THE EMERGENCY SESSION

Elaris's POV

Averric prepares to depart just after noon.

He does not attempt to convince me to join him.

I find that I am grateful.

There are no assurances that I should stand trial with him – or that he should attempt to announce anything in the council chamber regarding what has transpired.

'It'll be brief,' Averic says.

'You'll want to stand down before the meeting actually begins.

The council knows already.

There is little need to investigate.'

'You're certain?'

'No.

But I know the law well enough.'

He does not ask me to linger in the manner of a nervous bride on her wedding day.

'More than ever, I will return to you, no matter what,' Averic says, his expression as composed as I've ever known him.

It should not be an oath; but rather, he makes a pronouncement on his own behalf.

While he is dressing, his fingers fumble with the clasp at his throat.

In the mirror, his brow furrows – then his eyes fall to his hands.

There is no adornment save the practical: the clothing chosen for the journey.

What is absent is most surprising.

No wolf, no armor, no insignias, no cape.

He looks almost human.

If there is still something of the beast in Averric, the transformation is so subtle I have trouble recognizing it.

His bearing alone has changed.

Where there once might have been a presence to fill an entire room, there is now only one man.

Still composed. Still capable. Still undeniably Averric.

Yet, he has become something I cannot name.

The healer warned that I would notice the shift eventually.

She did not tell me it would happen this soon, however.

Averic pauses at the doorway.

His fingers trace lightly against the metal of the door.

Then, without another word, he turns to face me.

'You changed your mind,' I say evenly.

He looks down.

'My mind is as firm as ever," Averic replies, his attention on my midsection.

'The child is safe.

you are safe.

That will be enough, Elaris.

That will always be enough," he says quietly.

'This isn't about the title, is it?'

'No.

But the council may decide such claims are best given to another.

They may decide many things.

You will be under no illusion that anything truly belongs to me once I am gone," he says earnestly.

I have no response for that.

Perhaps because it makes complete sense to me.

The council may take the title, the power, the name – perhaps even the woman I love.

They may rearrange this world in any way they see fit.

What they have chosen not to do is forsake a man's claim to the child he elected to save, and that, I think, will always be enough.

Averric touches the door handle, then pauses.

'You must forgive me if I return,' he says.

'Nothing will change,' Averic insists.

Once again, I consider his choice.

Even stripped of the trappings and influence that once defined him, Averric is still as impressive as any man I've ever seen.

But in what matters far more is another sort of power: the gift God has granted him.

The healer warned me it would be difficult to understand eventually.

Perhaps not because I will no longer see him as king.

But rather, because it seems increasingly likely I have never truly seen him at all.

Averric steps out into the road, vanishing toward the horizon as the morning cold seeps around the edges of my chamber.

Neryss sees him depart, her expression carefully composed until the distant figure is out of sight.

I sit in stunned silence as the house seems to expand around me.

Hours pass slowly: Neryss tends the fire, packs provisions and scans the horizon while I do what I am told.

Drink. Eat. Rest.

But the sensation is unfamiliar to me: to experience balance in my body once again.

The child moves often: a constant reminder that the bond is strong enough to continue.

I place my hand against my abdomen when it happens.

Neryss occupies herself.

She scours the streets when she should be resting, replenishing the fire, preparing light victuals and double-checking the locks on the doors.

We say little about the council.

What can we say?

There is nothing we can do from this place.

The hours blur.

Late afternoon delivers the first news.

A mounted courier from the outer settlements arrives on our street, but not at our door.

Neryss meets him and they linger only for a brief conversation before she re-enters the house.

'The council session has begun,' Neryss reports, closing the door behind her.

I glance up from my reading.

'That is all you knew?' I ask.

The woman nods.

The message was simple.

'Very simply put, the main hall has been closed to all but council members," she says.

'And now they are expecting us outside of the grounds.'

'Aren't you being a bit dramatic?' I ask.

'No,' she replies.

'Not really.

They know something happened, certainly.

Word travels fast in these parts.

Once an Alpha, respected and feared throughout these lands, has vanished in the space of a fortnight, rumors are bound to reach every settlement before morning.

Some say Averric resigned. Some say he was deposed. They cannot know for certain what has happened, but they know that something has.'

Neryss pauses.

I nod.

That is the nature of information in societies where it is shared among friends and neighbors.

'What does it matter to us?' I ask.

Neryss smiles faintly. 'Actually, quite a lot.

The council has the votes necessary to make a decision.

So we wait,' she says.

I think of the countless nights I have spent in judgment halls, watching as life after life is decided with little regard for the individuals involved.

It does not matter what circumstances led to Caedmon Rhyvek's verdict that night, only that the majority reached it first.

What does it matter here, now, when Caedmon himself stands behind the council table?

I think of my time in the capital, and the long, agonizing wait for news of my fate.

I thought I had reached peace with Caedmon's decision.

I still do.

But it does not change the fact that, no matter what the council decides for Averric tonight, I will be responsible for carrying the weight of that decision for the rest of my life.

What I am not prepared for is not judgment so much as rejection.

