Chapter 3: The Name Renfall

The sound of Ronan Ashvale's horse faded slowly into the eastern road.

Aster stood in the doorway long after the captain had disappeared beyond the bend, watching the empty stretch of muddy track as though she expected him to turn back. The morning was pale and cold. Rainwater dripped from the eaves, gathering in the ruts left by passing carts. Somewhere behind the neighboring cottages, a rooster announced the day with the confidence of a creature who had never once been asked to keep a secret.

She envied him.

At least the rooster knew what he was.

"Aster."

Mara's voice came from behind her.

Aster did not turn. "I'm waiting for him to come back with an explanation."

"Then you may be waiting a long while."

"That seems to be the general approach to explanations around here."

She heard Mara sigh. The sound was familiar, usually accompanied by a hand pressed to her forehead or a muttered observation about Aster's inability to leave well enough alone. This time, there was no irritation in it.

Only weariness.

Aster finally stepped away from the door and closed it.

The apothecary seemed smaller than it had the previous morning. The shelves were crowded with familiar jars and bundles of dried herbs, but the room no longer felt entirely hers. It was as if the questions Ronan had carried inside with him had settled into the corners, between the floorboards, and beneath the old wooden counter.

The dead courier's blood had dried on the boards despite Mara's efforts to scrub it away.

Aster looked at the faint brown stain.

"Tell me everything."

Mara turned toward the worktable. "I already told you what I know."

"No. You told Captain Ashvale what you wanted him to know. You told me enough to keep me from asking questions when I was a child. Those are not the same things."

Mara's shoulders stiffened.

Aster softened her voice, though she made no effort to retreat from the question.

"I know you found me when I was a baby. I know you raised me. I know you told me I was found near the eastern forest. None of that is new. But you said the woman who left me there knew people would come looking for me. You said she asked you to keep me safe."

Mara did not answer.

"What did she look like?"

The older woman stared at the table.

"Was she alone? Was she hurt? Did she tell you who she was?"

"Aster—"

"Please."

That stopped her.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the little brass clock above the shelves.

Mara drew out a chair and sat down. She looked older than she had a week ago. The dark lines around her eyes seemed deeper, and the silver in her hair caught the weak morning light.

"I have wondered when you would ask me this," she said.

"I have asked before."

"You asked where you came from. You asked whether I knew your birth parents. You asked if I had ever seen them again."

"And you said you didn't know."

"I didn't."

"That wasn't the whole truth."

"No," Mara admitted. "It wasn't."

Aster pulled out the chair opposite her.

"Then start at the beginning."

Mara folded her hands on the table. Her fingers were rough from years of working with herbs, washing linens, and preparing medicines. Aster had watched those hands mend broken bones, soothe fevers, and hold frightened children through the night.

She had never seen them tremble quite like this.

"It was late autumn," Mara began. "The first frost had already come. I remember because the ground was hard beneath my boots, and the stream near the old eastern path had begun to freeze along its banks."

Aster listened without interrupting.

"I had gone out to gather winterroot. It grows near the old stones, where the soil stays damp even when the weather turns cold. I wasn't supposed to go that far alone, but I knew the paths. I had walked them for years."

"The Unhallowed."

Mara nodded.

"People called it cursed even then. Most wouldn't go within a mile of the ruins. I never believed in curses, but I knew better than to wander around the old stones after dark."

"What did you hear?"

"A baby crying."

Aster's stomach tightened.

Mara looked toward the window, though there was nothing beyond it but the narrow street.

"I thought at first it was an animal. A fox, perhaps. But then I heard it again. It was coming from the ruins, and it sounded so small that I began running."

She paused.

"When I found you, you were wrapped in a pale cloth beneath the remains of a stone arch. You were cold, but alive. There was blood on the cloth. Not yours, I thought. At least, not much of it."

Aster looked down at her hands.

"Was the woman there?"

"Yes."

"How badly was she hurt?"

"Badly enough that I knew she wouldn't survive the night."

Mara's voice had grown quiet.

"She was lying against one of the broken pillars. Her clothes were torn, and there was blood across her side. She had been trying to keep herself upright. I remember that more than anything. Even when she could barely breathe, she kept looking toward you."

"Did she say anything?"

"Not at first. She was barely conscious. I tried to help her, but she caught my wrist."

Mara's fingers curled as though she could still feel the woman's grip.

"She was stronger than she looked. She told me not to take you to the nearest village. She said there were people watching the roads, and that if they saw me carrying you, they would follow."

