Chapter 37: Mother's Heart

Ysabella POV

The cottage was warm.

That was the first thing Ysabella noticed when she woke, curled on a pile of blankets near the hearth. The fire had burned low during the night, but someone had fed it while she slept. Orange flames danced across fresh logs, casting flickering shadows on the wooden walls.

She blinked, disoriented. For a moment, she did not remember where she was. The ceiling was lower than her chambers in the castle. The air smelled of herbs and bread instead of candle wax and stone.

Then she saw Tori.

Her friend sat cross legged on the floor across from her, a cup of tea in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. Isaac was sprawled across Tori's lap, still half asleep, his dark curls sticking up in every direction. He clutched his wooden wolf to his chest and mumbled something about Fenris needing breakfast.

Ysabella smiled. The sight filled her chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

"Good morning," Tori said, her voice soft. "You slept like the dead."

"I feel like the dead." Ysabella pushed herself up, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. "What time is it?"

"Past dawn. The snow has stopped."

Ysabella looked toward the window. The glass was frosted over, but she could see pale light filtering through, bright and clean. The storm had finally passed.

She sat up properly, running her fingers through her tangled hair. Isaac lifted his head and stared at her with those golden eyes, so like his father's. Then he smiled, a gap toothed grin, and held out his wooden wolf.

"Fenris says good morning."

Ysabella laughed. "Tell Fenris good morning for me."

Isaac nodded solemnly and returned to whispering to his toy.

Tori handed Ysabella a cup of tea, still warm. Chamomile and honey, just the way she used to make it in the old days, when they were both young and foolish and full of dreams they did not know would shatter.

"Thank you," Ysabella said, wrapping her hands around the cup. "For last night. For telling me everything. For trusting me."

Tori smiled, but her eyes were sad. "You were always family, Ysa. Even when you stayed behind. Even when we left. You never stopped being family."

Ysabella's throat tightened. She took a sip of tea to hide the tremor in her lips.

Breakfast was simple. Bread and cheese and dried fruit, spread across a small wooden table that had seen better days. Isaac sat on a pile of cushions, his breakfast arranged in front of him like a feast. He ate with the single minded focus of a child who had learned not to waste food.

Ysabella watched him as she ate, her mind wandering to Aileen. To the child she had left behind, sleeping in her bed in the castle, probably crying for her mother in the night.

"I need to go back today," Ysabella said, setting down her bread. "I should not have left Aileen alone. She is too young to be without me for so long."

Tori nodded. "I understand. The storm has cleared. The roads should be passable by midday."

"I will return as soon as I can. And I will bring news. Whatever Hecate needs, whatever you need, I will find a way."

Tori reached across the table and took her hand. "Just stay safe. That is all we ask."

After breakfast, Ysabella helped Tori clean the dishes while Isaac played with his blocks on the floor. The morning passed in a blur of small tasks, drying cups, sweeping crumbs, folding blankets. It felt good to do something ordinary. Something that did not involve kings or curses or secrets that could shatter a kingdom.

But the castle waited. And so did her daughter.

Ysabella knelt beside Isaac before she left, smoothing his dark hair with her palm. "I have to go now, little one. But I will come back soon. I promise."

Isaac looked up at her with those serious golden eyes. "You will tell my mama I am being brave?"

Ysabella's heart cracked. "She knows, Isaac. She always knows."

She hugged Tori at the door, holding on longer than she intended. Her friend's arms were thin but strong, and they smelled of lavender and hearth smoke.

"Come back to us," Tori whispered.

"I will."

The carriage was waiting outside, the driver already bundled against the cold. Ysabella climbed inside and pulled the curtains aside, watching the cottage shrink behind her as the horses began to move.

The village was coming back to life. Merchants shoveled snow from their doorsteps. Children threw snowballs in the square. Smoke curled from chimneys, and somewhere a dog barked, sharp and insistent. Normal. Ordinary. A world that had no idea what lurked in the shadows of the castle on the hill.

The castle appeared through the trees, dark and towering, its spires scraping the grey sky. Ysabella's stomach tightened. She had never thought of Emberclaw as intimidating before. It was home. It was where her mate lived, where her daughter slept, where she had built a life from the ashes of betrayal.

But now she saw it differently. Now she saw it as a place of secrets. A place where a woman she loved was pretending to be someone else. A place where the king walked around with a vial of blood around his neck, unaware that the woman he craved was standing right in front of him.

The carriage rolled through the gates and came to a stop in the courtyard. Ysabella gathered her skirts and climbed out, her boots crunching on the packed snow. Servants hurried past, carrying linens and firewood. Guards nodded as she passed. Everything looked normal. Everything looked fine.

But something felt wrong.

Ysabella pulled off her gloves as she walked, her breath fogging in the cold air. She needed to see Aileen. Needed to hold her daughter, to reassure herself that the child was safe, that the night apart had not hurt her.

Arya, Aileen's maid, met her at the entrance to the family wing. The girl's face was pale, her hands twisting in her apron. She looked like she had not slept.

"Lady Ysabella," Arya said, her voice trembling. "Thank the Goddess you are back."

Ysabella's heart stuttered. "What is wrong? Where is Aileen?"

Arya's eyes filled with tears. "She is gone, my lady. She was not in her bed this morning. The window was open. The snow on the ledge..."

Ysabella stopped breathing.

"She went looking for you," Arya continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. "In the storm. The guards found her footprints leading to the forest. The rogue forest."

The world tilted. Ysabella grabbed the wall to steady herself.

"The king," she managed. "Does he know?"

"Healer Hecate came last night. She tracked Aileen. She and the king rode out together before dawn. They have not returned."

Ysabella's legs gave way. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold stone floor, her hands covering her face, her body shaking with sobs she could not hold back.

Her daughter. Her little girl. Alone in the rogue forest. In the storm.

Arya knelt beside her, murmuring words of comfort that Ysabella could not hear. The maid's hand rubbed circles on her back, but it did not help. Nothing could help.

Aileen was out there. Lost. Cold. Terrified.

And Ysabella was here, useless, helpless, heartbroken.

But through the fog of her despair, a thought surfaced. Hecate. Maddox. They were out there too. They had gone after her. They would not stop until they found her.

Ysabella lifted her head, her face wet, her eyes red.

"If anyone can bring her back," she said, her voice raw, "it is those two."

Arya nodded, though her expression remained uncertain.

Ysabella pulled herself to her feet. She walked to the window at the end of the corridor and pressed her palm against the cold glass. The forest stretched beyond the castle walls, dark and endless, hiding its secrets beneath a blanket of white.

She would wait. She would pray. She would hope.

Because Hecate and the king were out there. And if anyone could bring Aileen back, it would be those two.

So she waited.