Chapter 17
ELOWEN
Herbal identification lab passes in a blur of cataloging and root structure analysis the following morning. Professor Robbins compliments my technique with scent-extraction, says I have an intuitive understanding of methodology.
Inherited from Asha, though she doesn't know that.
Yet.
The library is quieter at midday. Most students are in classes or claiming lunch spots.
Julian's at the same corner table. But this time he's surrounded by significantly more books. Texts spread across two tables, notes covering every available surface.
He looks up when I approach. Disheveled. Coffee cups multiplying. Eyes bright with discovery.
"You didn't sleep?" I sit down beside him. Unlike Julian, I slept more soundly than I have since I arrived at Elderwood.
"I kept finding more." He gestures at the controlled chaos around him.
"Elowen, she was a student here." He's already pulling documents, dates from the 1880s.
“Asha Rowan enrolled at Elderwood Academy in 1885.
She studied for three years." He shows me registration papers.
Her signature matches the handwriting I know from Mira's old recipe cards.
My great-great-grandmother walked through these halls.
"She received the highest marks in scent-based herbal applications." Julian's flipping through records with barely contained excitement. "Granted special research privileges, which was unusual for omegas at the time. Faculty notes describe her as exceptional and innovative."
Reading over his shoulder, her name appears again and again in academic contexts.
"Mira never mentioned this."
"Perhaps she didn't know." Julian opens another book. "Or perhaps what happened next made the family want to forget."
He slides a journal across the table. Old leather binding, pages yellowed with age.
"Asha kept research journals. The academy archived them when she left."
When she left.
Her handwriting fills the margins, notes on scent-binding techniques, observations about plant compound interactions, questions she was pursuing.
Then I find an entry dated 1887:
The academy values my knowledge but questions my methods.
They appreciate scent-based medicine when it produces results but resist when I suggest it deserves equal standing with heat-based preparations.
Professor Whitmore says I am innovative but unconventional.
I believe he means it as a compliment and as criticism.
My chest tightens.
"Keep reading," Julian says.
Faculty meeting minutes from 1888. Formal, dry, bureaucratic.
Discussion regarding Asha Rowan's proposed research into scent-binding techniques for medicinal compounds. Motion to approve denied. Concerns raised about 'unorthodox methodology' and 'lack of traditional precedent.' Vote: 8-2 against approval.
They rejected her.
She wanted to research the very methods I use now, and they said no.
Julian found more. A personal letter, archived in student correspondence records.
My dearest friend will understand. I have met someone.
An alpha from the highland territories. His pack does not attend Elderwood, but he came to town for trade.
When I showed him my work, he saw value, not strangeness.
When I told him the academy denied my research proposal, he asked why I would stay where my gifts are questioned.
I had no answer that satisfied either of us.
Tears sting my eyes. She didn't only leave for love.
She left because they wouldn't let her work.
"There's one more." Julian slides the final document forward. Academy departure record, dated late 1888.
Asha Rowan withdrew from studies, final term. Reason given: personal circumstances. Note added by Dean Hartwell: "Significant loss to our herbal research program. Her unconventional approaches, while not yet accepted by faculty consensus, showed remarkable promise."
Too little acknowledgment, too late.
"But look what happened after." Julian spreads out more texts. References from medical journals spanning decades. "She established a healing clinic in the valleys. Her scent-based methodologies were documented, published, eventually adopted by institutions throughout the region."
Including Elderwood.
The irony settles heavy and satisfying.
"It's not just documented," Julian continues, pulling more texts. "It became foundational."
Teaching manual from 1902: Students of scent-based herbal medicine should first master the Rowan principles...
Academic recognition from 1910: The Rowan system has been successfully integrated into herbal medicine curricula at seventeen institutions...
Modern reference, recent publication: Contemporary scent-based herbal practice owes significant debt to Asha Rowan's systematic framework, which remains foundational to the field.
Seventeen institutions. Still foundational. Over a century later.
"She didn't just practice. She created a teaching system. She proved she was right," I manage past the tightness in my throat.
"She did. And you're continuing that work. But you get to stay."
The parallel hits fully.
Asha left an institution that limited her, chose one alpha, built something new elsewhere.