"Who were they?"

"She didn't say."

"Did you ask?"

"Of course I asked. She wouldn't answer."

Aster leaned forward. "What did she tell you?"

Mara closed her eyes briefly.

"She said that people had been searching for you before you were even born. That they would continue searching until they found you. She said you must be raised away from the old blood, away from anyone who knew the names of the first families."

"The first families?"

"I didn't understand what she meant."

"But you remember the words."

"Every one of them."

Aster glanced toward the shelf where Mara had placed the small silver pendant earlier. The symbol engraved on it had seemed familiar in a way she couldn't explain. It was the same strange mark she had seen on the courier's clasp, and on the damaged registry parchment.

A circle interrupted by a narrow, jagged line.

A symbol that seemed less like a drawing and more like a wound.

"What did the woman look like?" Aster asked.

Mara considered the question.

"Dark hair. Almost black, though there was a little silver at the temples. Her skin was pale, and her eyes..." She stopped.

"What about her eyes?"

"Gray. Very light. Almost colorless."

Aster frowned. "Did she look like me?"

"I don't know."

"You must have noticed something."

"You were a newborn, Aster. I was trying to keep you alive and work out whether the woman beside you was going to die in my arms. I wasn't looking for family resemblances."

Aster accepted the rebuke.

"Did she give you my name?"

"No."

"Did she give you the name Renfall?"

"No. I chose that."

"Why?"

Mara looked at her.

"Because you needed a name. And because I wanted you to have one that belonged to the life you were going to live, not the one someone else had planned for you."

Aster sat back.

There was something painful about that answer. Not because it was unkind, but because it was the sort of thing Mara would do. She had given Aster a home, a name, a childhood, and a place in the world. She had made a life where there had once been only a dying woman and a frightened infant beneath broken stone.

Aster had never doubted that she was loved.

But love, she was beginning to understand, did not always mean knowing the truth.

"What happened to the woman?"

"I stayed with her until dawn. I did everything I could."

"And then?"

"She died."

"Did she leave anything besides the pendant?"

Mara's gaze moved toward the shelf.

"She left a warning."

"What warning?"

Mara hesitated.

"She told me that if you ever began hearing voices, I must not let anyone convince you that you were losing your mind."

Aster went very still.

The clock ticked.

Once.

Twice.

"What exactly did she say?"

Mara's expression changed. The fear Aster had seen the night before returned, but this time it was accompanied by something else.

Guilt.

"She said, 'When the blood begins to speak, do not let them tell her she is broken.'"

Aster's mouth went dry.

"She knew."

"I don't know what she knew."

"She knew I would hear things."

"Perhaps she suspected."

"How could she suspect something like that?"

"I don't know."

Aster stood abruptly and crossed the room. She needed to move. Sitting still while the walls seemed to close around her was becoming unbearable.

She stopped at the window.

The village was waking. A woman was sweeping the front step of the baker's shop. Two children hurried past with a basket between them, laughing about something that had clearly happened before breakfast. A cart rattled down the road.

Everything looked ordinary.

It was almost insulting.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Aster asked.

Mara did not answer immediately.

"Because I promised her I would keep you safe."

"By keeping me ignorant?"

"By giving you a chance to grow up without fear."

"I've been hearing voices in blood since I was seventeen."

"I know."

Aster turned.

"You knew?"

"I suspected."

"That isn't the same as knowing."

"No. It isn't."

"Why didn't you tell me then?"

"Because I hoped it would stop."

Aster laughed once, without humor.

"And when it didn't?"

"I hoped you would learn to ignore it."

"That worked beautifully."

"Aster."

"No, I understand. The plan was to wait until something terrible happened and then hope I didn't notice."

Mara rose from her chair.

"I was frightened."

The words were so simple that Aster had no answer ready.

Mara looked at her with an expression Aster rarely saw. Not the firm, practical look she wore when treating patients. Not the quiet patience she used when Aster was being difficult.

She looked helpless.

"I found you beside a dying woman who knew people were coming for you. I was told to hide you. I didn't know who she was, what she was protecting you from, or what would happen if I failed. I had no one I could trust with the truth. I thought if I kept you away from the ruins and the people who cared about old blood, you might have a normal life."

"I did have a normal life."

"Yes," Mara whispered. "You did."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know."

Aster looked away.

She wanted to be angry. Some part of her was angry. But it was difficult to direct that anger at a woman who had spent twenty-five years making sure she never went hungry, never slept cold, and never had to wonder whether someone would come when she called.

