Chapter 18

Chapter 18

ELENA

The thought made me sick. I rolled over and pressed my face into the pillow.

The worst part was the bond. Because every day, it got harder to hate him.

He was there every morning in the training yard. He was patient when I fell. He brought me books from the library when he noticed I was bored. Once, he found me crying in the garden, and he didn't say anything at all. He just sat down on the bench beside me, a little way off, and stayed there until I stopped.

And every night, I could feel him through the bond, on the other side of the wall. Restless. Worried. Wondering why I had gone so cold. Why I wouldn't meet his eyes anymore. Why I flinched when he touched my arm.

He asked me once. "Did I do something wrong?"

I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him anything.

So I made a choice.

They both had to pay. Silas and Kade. For my mother. For little Sam. For all twenty-three graves in that field behind the church.

But I couldn't speak. I couldn't write. So I needed something else. Something I could hold in my hand and show to the elders. Something that would speak for me.

I needed proof.

On the seventh morning, I found my chance.

Kade rode out with a patrol after breakfast. I heard Tobias say they were checking the southern border, where the rogues had been. They wouldn't be back until evening. Silas went with them.

I waited an hour. Then I walked down the hall to Kade's study.

My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure every wolf in the house could hear it. I kept my steps slow and easy, like I was just going for a walk. I passed Bess in the hall with a basket of laundry. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

The study door wasn't locked.

I slipped inside and closed it quietly behind me.

It was a plain room. A big wooden desk. A fireplace full of cold ashes. Shelves full of maps and old leather books. A window that looked out over the training yard. It smelled like him. Pine and cedar and something warm. The bond stirred a little at the smell, and I pushed the feeling away.

I went straight to the desk.

The top was covered with papers. Patrol reports. Letters from other packs. A list of names I didn't know. I went through them fast, my hands shaking. Nothing about Willowbrook. Nothing about fire.

I pulled open the side drawers. Candles. Ink. A small knife. A wooden wolf, old and worn smooth, like a child's toy. Nothing.

There was one more drawer. The top one, right in the middle.

It stuck when I pulled it. I pulled harder. It slid open with a squeak.

At first, I thought it was empty.

Then I saw it, pushed to the very back. Something dark and soft, folded into a small square.

I reached in and took it out. I unfolded it slowly.

It was a strip of black cloth. Long enough to tie around an arm. One end was torn and ragged. The other end was burnt, the edges crumbling and brown.

Stitched into the middle, in thick dark red thread, was a thorn.

I knew that thorn. I had seen it everywhere since I came here. On the banner that hung in the great hall. On the shields in the training yard. On the gate outside.

Blackthorn colors.

I held it close to my face and breathed in.

Smoke.

Under the dust and the old wood of the drawer, the smell was still there. Burnt thatch. Burnt wood. And something else. Something sharp and bitter that made my stomach turn.

Willowbrook. It smelled like Willowbrook burning.

My hands started to shake so hard the cloth trembled between my fingers.

He had it. He had kept it. Folded neatly, hidden in his desk, like a keepsake. Like a trophy.

All those times he said I don't know yet. All those times he looked me in the eye and said he was going to find out. And the whole time, this was sitting right here. A piece of the night my whole world burned down.

I wanted to scream. I opened my mouth, and for once, the sound came. A small, broken noise.

This was it. This was my proof. I didn't need to speak. I didn't need to write. I could just put this on the table in front of the elders and let them see.

I folded the cloth quickly and started to slip it into my pocket.

Then the bond went hot.

It flared in my wrist like a match strike, so sudden I gasped. I knew that feeling. I had felt it every time he came near.

But he wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be at the southern border until evening.

Behind me, the door creaked open.

I froze. I couldn't breathe. Very slowly, I turned around.

Kade was standing in the doorway.

His riding coat was still on. His boots were muddy. His hair was wet from the rain that had started outside. He was breathing a little fast, like he had come up the stairs quickly.

He wasn't looking at my face.

He was looking at the strip of black cloth in my hand.