Chapter 7

The whip wounds on Celine's back had not yet scabbed over when the North American Moon Council announced that she had won the art competition.

Her Migration Chart of the Thirteen Moonwells of the North had taken first prize. The notice stated clearly that the original artist had to appear at the Council hall in person for sigil registration, and the prize was enough to keep her on Greytide Island for half a year.

For the first time in ten years, an institution with authority had recognized that her maps were more than "useless paper."

She pressed the fog cloak down into the tidesalt case, meaning to go straight to the Tide Gate after the ceremony. But Cassandra heard the news and insisted the whole family come along.

"Celine's honor is Redridge's honor too." She took Delia's arm, and her smile looked sincere. "I could miss anything but my sister's most important day."

Celine did not object. She wanted to know why Cassandra had suddenly turned generous.

Moon maps from every territory hung in the Council hall. Celine's work occupied the center, its tides, star positions, and moonwell scents picked out in layers of silver thread. The announcer stepped onto the platform and unrolled the award scroll.

"First prize this year, Migration Chart of the Thirteen Moonwells of the North. The artist is the Redridge heir, Cassandra Vail."

Applause filled the hall.

Celine thought she had misheard. Only when Cassandra let go of her hand, lifted her skirt, and climbed onto the platform did she see that the sigil in the lower right corner of the map, the one that belonged to her, had been covered over with a pink-silver mark.

"What's going on?" she asked Gavin.

Gavin avoided her gaze. "Cassandra has never won an art prize. She only wanted to know what it felt like once. The map still carries the Vail name, and the prize money goes into the pack account."

"You changed the signature."

"I used Father's deputy seal. Do not call it theft. It's only one map."

Delia tried to soothe her in a low voice. "There are too many Alphas here today. Do not humiliate your sister in front of them. You can always paint another map."

Warren did not even turn around. "You don't contribute anything else anyway. At least this makes Cassandra look good."

The same people who had dismissed her work as worthless were now stealing it.

Nothing she did mattered to them. Only which daughter received the credit.

And despite everything, the betrayal still cut deep.

She had believed being reborn had emptied their cruelty of its power. She had believed she had stopped hoping for anything from them. But facing it again still sent grief crashing through her.

Rafe came to her side. After one searching glance, he laid a hand on her shoulder and rubbed his thumb along her collarbone. His voice dropped, soft and coaxing. "I know this hurts. Can you let it go for now? The ceremony has already begun, and everyone is watching."

He bent until they were eye to eye, as he once had when coaxing a frozen paintbrush from her hand in the snow. "When this is over, I'll get the prize money back. Every coin will be yours. I'll add more from the Blackwood accounts—enough for all the paints and paper you could ever want."

"Do this for me, little wolf," he said. "Do not make a scene right now."

Celine looked into his eyes. He had been sitting right there while she painted that map. She had traced the tide lines with frostbitten fingers, and he had changed the dressings on them himself. He knew it was hers.

And still he said bear it. Still he said he would make it up to her afterward.

She laughed suddenly.

"You want me to swallow the humiliation so you can buy it off later. To you, the years I worked, my talent, everything they have taken from me—it can all be settled with another gift."

Rafe frowned. "That's not what I meant..."

"Yes, it is."

She did not storm the platform or demand that the announcer stop. The sigil archive preserved the first mark laid on every work. Cassandra could steal the applause; she could not steal the evidence.

Back at Redridge, Celine opened her room and carried everything she had not yet packed to Cassandra's door: old hunting clothes, unsigned studies, Rafe's trinkets, and every leftover her family had handed her over the years.

Cassandra stood at the end of the corridor, and for once there was no smile on her face. "What's this supposed to mean?"

"You like my things, don't you?" Celine shoved the last crate over. "Take them all."

"I borrowed the credit once. Why do you insist on believing the worst of me?"

"Because what you wanted was never the prize." Celine looked at her. "You wanted me to watch with my own eyes while they let you take everything I have."

Something shifted in Cassandra's expression.

Celine did not wait for another lie. She turned and locked the empty room.

One last night until the Tide Gate opened.

There was nothing left in that room worth looking back for.