Mara had not abandoned her.

She had kept her.

That distinction mattered.

It did not make the secrets easier to bear.

Aster returned to the table and looked at the pendant.

"May I?"

Mara nodded.

The little silver object lay on a square of folded linen. Its chain was delicate, though the metal itself had darkened with age. The engraved symbol was small enough to fit beneath Aster's thumb.

She reached for it.

A faint pressure settled behind her eyes.

Not pain.

Recognition.

Aster stopped just short of touching the silver.

"Does it always do that?" Mara asked.

"Do what?"

"You look as though you're listening."

Aster glanced up.

"Perhaps I am."

She picked up the pendant.

The metal was cold.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then a familiar sensation crept through her fingertips, like the first shiver before a storm. The room seemed to tilt, not physically but somewhere behind her eyes.

She saw a corridor.

Black stone.

A line of pale light running along the floor.

Someone stood at the far end, their face hidden by darkness. There were voices, many of them, speaking over one another. A woman's voice rose above the rest.

"Not the child. Never the child."

A second voice answered.

"Then the blood will find her."

Aster jerked her hand back.

The pendant struck the table with a small metallic click.

Mara caught her arm.

"What did you see?"

Aster swallowed.

"A corridor."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"What else?"

"People talking. I couldn't see them."

Mara released her arm slowly.

"What did they say?"

Aster stared at the pendant.

"One of them said the blood would find me."

Mara's face lost what little color it had.

"That wasn't the voice you heard before?"

"No. It was different."

"Different how?"

"The first voice was a woman. The second sounded like a man. Or perhaps more than one man." Aster rubbed her fingertips together. "I don't know. It wasn't clear."

Mara picked up the pendant and wrapped it in the linen.

"That's enough."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"You cannot keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Taking things away whenever I discover something."

"I'm trying to protect you."

"I know. But you can't protect me from something I don't understand."

Mara looked down at the folded cloth.

For a moment, Aster thought she might refuse to say anything more. Instead, Mara placed the wrapped pendant in front of her.

"Then we will understand what we can," she said. "But you must promise me something."

"What?"

"If you hear another voice, if you see another memory, you tell me. You don't hide it because you think it will frighten me."

Aster considered that.

"All right."

"And if anyone asks you about what happened yesterday, you tell them only what you saw with your eyes."

"Not what I heard?"

"Not yet."

"That seems dishonest."

"It is."

Mara met her gaze.

"Sometimes honesty is a luxury that gets people killed."

Aster had no answer for that.

---

By midday, the village had found something new to whisper about.

The dead stranger was no longer merely an injured traveler who had died in the apothecary. He had become a royal messenger, a spy, a fugitive, or a murderer, depending on who was telling the story.

Aster heard all four versions before she had finished eating a bowl of soup.

She was carrying an empty basket back from the well when she noticed two women speaking near the baker's door. They fell silent when she approached.

"Morning," Aster said.

One of them gave a strained smile. "Aster."

The other busied herself with a shawl.

Aster continued toward the apothecary.

She had never been especially interested in village gossip, but the sudden silence was becoming tiresome. Briar Glen was a small place. People knew when someone bought new boots, when a marriage was in trouble, and when a chicken had gone missing. A royal investigation was practically a festival.

Inside the apothecary, Mara was sorting dried leaves into small paper packets.

"Have I become interesting?" Aster asked.

Mara didn't look up. "You always were."

"Apparently I've become interesting in a way that makes people stop speaking when I walk past."

"People are frightened."

"Of me?"

"Of the soldiers. Of the stranger. Of what might happen next."

Aster set down the basket.

"Do you think they'll come back?"

"Yes."

The certainty in Mara's voice unsettled her.

"Ronan said he was going to the Unhallowed."

"That is what he said."

"Do you think he'll find anything?"

"I hope not."

Aster studied her.

"You really are afraid of that place."

"Anyone with sense is afraid of the Unhallowed."

"You used to tell me it was only old ruins."

"It is old ruins."

"Then why does everyone speak about it as though something is waiting there?"

Mara tied a packet closed.

"Because people are good at turning old places into stories. They make them frightening enough that no one goes near them."

"Is that what happened?"

"I don't know."

Aster opened her mouth to press the matter, but a knock interrupted her.

Both women looked toward the door.

A boy stood outside, perhaps twelve years old, with a leather satchel hanging from one shoulder. His hair stuck up in damp brown spikes, and his cheeks were red from the cold.