If what I understand is right, I chose a new kind of life for myself yesterday when I placed him in your care.

Today, tomorrow and every day thereafter will be difficult, too; not from the judgment of men, but from the disappointment of a woman in myself.

I allow myself a long, shuddering breath.

No arguments in favor of my position come readily.

The council does not require my support, not any more than I will offer theirs.

They do not want my sympathy, certainly, nor my interference in what has happened to him.

The evening creeps on.

The road remains empty.

Neryss builds another fire, then reminds me to eat a little something as a matter of principle.

I return to the familiar chair near the blaze, and count the slow, steady undulations of life under my hand to distract myself from thoughts I would rather not entertain.

I should not count them at all, of course.

But one.

Then another.

I refuse to measure time in the days.

Each time I find myself watching the road beyond the window, I turn away.

Averric has promised to return, no matter what.

It is true that I should not expect otherwise.

But I do.

No matter what, I cannot control events in this house.

For once, I choose not to intervene in a man's life, even in his own defense.

That seems almost a relief.

Long past sundown, I hear the distant sound of a horse.

Neryss reaches the window first – 'someone is coming.

' A single rider pulls up beside our residence, observing the same standards of decorum enforced by Averric following his exile.

But the rider does not call for an attendant.

He stops twenty paces from the front door and allows no one else to approach.

Even at this distance I recognize the man.

Averric kneels at the threshold.

Neryss unlocks the door before he comes inside, revealing a weary traveler who bears no escort of any kind.

'I didn't expect you so soon,' I say.

He looks drawn, but not as though he has not slept at all.

'My own guards have gone, but that doesn't mean I can simply leave you here,' Averric replies.

He does not wait for a response, not because I need time to compose myself, but because neither of us has the luxury of saying very much at all.

The air has changed between us: last night we stood in the same room, speaking in hushed tones about his plans for my protection.

This morning, he departed this place for the last time, knowing already that he would not have the right to return.

The silence stretches for a moment – then Averic speaks, his tone oddly measured.

I should be angry with him, perhaps.

But I am not.

'Your verdict has come,' I say.

'Have they decided?' It is the only question I can think to ask.

'No.

They decided.

That is different.

Averric sits on the floor near me, his expression carefully composed.

The council has dismissed him, Elaris,' he says evenly.

This is not an accusation, merely a statement of fact.

'When?'

'Right now.

'What do you mean?'

Averic shakes his head.

'There will be others.

A man's title may live on, but not the power it usually commands.

For the time being, an interim authority will be appointed to rule with the pack until such time as the council sees fit to declare a new successor,' he says, his tone almost wistful.

The pack will have no leader in the traditional sense.

Averric has refused to fight the council, knowing full well that he would lose anyway.

'You could have argued against their decision,' I say pointedly.

'No.

Because they were correct in at least one matter,' Averic replies, his eyes finding mine.

I am silent.

It took him days to come to this decision on his own.

He has made it now because of what has happened last night, and because he realizes yesterday he has no wolf within him to defend you, or me, or the child.

'Elaris,' he says.

What I was thinking is written plainly on my face. What he says next takes all of my breath away:

'I no longer have what the law requires of a man such as I.'

He is no longer king.

He is no longer Alpha.

But there is no disappointment in his voice.

Even more surprising, there is no resentment.

Perhaps it is only fitting, after all this time, that a man should understand what others have not.

Averric has learned to separate power and strength from character – and he is almost smiling at the realization.

'What will they decide?' I ask.

Averric exhales, then shrugs.

'It has not been made clear to me yet.

But there is something else.

The name is familiar enough, though one I have not thought of in years.

'Caedmon Rhyvek was in attendance,' Averric says.

He watches my reaction closely, but I am unprepared for this remark.

'Why?' I ask.

'I suppose word spread fairly quickly that you had found the child.

Caedmon took it upon himself to witness your trial,' Averic said at last.

'Did he defend you?' I ask, trying desperately not to sound like a jealous lover.

'No.

Did he condemn you?' Averric shakes his head.

'He said nothing at all,'

A chill runs through me at his words.

'Averric, why tell me this?'

'The council asked him to remain after the meeting was adjourned.

It was not a matter of his choice,' Averric replies, gazing into my eyes now.

I am not sure what to say in response.

Neryss has paused where she was tending the fire, and the faint crackling of wood fills the silence that stretches suddenly between us.

'I think I understand why he wants you to know," I reply, finally.

Caedmon's presence at the trial is not surprising in the least.

What is difficult for me to swallow is what he has chosen to do next.

Since Averric left the palace last night, the council has been left to its own devices.

I have barely spoken with the man in weeks, yet he is already returning to the capital in search of my assistance – now that Averric no longer has it.

I place my hand lightly against my midsection.

The child moves in response.

For the first time since our departure from the capital city, I wonder if this little house and its thick walls can truly keep us all safe.

It is not only our lives that are at risk: it is everything we have ever believed ourselves to be, and I do not think the old palace will survive the strain of a new beginning for all of us.

I watch a dark cloud build ominously across the sky, and the first drops of rain strike the window pane as I consider what that cloud means for my future here in this place.