Chapter 15-Divided Evidence

Odett’s POV

  The sealed case held no new evidence from an attack, Dad told us before I could ask. It carried travel records from Sam’s team and another account of the borders they could not cross together. I felt relief first, then shame that a delay could make me grateful simply because no one had been reported missing that day.

  Dad put the witness accounts away before we entered. What he gave us showed who had approved each crossing and which members of Sam’s team were allowed through. I searched the names until I found his.

  Joshy and I added the new delays to our timeline. In three months, the team had lost nineteen days at borders. Some rulers made them wait; others admitted Sam but turned away the witch or vampire who needed to examine the scene with him.

  “How are they supposed to examine evidence together if half the team has to remain outside?” I asked with a frustrated frown.

  “They cannot,” Uncle Orian answered with a tired expression.

  “That is why King Arnald requested a shared procedure from every territory willing to cooperate,” he continued wearily.

  Alpha King Edric’s name appeared beside more restrictions than anyone else’s. He withheld patrol routes and refused entry to vampire investigators. I wondered how many families had waited for answers while his guards argued over the blood of the people trying to help.

  “Does Sam believe vampires are responsible?” I asked carefully while looking at Edric’s refusal.

  Uncle Orian hesitated before answering, his tired expression turning cautious.

  “Sam found signs that someone wants us to blame vampires,” he said.

  “He hasn’t accepted that explanation.” Orian glanced at the closed folder.

  I kept thinking about how neatly the trail pointed toward people Edric had already excluded. Sam had questioned it, and Dad left that question open in the margin instead of naming a suspect. Joshy asked for the original account. I moved the copied page beside it, wanting to see which details survived the telling.

  Mom, Dad, Orian, and James began drafting a travel agreement for rulers willing to cooperate. Joshy and I added a way to record the request, the answer, and any restriction imposed at the gate. The form could not make anyone trust an outsider, but it might show where time was being lost.

  Arnald agreed two days later. His response came with the Northern procedures Sam’s team already used, along with permission for Southern investigators to carry the same documents. Dad read the message over breakfast, and for once I saw him finish his coffee before returning to the office.

  The next answer came from a small coven guarding one of the records. A witch delivered its conditions by hand and stayed until James confirmed that every page had arrived. She did not trust a message about her people’s protections to travel alone.

  “They agreed,” Dad said cautiously when Joshy and I entered his office after classes.

  “They simply found twelve different ways to make agreement difficult,” he added dryly.

  “That sounds like a coven,” Mom replied with an amused smile as she sorted the pages across the smaller table.

  “You are half witch,” Dad reminded her with a raised eyebrow.

  “That is how I know,” Mom answered.

  Mom and Dad’s exchange made the office feel like home for a moment. Then Dad checked the locked cabinet before letting us sit down. I wanted to object, but the coven messenger had just reminded me why people feared losing control of their own records.

  ‘He is checking the cabinet again,’ Lorilie observed with an amused huff as Dad tested the lock for the second time.

  ‘At least he stopped reminding us every five minutes,’ I replied silently while taking the seat beside Joshy.

  Dad looked toward me with suspicion.

  “Is Lorilie criticizing me?” he asked knowingly.

  “She appreciates your dedication to locked furniture,” I answered with an innocent smile.

  “That means yes,” Dad muttered with a tired sigh before handing us the coven’s response.

  The coven wanted its spell to show who created, opened, or changed a record. One copy would travel with investigators, while another stayed at home. Their terms looked demanding until I imagined being part of a few dozen people whose protections could be exposed by a stranger at a border.

  “They do not trust the border guards,” Joshy said with a thoughtful frown as he compared the conditions.

  “They don’t trust anyone with information that could expose their protections,” Uncle James corrected him.

  “Most covens survived by keeping their spells private,” he explained.

  “Cooperation does not erase that history,” Uncle James finished seriously.

  “King Arnald gave Sam’s team complete access to his patrol records,” I pointed out while looking toward the Northern seal.

  “King Arnald controls a kingdom with a standing army,” Mom explained gently.

  “A small coven may have one protected home and a few dozen members,” she continued.

  “The same risk does not feel the same to both leaders,” Mom finished thoughtfully.

  Edric guarded his patrol routes; the coven guarded its spells. A family might refuse to give us anything that could lead a stranger to its children. I still hated the delays, especially when Sam was the one waiting. But after hearing them argue, I couldn’t believe every refusal was meant to keep him from doing his job.

  Uncle Orian placed the Northern procedures beside the coven’s conditions.

  “Your assignment is to find what both sides are willing to share,” he explained patiently.

  “Do not decide whose rules are better,” Uncle Orian added.

  “What happens if their rules cannot work together?” Joshy asked with concern as he studied the pages.

  “Then we identify the conflict and let the rulers decide what they are willing to change,” Uncle Orian answered firmly.

  “You are assisting with the process, not negotiating for the kingdom,” he reminded us with quiet authority.

  The two sets of rules clashed over copies. Arnald’s guards logged when a document changed hands; the coven’s spell tracked who touched it. A copied report was routine in the Northern palace and a breach of trust to the witches who had made the original.

  Joshy created one list of what the procedures shared while I marked every point where they conflicted. Both sides wanted the original record protected. Both wanted proof that no one had changed it. Neither wanted an outside territory to keep information that could expose its defenses.

  “They want the same result,” I said with a frustrated frown.

  “They are arguing over who is allowed to guarantee it,” I continued impatiently.

  “That is usually where cooperation fails,” Dad replied seriously.

  “Trusting the goal is easier than trusting the person responsible for it,” he explained.

  Joshy suggested leaving the original with the coven while a verified copy traveled with Sam’s team. Northern guards could log it without opening it, and the coven could confirm its seal if another territory questioned it. We both knew a request for the original might cost another day, but demanding it now would close the door entirely.

  “That creates another delay if the original becomes necessary,” Joshy warned doubtfully.

  “It does,” I admitted while rereading our notes.

  “But they will refuse the entire agreement if we demand the original every time,” I added.