alaric finished, he stepped forward.
“I will take them there.”
Alaric gave a quiet nod and told him to follow the stream until it bent south, where the meadow lay just beyond the orchard fence. Holden inclined his head once, then turned at once to the gathered wolves.
“You heard him. Let’s move.”
He seemed almost relieved to lead them away from the road to Velenshire, and Evelyne could not help noticing how quickly he assumed command, directing Ironwolf and Oathroot alike with calm authority as he divided the group and guided them toward the open countryside.
He never once looked back. Evelyne frowned, though she said nothing.
Within minutes the two packs were moving across the field, spreading through the grass in an orderly line, with Holden at their head, shoulders set as he led them toward the distant orchard trees.
He had accepted Alaric’s instructions without question, almost too readily, and Evelyne watched until the last of them vanished into the tall grass.
She looked back to the narrow road leading into Velenshire. The air still pressed oddly against her senses, but there was no denying where it led. This was home.
“They will be looking at us, you know,” Aurelia said, gesturing to the borrowed leathers draped over her shoulders.
Evelyne couldn’t help smiling. Seeing her sister standing on her own two feet again—skin nearly healed, color returned to her face—felt like a small miracle.
“Well, let us hope we do not come upon anyone we know,” Evelyne said, lightly biting the inside of her cheek. “Still, you are right—we cannot very well present ourselves looking armed to the teeth.” Her eyes moved over the others before coming to rest on Kaldrek. “We ought to hide the daggers.”
Kaldrek laughed.
“Oh, sweetheart… absolutely not.”
“I am not asking you to surrender them,” Evelyne said. “Only to conceal them. There are no threats here.”
“There are threats everywhere.”
Her finger tapped once against the hilt at her side, a small sign that her patience was now beginning to fray.
Kaldrek’s eyes widened as though he found her request absurd, but at last he gave an exaggerated sigh and began pulling the daggers from his belt one by one.
His gaze never left hers as he did, those dark eyes fixed so intently on her that the moment felt far too intimate for the others standing nearby, waiting on their next move.
Warmth stirred low in her chest. Evelyne cleared her throat, and Kaldrek’s mouth curved into a smirk.
“And what of his markings?” Aurelia asked, gesturing toward the bold lines of Kaldrek’s Ironwolf and alpha markings.
Heidara bore similar ones, though hers were less pronounced.
“They do make you look rather handsome, Kaldrek,” Aurelia added, “but I cannot imagine the townsfolk will look kindly upon such… bold declarations.”
“That is very kind of you, Aurelia,” Kaldrek replied, his voice even, “but I am taken.”
She sighed. “Ah yes, so I have heard. I confess, I am quite jealous. Cillian has already given me the broadest outline, though I look forward very much to hearing the full account from you, sister.”
Evelyne frowned. “Jealous, Aurelia? And what of Leopold?”
The brightness in Aurelia’s eyes dimmed almost instantly. For a moment she looked as though a memory had struck her square in the chest.
“He wasn’t particularly fond of claws,” she said lightly, though the small shrug did little to hide the shadow behind it.
Evelyne winced. “How awful.”
Alaric cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon for interrupting,” he said, “but it would perhaps be wiser to agree upon a plan before we enter Velenshire drawing more notice than we should.”
“No, you’re right,” Evelyne said. “We can reminisce later.” She looked around. “Daggers hidden. Perhaps we enter the town in smaller groups?”
“And your broken betrothal?” Aurelia asked, all sweetness as her eyes found Alaric. “Does everyone here know you’ve called it off?”
“Well, this is quite messy, isn’t it?” Cillian said with a grin.
Kaldrek dropped into the grass without warning and laced his hands behind his head as though settling in for an afternoon nap. Every eye turned toward him.
His brows lifted, as though the attention had caught him off guard. “It seems we may be here a while as the rest of you untangle your lives,” he said. “I thought I might sit.” He gave a lazy gesture to the ground around him. “Please. Continue.”
Evelyne rolled her eyes.
“Again, we cannot simply walk into Velenshire like this,” Alaric said at last. “We look like a band of mercenaries.”
“A very handsome band of mercenaries,” Aurelia corrected, brushing a stray leaf from her hair.
Kaldrek snorted.
Evelyne folded her arms. “What do you propose?”
Alaric’s expression brightened in a way she knew all too well. A plan had already formed; now he merely meant to pull the rest of them along with it.
“We enter the city properly,” he said.
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Heidara asked, glancing at their worn clothes and mud-streaked boots.
Alaric turned to Aurelia with a polished smile. “Lady Aurelia and I shall begin by correcting the most obvious problem.”
A spark of excitement crossed Aurelia’s face. “Shopping?”
“Precisely.”
Evelyne blinked. “Shopping.”
“If we arrive dressed as we are,” Alaric said, “every guard and shopkeeper in Velenshire will notice.”
Aurelia considered him. “You did once dress very well.”
Heidara leaned in, eyeing him from head to toe. “I can almost imagine it. Beneath all that dirt.”
Alaric sighed. “Your confidence in me is deeply moving.”