"Message for the apothecary," he said.

Mara approached.

"From whom?"

"Royal post. They told me to bring it straight here."

He held out a sealed envelope.

Aster noticed the dark red wax before Mara took it. Pressed into the seal was the same circle and broken line.

The symbol.

Mara's fingers tightened around the envelope.

"Who gave this to you?"

"A rider at the southern road. Said it was important."

"Did he give you a name?"

"No, ma'am."

"Did he say anything else?"

The boy shook his head.

Mara handed him a copper coin. "Thank you. Go home."

He pocketed it and hurried away.

Mara closed the door.

Aster was already beside her.

"Open it."

"Let me read it first."

"Why?"

"Because I would like to know what it says before you start arguing with me."

"That's a very optimistic expectation."

Mara gave her a tired look, then broke the seal.

The letter was written in a neat, formal hand. Mara read the first lines in silence. Her expression grew increasingly troubled.

"What?" Aster asked.

Mara handed it to her.

The message was brief.

By order of the Northern Crown, Aster Renfall of Briar Glen is requested to present herself at Veyrhold for questioning concerning the death of a royal courier and matters pertaining to the security of the realm.

Her travel is to be accompanied by an appointed royal escort. She is to depart within three days of receipt of this notice.

Failure to comply may be interpreted as obstruction of a royal investigation.

At the bottom was a name.

Lord Evander Thorne

Beneath it was a second seal, pressed into dark wax.

Aster read the letter again.

"Questioning."

"Yes."

"Security of the realm."

"Yes."

"That sounds rather more threatening than requested."

Mara took the letter from her.

"You're not going."

Aster looked at her.

"That's not your decision."

"It is if I refuse to let them take you."

"They aren't asking you."

"They can ask all they like."

"Mara."

"No."

Aster took a slow breath.

She had expected resistance, but not this much. The fear in Mara's face had hardened into something almost fierce.

"They're not asking me to be arrested," Aster said. "They're asking me to answer questions."

"They can send their questions here."

"They have already been here. They know I was with the courier when he died. They know my name. They know about the registry."

"They don't know everything."

"Neither do I."

Mara looked toward the window.

"They have no right to demand you travel to Veyrhold."

"Apparently they believe they do."

"They're powerful people, Aster. They can make a request sound like an order and an order sound like a kindness. You don't know what you're walking into."

"Then tell me."

Mara turned back.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

The answer stung more than Aster expected.

She looked again at the letter.

Veyrhold.

The northern crown. A fortress of black stone, built high among the mountains. She had heard stories of it since childhood, mostly from traders and passing travelers. Its towers were said to disappear into winter clouds. Its walls were older than the villages scattered throughout Elaren. The High Alpha ruled there, and the seven great bloodlines gathered beneath his authority.

Aster had never imagined seeing it.

She had never imagined being summoned there.

"Who is Lord Evander Thorne?" she asked.

Mara frowned.

"One of the High Alpha's advisers, I believe."

"Do you know him?"

"No."

"Have you ever heard his name?"

"Not until now."

Aster folded the letter carefully.

"Then perhaps he knows something about the woman who left me."

"Or perhaps he wants to know what happened to the courier."

"Both can be true."

Mara looked at her for a long moment.

"You think going there will give you answers."

"I think staying here won't."

The words settled between them.

Aster had spent her entire life in Briar Glen. She knew the woods, the paths, the seasons, and the people. She knew which floorboard creaked outside Mara's bedroom and which cupboard held the good honey. She knew the smell of the apothecary after rain and the sound of the village bell on market mornings.

She had never wanted to leave.

But the life she had known was beginning to feel like a room whose door had been locked from the outside.

She could remain inside and pretend nothing had changed.

Or she could find out who had locked it.

---

That evening, Mara made stew.

It was an ordinary meal, prepared in an ordinary pot, with ordinary ingredients. Aster found the familiarity almost unbearable.

They ate at the little kitchen table without speaking.

Afterward, Mara washed the bowls while Aster sat by the window. The last of the daylight had faded, leaving the village in shades of gray. Lanterns glowed behind cottage windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Aster turned the letter over in her hands.

"Three days," she said.

Mara set a bowl on the drying cloth.

"Yes."

"Will you come with me?"

Mara stopped moving.

"I don't know if they'll allow it."

"That wasn't what I asked."

The older woman turned.

Aster met her gaze.

"I don't want to go alone."

For several seconds, Mara said nothing.

Then she crossed the room and sat beside her.

"I would go to the end of the world with you."

