Chapter 44
The morning sun had only just begun its slow ascent above the orchard fields when Evelyne stepped into the clearing where the packs had made their temporary camp.
The air still held the cool hush of dawn, dew clinging to the grass beneath her boots as the first strands of light filtered softly through the trees.
Evelyne paused at the edge of the clearing, letting her gaze move across the gathered wolves. Members of the Ironwolf pack stood loosely in formation, stretching or speaking among themselves as they prepared for the morning’s training, but it was the newer faces that drew her attention most.
The Oathroot pack stood close together, as they so often did, and the moment she entered the clearing, their attention shifted toward her.
Their conversations softened, their movements slowed, and even those who had been facing away turned slightly in her direction, as though waiting for her guidance.
Evelyne released a small breath. She understood their gratitude.
She had helped free them from the tunnels and guide them back to safety, so perhaps it was only natural that they looked to her now.
Still, it felt strange that their attention settled on her rather than Holden, or even the seasoned warriors of Ironwolf.
Perhaps they were simply lost after everything they had endured, shaken and searching for someone to trust. Somehow, impossibly, they seemed to have chosen her.
Lifting her chin, Evelyne stepped into the center of the clearing. “Again,” she called.
At once, the Oathroot wolves returned to their stances.
“Keep your weight grounded,” she instructed, then nodded toward Kaldrek. “And listen carefully to him. To all of Ironwolf, in fact. They know what they are doing.”
They nodded, and Evelyne turned toward Heidara, who was already waiting for her.
It was time to train.
Evelyne met Heidara’s attacks with ease, catching each movement and turning every swing or kick aside with practiced precision.
Around them, the others copied her form while listening closely to Kaldrek’s instructions from the front.
Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder to be certain they were keeping pace.
She had finally learned a few of their names as well.
The dark-haired male to her right was Zade, younger than most and likely near her own age, with overgrown bangs he kept shaking from his eyes as he mirrored her stance.
He moved quickly and instinctively, though his strikes still carried a hint of doubt, as if he had not yet learned to trust his own strength.
Evelyne could tell he’d pick it up soon enough.
He was attentive and clearly willing to learn.
Beside him, Wren adjusted his footing, his long auburn hair tied loosely at his back, his freckles catching the early light across his face.
He looked a few years older than Zade, but the two stayed near one another like very close friends.
Wren watched Evelyne more than his own partner, studying each movement carefully before attempting it himself.
She appreciated that caution and the willingness to understand before rushing into a new maneuver.
Strangely, she also found she did not mind being looked to for guidance.
She no longer felt lost in training. She felt capable and strong.
Kaura, Evelyne had learned, was the middle-aged female who favored silence, though loyalty seemed to live in every line of her.
She stood farther ahead, paired with one of the Ironwolf females, her posture steady and her expression set with determination.
There was strength in her too, and not a trace of uncertainty.
These wolves were not unskilled. They were simply unformed, and until now, unled.
Heidara stepped back from Evelyne and gave a small nod. “You’re getting better.”
“Thanks, though I think my partner is taking it easy on me.”
Heidara grinned, but her attention flicked briefly past Evelyne to where Alaric now approached the clearing.
He had arrived sometime after the others, as he had each morning since returning home. Though he still slept at the Stonebridge estate, it had become something of an unspoken certainty he would be here by sunrise.
As though he belonged.
As though the Ironwolf pack had already claimed him in all but name.
Alaric moved easily into place, offering Kaldrek a brief smile before his attention found Heidara, as it always seemed to do.
At once, her entire manner relaxed, a visible joy rising in her that she made no effort to hide.
Evelyne allowed herself a knowing smile before turning back to the newer wolves and calling for them to begin again.
They obeyed without hesitation, and her attention soon returned to Zade.
He often stood at the front of Oathroot, with the others arranging themselves naturally around him, and yet there was no mark on his skin.
No ink like that worn by Ironwolf, Glaciermaw, or Moonshade.
Nothing to signal rank or bind them as a true pack.
They were something else, something Evelyne could not quite name, and the thought carried her back to the night before, when both groups had gathered near the fire and low flames cast long shadows while conversation drifted between them.
