2 #3
“Master Barel signed the preliminary appraisal this afternoon,” Maevra was saying.
The scrape of metal and the click of a latch engaging carried through the door.
“But the sale cannot be concluded within the district. The local registrar fears the inheritance clauses Elayne entered into the parish ledger.”
“And what does a village clerk matter?” Celene asked impatiently. “You hold the house seal.”
“The house seal is not enough when there is a clause of direct lineage.” Maevra sighed, a dry, grating sound that betrayed more exhaustion than she ever showed by daylight.
“I had to pull the original will from the office archives. If that document falls into the hands of an honest clerk, the court in Asteria will demand Liora appear in person to certify that she surrenders the land of her own free will.”
My mouth went dry. My back pressed flat against the wood of the linen press.
“Liora will never sign it away,” Celene said with venomous contempt. “She’d rather watch the plum trees rot than give you her signature.”
“She will not need to sign.” Maevra’s voice drew nearer, accompanied by the rustle of papers being packed into a trunk.
“I will take the will to the citadel. During the Solstice Gala, the Royal Alchemists and Crown notaries open the chancery at Vhal to ratify dowry titles for the houses presenting candidates. With the sworn testimony of two physicians certifying her mental incapacity and her status as an unfit Beta, the Council will strike Elayne’s clause within ten minutes. ”
“And the appendix?” Celene asked after a short pause. “The parchment wrapped in the waxed cloth.”
“That sheet will not leave my jewel box until the sale is settled.”
“What is on it, Mother? You never let me read it.”
“It contains proof that Elayne was a fool who brought the blood of an outlawed pack beneath this roof. If the guard lays eyes on that parchment before we seal your alliance with the court, they will accuse us all of harboring a rebel. Once the sovereign accepts your candidacy and the parcel is sold to Barel, I will burn that appendix in the hearth at the citadel.”
Silence reclaimed the room. The heavy thud of a trunk lid closing was followed by the grating turn of the lock.
“Go to sleep now, Celene,” Maevra said. “We load the carriages tomorrow. In three days we will be in Asteria, and your life on this estate will be behind you.”
I slipped backward as quietly as a shadow.
I didn’t look down. I didn’t look back at the seam of light. I tiptoed across the corridor, climbed the spiral stairs to my room beneath the eaves, and slid the wooden bolt home before sinking to my knees on the straw pallet.
My heart slammed against my ribs with wild fury.
The will wasn’t in the traveling escritoire.
Maevra had stowed it in the great trunk bound for Asteria tomorrow morning.
She was taking it straight to Vhal Citadel—to the very halls where royal notaries stripped blood rights with the stroke of a Council pen that cared only for alliances and Alpha titles.
If that carriage left the estate, I would never see the parchment again. My mother’s land would pass to Barel, my name would vanish from the rolls of Eryndor, and my life would be ground down to servitude in someone else’s kitchen until my body gave out under another dose of tainted suppressants.
And the appendix. The document naming Elayne’s outlawed blood—the real reason my mother had taught me to bury my scent from the time I was a child.
I reached into my sleeve and drew out the brass key and the blue wax flake. I squeezed them in my fist until the cold brass bit into my skin.
I couldn’t recover the will here. Maevra would watch those trunks until the moment they were hoisted onto the carriage.
The only way to reclaim it was to enter Vhal Citadel before the notaries ratified the sale. To get into the Solstice Gala—amid Eryndor’s nobility, the Royal Alchemists, and a primal Alpha sovereign whose guard executed impostors without trial.
Yet I had no invitation.
I had no silk gown, no certified pedigree. And my body, worn thin by years of cheap doses, gave off the bitter scent of a sickly Beta that any gate guard would turn away without a second thought.
The memory of a narrow door, hidden beneath a crumbling apothecary in the outskirts of Asteria, struck me like a blast of cold wind.
Soren Nhal.
The physician expelled from the royal guild for selling illicit formulas to river smugglers. According to the stable hands—when they thought no one was listening—he could alter the scent of a wolf for the right price.
I rose from the pallet and walked to the high casement.
Through the fogged glass, the royal road disappeared west into the mist, winding toward the stone towers of Vhal Citadel that jutted against the night like a row of blackened teeth.
I touched the brass collar pressing tight against my throat.
“I can bear it,” I whispered against the icy glass.
This time, it wasn’t a lie to quiet Oria.
It was a promise of war.