Aster felt something loosen in her chest.

"Then come."

"I will try."

It wasn't a promise, but it was enough for now.

Mara reached for Aster's hand.

"Listen to me. Whatever they tell you in Veyrhold, whatever they claim to know about your blood or your family, remember that you are not something they own."

Aster swallowed.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Mara's thumb moved over her knuckles.

"You are Aster Renfall. You are my daughter. Nothing they uncover can change that."

Aster leaned her head against Mara's shoulder.

For a while, they sat together in the quiet kitchen.

Then Aster remembered something.

"The woman. Did she say anything else about the people searching for me?"

Mara's hand stilled.

"One thing."

"What?"

"She said they would recognize you by what you carried."

Aster straightened.

"What I carried?"

"Those were her words."

"The pendant?"

"I don't know."

"Then what?"

Mara looked at the window.

"She said there was something inside you that had survived when everything else was destroyed."

Aster felt the familiar pressure gather behind her eyes.

"What did she mean?"

"I don't know, sweetheart."

"Did she call me anything?"

Mara's silence was answer enough.

Aster stood and went to the table. She unfolded the cloth around the pendant, then turned it over in her palm. The symbol on its face caught the lamplight. For the first time, she noticed a tiny inscription along the edge. It was so faint she had mistaken it for a scratch.

She tilted the pendant toward the flame.

There were letters.

Not the common script used in Elaren. The shapes were narrow and curved, with lines that seemed to cross one another in deliberate patterns.

Aster traced them without touching the metal.

"Can you read this?" she asked.

Mara came closer.

"No."

"Have you ever seen the writing before?"

Mara studied it.

"I don't think so."

Aster turned the pendant again.

Something about the inscription made her feel as though she had almost remembered a dream. A word hovered just beyond her understanding, familiar without being known.

She closed her eyes.

A whisper brushed the edge of her thoughts.

Not the child.

Never the child.

Then another voice, softer and farther away.

Remember the names.

Aster opened her eyes.

The room was unchanged. The fire still burned. Mara stood beside her. The clock continued to tick.

But the feeling of being watched had returned.

Not from the window.

Not from the road.

From somewhere beneath the floor.

Aster placed the pendant on the table.

"Mara?"

"Yes?"

"Did the woman ever say what my name was supposed to be?"

Mara shook her head.

"No."

"Did she give you a name for herself?"

"No."

Aster stared at the little silver object.

"Then I suppose we'll have to find out."

---

Three days later, the royal escort arrived.

Aster had spent most of the intervening time preparing for a journey she still could not quite believe she was taking. She packed two changes of clothing, a warm cloak, her small medicine pouch, and the few personal belongings she could not bear to leave behind.

Mara insisted she take more food than she could possibly eat.

"You'll need it," she said, wrapping another parcel in cloth.

"I'll be traveling with a royal escort."

"Royal escorts still get hungry."

"I doubt they'll starve me."

"That's not the point."

Aster smiled faintly.

Mara had been busy since dawn. She had checked the straps on Aster's traveling bag twice, packed a small collection of remedies, and placed a little knife in the side pocket despite Aster's protests that she already owned one.

The pendant remained wrapped in its linen cloth.

Aster had considered leaving it behind.

She had even tried.

But every time she moved it away from her belongings, she felt an unpleasant pull in her chest, as though some part of her had been left behind with it. She finally tucked it beneath her shirt, where it rested against her skin.

At midmorning, the sound of horses reached the apothecary.

Aster looked through the window.

Three riders had entered the village.

The first wore the dark uniform of the Northern Crown. The second was a woman with red hair tied back from her face, riding a chestnut mare. The third was a young soldier whose eyes moved constantly from the cottages to the people gathering along the street.

The red-haired woman dismounted first.

She looked around Briar Glen with an expression of mild disappointment.

"Charming place," she said when Aster opened the door. "A little too much mud for my taste."

Aster glanced at the road.

"We've had rain."

"So I've noticed."

The woman offered her hand.

"Celestine Mavin. Elaren guard. I've been assigned to accompany you to Veyrhold."

Aster shook it.

"How fortunate for me."

Celestine's mouth curved.

"You're welcome."

Mara appeared behind Aster.

"She won't be traveling without me."

Celestine looked from Mara to Aster, then back again.

"Are you her mother?"

"Yes."

"You can't come with us but I imagine you'll want to speak before we leave."

"I imagine I will."

Celestine nodded toward the interior.

"Of course. We have time."