It had been Wren who spoke first.
“We found each other,” he had said simply. “Only a few months ago, perhaps.”
Zade nodded beside him. “Most of us grew up in the western lands, in small family groups. Nothing like Ironwolf. We shifted, hunted, survived, but we were never part of a true pack.”
“Some families live that way,” Kaura added. “My parents always said blood and loyalty mattered more than markings.”
Wren gave a soft huff. “That did not stop us from wondering. Packs always looked at us differently. I suppose that is why we understood one another so quickly.” He gestured toward Kaura and Zade. “We all knew the same emptiness.”
Evelyne understood that more than she wished to admit. Her own story was different, of course. She had Kaldrek now, and through him, Ironwolf had given her a place to belong. Still, that old question of where she truly fit had never vanished entirely.
“As we grew older,” Kaura continued, “our families began finding one another. One by one. The same stories. The same emptiness.”
“It felt as though something had started drawing us together,” Zade said quietly. “Lately, we kept crossing paths.”
“So we stayed,” Wren said with a shrug. “Better to be a pack of nobodies than alone.”
“Oathroot,” Evelyne said, testing the name. “That name was your idea?”
Zade nodded. “It seemed fitting. We made an oath to stand together, no matter what.”
“And here we are,” Wren said, smiling as he hooked an arm around Zade’s shoulders.
“What is left of us,” Kaura added softly.
The fire crackled between them.
“The Noskari took many,” Zade said. “Most during an attack above ground, others in the tunnels before you found us.”
“I am so sorry for what you lost.”
Zade nodded in quiet thanks.
“We do not wish to be alone again,” Kaura said after a moment. “We know we are not Ironwolf, but you welcomed us without question. You saved us. You risked your life to see us free.”
Zade looked directly at Evelyne then. “That matters,” he said firmly.
For a moment, Evelyne said nothing. Then she cleared her throat and gave a small nod. “Oathroot. It is the perfect name.”
Now, Evelyne blinked, the memory dissolving as Heidara’s fist came toward her once more. She caught it swiftly, grounding herself again.
“Focus,” Heidara said gently.
Evelyne nodded, knowing her friend was right. Her mind had been wandering all morning. She tried to settle back into the rhythm of training, into the steady pattern of boots shifting and bodies meeting in practiced drills, when movement along the distant path caught her eye.
She stilled. “What in heaven’s name are they both doing here?” she murmured.
Along the narrow path from Shaw Manor, Aurelia and Cillian were making their way toward the orchard fields, their figures slowly emerging through the golden morning light. The sight pulled Evelyne wholly from the moment.
Aurelia looked exactly as she always had—beautiful, and somehow effortless.
Her autumn day dress was simple by noble standards, but clearly chosen with care, its soft colors warming her complexion and bringing out the faint flush in her cheeks.
Her hair was swept back beneath a light hat, the ribbons tied neatly beneath her chin.
And Cillian…
He no longer looked like the boy she had rescued.
His face was clean-shaven, his hair trimmed and styled in a way that reminded her so sharply of their father that it made her chest ache.
Even the way he carried himself—straight-backed and composed—felt familiar.
His clothing was much like Aron Duskwood’s had once been: well-fitted, simple, and unmistakably noble.
They walked arm in arm, Aurelia leaning slightly toward Cillian as she spoke, her voice too distant to hear but her face bright with animation. He listened patiently, offering the occasional nod, and for a moment they looked almost whole.
As they drew nearer, Evelyne’s attention shifted instinctively toward Kaldrek.
He was sparring with Holden a short distance away, the two moving through a controlled exchange of strikes and blocks.
But the moment Aurelia stepped fully into view, Holden faltered completely.
His footing slipped, his focus shattered, and he landed flat on his backside with a dull thud against the ground.
Kaldrek lowered his hands slowly, one brow rising as he looked down at Holden. Evelyne pressed her lips together, fighting back a smile.
What is wrong with him? she teased through the bond, though part of her already knew. Men had always behaved strangely around Aurelia. She was breathtaking, after all.
He is merely off his game, Kaldrek replied, amusement threading through his voice.