Chapter 19: The First Delivery

POV: GUINE

Every supply I brought into Eclipse Hollow was a promise to myself that I would never again be left with nothing.

The iron-shod wheels of five heavy transport wagons ground against the frost-crusted cobblestones of the lower courtyard, breaking the crisp silence of the early mountain morning. For three days, these wagons had navigated narrow, dangerous mountain passes under the guard of my hired mercenaries, carrying the first wave of bulk provisions I had purchased through discreet third-party brokers.

I stood on the icy steps of the main granary, wrapped in a thick wool mantle lined with dark fox fur, holding a heavy leather ledger and a brass-bound quill.

Mrs. Ashcombe bustled past with two younger scullery maids, her keys jingling loudly against her apron. "Lady Guine, you ought to step inside out of the draft. The cellar hands can log these crates."

"I will log them myself, Mrs. Ashcombe," I replied smoothly, not lifting my eyes from the parchment as I checked off the incoming crates.

I did not oversee every delivery because I doubted the loyalty of my estate staff. I did it because I no longer trusted the world to leave me what was mine. In my first life, I had relied on Kael's promises of protection and my family's assurances of shared duty, only to watch them strip my security out from under me the moment I became inconvenient. Never again. Every sack of hard winter wheat, every cask of salted meat, every barrel of lamp oil, and every crate of silver-leaf medicine brought into these stone cellars was a line of defense forged against the storm I knew was coming.

"Hold!" my mercenary captain shouted near the rear wagon.

A quiet argument broke out near the open gates. Two of the local draymen I had hired from the lower valley were hauling their wooden hand-carts back toward the road, their faces pale, their eyes darting nervously toward the dark pine forest surrounding the northern wall.

I walked down the terrace steps, my boots crunching rhythmically in the light snow. "Is there a problem with your payment?"

The older drayman pulled his woolen cap down over his ears, his hands trembling as he gestured toward the woods. "It ain't the coin, My Lady. It's the air. The valley folk are saying the soil up here is sour. Three men in the lower township came down with that strange silver fever yesterday, and their horses went wild before sunrise. They're saying Eclipse Hollow is cursed."

"We're taking our teams back down the mountain before nightfall," the younger drayman added, his voice tight with panic. "We won't stay on land that's rotting from underneath."

My mercenary captain reached for the hilt of his broadsword, his brow furrowing in anger. "You contracted for three full days of unloading…."

"Let them go," I cut in, lifting a hand to stay my captain.

The two draymen blinked, surprised by my sudden lack of resistance.

Fear was a luxury I could not afford to punish—yet. Panicked men made sloppy work, and forced labor along a vulnerable perimeter was an invitation for sabotage.

"Pay them for the work completed this morning," I instructed the captain calmly. "And replace them with estate hands from the upper ward. If any man wishes to leave before the gates lock at dusk, let him walk. But know this: once those heavy iron gates close tonight, no unverified traveler enters Eclipse Hollow again."

The draymen took their partial coin, bowed hastily, and practically ran through the archway, eager to put miles between themselves and the shadow of the mountain.

By dusk, the cellars were fully loaded, sealed under heavy iron locks, and double-guarded by my mercenaries.

That evening, a bright, swollen moon rose over the sharp stone spires of the fortress, casting long, bruised shadows across the courtyard. The sky was clear, cold, and brilliant with cold stars.

I stood alone on the stone rampart of the northern gatehouse, pulling my glove off my right hand.

Beneath the pale moonlight, the crescent mark on my inner wrist began to burn. It wasn't a sudden, agonizing pain, but a deep, throbbing heat that pulsed beneath my skin in exact rhythm with the silent, heavy breathing of the ancient stone beneath my feet.

I held my hand up against the white moonlight, watching the dark mark shift slightly, glowing with a dull, pitch-black sheen that absorbed the light around it.

I stood alone in the freezing mountain wind and felt the immense, terrifying weight of every choice that had brought me to this high wall. In my first life, I had spent my years preparing for others, sacrificing my comfort for Kael's rank, pouring my coin into my family's endless debts, shrinking my spirit so that Morgause could shine in the center of the room. I had prepared a place for everyone except myself, and when the world burned, they had left me to die in the ash.

This time, every decision was mine. Every grain of wheat, every stone repaired, every drop of power waking in my veins was for survival on my own terms. I was no longer a shadow in another person's story.

A cold gust of wind swept across the battlements, making the heavy velvet of my cloak snap against the stone.

Before I could turn back toward the warmth of the keep, heavy, frantic footsteps scrambled up the wooden stairs of the gatehouse tower.

A young watchman burst onto the rampart, his face ghastly pale in the moonlight, his chest heaving as he clutched the stone railing for support. He was shaking so violently that the iron torch in his grip quivered against the darkness.

"My Lady..." the watchman gasped out, his voice cracking with pure terror as he pointed a trembling finger toward the pitch-black shadows of the northern woods.

"Speak," I commanded, stepping toward him as the dark mark on my wrist throbbed with a sudden, violent flare of heat.

"My Lady... the wolves in the northern woods are howling," the watchman whispered, his eyes wide with horror, "but none of them are shifting."