The third rider dismounted and began checking the horses. The first remained mounted, watching the street.

Aster stepped aside to let Isolde enter.

The red-haired woman glanced around the apothecary. Her eyes lingered on the shelves, the bundles of herbs, and the old wooden counter.

Then she looked at Aster.

"You don't look particularly pleased to be going."

"Would you be?"

"Depends where I was going."

"Veyrhold."

"Ah." Celestine removed her gloves. "Then no. Not especially."

Aster hadn't expected that answer.

"Why?"

"Cold. Drafty. Too many men who think being born important is the same as being interesting."

Mara gave her a sharp look.

Celestine smiled. "Forgive me. I forget how much people enjoy their kings."

"Do you?" Aster asked.

"I enjoy competent rulers. It's a much shorter list."

Aster almost smiled.

There was something disarming about Celestine's manner. She seemed relaxed, but her attention never wandered for long. Even while speaking, she appeared to be taking note of everything around her.

Aster wondered whether that was simply how soldiers behaved. Or whether she had been sent to watch her. Perhaps both.

Mara took Aster's bag from the chair and handed it to her.

"Come back to me," she said quietly.

Aster hugged her.

"I will."

Mara held her for a long moment before pulling away. Her hands rested on Aster's shoulders.

"Don't let them frighten you into agreeing with something you don't understand."

"I won't."

"And don't let them make you feel ashamed of asking questions."

"I won't."

"And if you hear—"

Mara stopped.

Aster understood.

"I'll tell you."

Mara nodded.

Then, more softly, she said, "Remember who you are."

Aster reached beneath her shirt and touched the pendant.

"I will."

She stepped outside.

The morning air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke. The village had gathered in small clusters along the street. Some people waved. Others simply watched.

Aster climbed into the saddle of the horse prepared for her. She had ridden before, though never this far and never under royal escort.

Celestine mounted beside her.

"Comfortable?"

"Not particularly."

"Good. It would be a shame to begin this journey with unrealistic expectations."

Aster glanced at her.

"You're always this cheerful?"

"Only when I'm being paid."

The lead rider turned his horse toward the northern road. Aster looked back once. Mara stood in the doorway of the apothecary, one hand resting against the frame. She looked small from a distance, though Aster knew better.

Then the horses began to move.

Briar Glen slipped behind them.

The road north climbed gradually through the forests of Elaren. Bare branches crossed overhead, their last leaves trembling in the wind. The farther they traveled, the fewer signs of ordinary life they passed. The cottages thinned, then disappeared. Fields gave way to woodland, and the path narrowed between old trees.

Aster kept one hand near the pendant beneath her shirt.

"Have you been to Veyrhold before?" she asked Celestine.

"Several times."

"What is it like?"

"Large."

"That tells me very little."

"Cold."

"Also unhelpful."

Celestine laughed.

"All right. It's a fortress built into the northern mountains. Black stone, narrow streets, enormous walls. It was designed to survive sieges, storms, and the occasional argument between powerful wolves."

"Comforting."

"Wait until you see the throne room. It has all the warmth of a tomb."

Aster looked ahead.

"And the High Alpha?"

Celestine's expression changed just slightly.

"Kaelith Draven."

"I know his name."

"Most people do."

"What's he like?"

"Careful."

"That sounds like a diplomatic answer."

"It is."

Aster waited.

Celestine sighed.

"He's intelligent. Difficult to surprise. Not especially forgiving. He has a habit of listening to people until they begin to wonder whether they should have said anything at all."

"Charming."

"He can be."

"Is he dangerous?"

Celestine looked at her.

"He's the High Alpha. Dangerous comes with the position."

Aster turned toward the trees.

She wondered what he would see when he looked at her.

A human woman from a remote village, called to answer questions about a dead courier. A possible threat. A mystery.

Or something else entirely.

The pendant shifted beneath her clothing as the horse moved. Aster pressed her palm against it. For one brief moment, the forest seemed to grow silent. The birds stopped calling. The wind disappeared from the branches.

Then a voice whispered inside her.

Not a name.

Not a warning.

A memory.

She is coming.

Aster's fingers tightened around the reins.

Celestine glanced at her.

"Are you all right?"

Aster looked back toward the road behind them.

"Yes."

It was a lie, but a small one.

The forest slowly returned to sound. Ahead, the northern road stretched toward the mountains.

And somewhere beyond them, in a fortress of black stone, a king who trusted no one was waiting to discover why a girl without a wolf had been summoned to his court.