I'm staying at an institution that welcomes me, choosing three alphas, building something new here.
Both valid. Both acts of self-determination shaped by different circumstances.
"Thank you." I face Julian across the scattered documents. "For finding this. For caring enough to look."
"I wanted to understand what shaped you." His pale eyes are steady. "Your lineage isn't just recipes passed down. It's courage. Innovation. Choosing authenticity over acceptance."
Before I can respond, someone clears their throat nearby.
Calder and Tyler stand at the end of the table.
"Julian texted." Tyler's gaze sweeps across the documents. "Said we needed to see this."
Watching them read Asha's story creates unexpected intimacy.
Calder reads slowly, carefully, absorbing every detail. His jaw tightens when he reaches the faculty rejection.
Tyler reads faster, eyes widening at her enrollment, expression crumpling at the denial, soft smile appearing at the mountain alpha's question.
Julian watches all of us, taking mental notes about how we process information together.
Pack behavior in small moments.
"Thank god the world changes," Tyler says. "Imagine if Elderwood still operated like that. We wouldn't have consent theory classes. Pack formation ethics wouldn't exist. You wouldn't be able to research what you're brilliant at."
Julian's already organizing documents into neat stacks. "The academy evolved, partially because practitioners like Asha proved alternative methodologies worked. She couldn't change the institution from within. But she changed what came after."
I'm benefiting from her courage.
"We should celebrate." Tyler's grin returns. "Your grandmother being a certified badass. Your lineage. This entire discovery."
“My best gift?” Julian asks without cracking a smile. “Again.”
We all laugh.
The walk to Elderwood Hollow is comfortable.
October afternoon bright and clear, leaves crunching underfoot in amber and gold.
The town appears ahead. Small, charming, autumn decorations hanging from lamp posts.
Hearth and Honey sits on the main street, warm light glowing through windows, the smell of fresh bread drifting out when someone opens the door.
We sit by the window. Afternoon sun streaming in, the table just big enough for all of us without feeling cramped.
We order without consulting menus. Calder gets soup and homemade sour dough. Tyler requests the roasted vegetable sandwich. Julian asks for autumn salad. I choose quiche and chamomile tea.
The food arrives quickly, steam rising from hot dishes, bread still warm from the oven.
Then the sharing starts.
Tyler immediately steals a piece of Calder's sour dough. Gets a mock glare in return, completely unrepentant.
Calder slides his soup bowl toward me. "Try this." I do. Rich, savory, perfect for October weather.
Julian adds honey to my tea without asking; he knows exactly how I take it.
"So," Tyler says between bites. "What are you going to do with this information? About Asha?"
"Research her methods more thoroughly. See what else I can learn."
Julian's already thinking ahead. "The academy has research grants now. For innovative herbal methodology. You should apply."
"Build on what she started," Calder adds quietly. "Here. Where they'll actually support it."
“Maybe she won’t be the only Rowan to make a lasting impression.” Tyler finds my hand and squeezes.
I peer out of the window, half-expecting to see Gideon Stockwell skulking about looking for omegas from Elderwood to interview.
He isn’t there, but his presence is. Or maybe it’s simply because I haven’t spoken to him since my conversation with Olivia.
I don’t want to crush his hopes of proving his sister’s death was hushed up, but I’m aware I have nothing concrete for him.
“I gave Grandma’s chamomile blend to Olivia,” I announce to the table. They all stare at me. “When she got sick, I was scared. It was Lila’s idea, and I wanted to help.”
Calder is first to speak. “You believe there’s some truth in Gideon Stockwell’s claims.”
Deep breath. “I don’t know.” Something is niggling away at me about Olivia’s situation, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. Something she isn’t telling me. “I spoke to him.”
That gets a reaction. They all sit forward, Calder’s fists clenched on the table.
“When?” Tyler asks.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Calder.
“He obviously told you something that resonated,” Julian says.
“My heat was imminent, and I was panicking. A little.” I shrug. “And… I want to help him too. If I can.”
They’re all quiet. Finally, Julian says, “Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”
“As long as you keep us in the loop.” Calder is firm.
“We’re coming with you next time.” Tyler steals the last piece of Calder’s sour dough.