Chapter 6: What the Signature Meant

I knew my father’s signature better than my own.

The long stroke beneath his surname. The sharp angle of the first letter. The small break in the ink where he lifted his pen before finishing.

I had carried enough of his orders to recognize it.

Still, I brought the bottle closer to the lamp.

Continued administration authorized by—

Garrick Vale.

There had to be more.

An explanation on the other side of the label. A missing instruction. Something that would make the words mean less than they did.

I turned the bottle.

The loosened paper threatened to tear.

I stopped.

That morning, I had watched him burn a document because its contents inconvenienced him.

This one would not go near a flame.

I set it down and reached for the blank paper on the desk.

My hand shook as I copied the words.

Then I added the date, the amount left in the bottle, and everything Nessa had told me.

By the time I finished, the page was crowded.

I read it through.

It looked like a report.

I did not know how to write what it felt like.

---

Nessa answered on the second knock.

She wore a loose gray robe over her clothes, and a pair of spectacles hung from a cord around her neck.

“Elara?”

“I found something.”

She stepped aside.

The infirmary lamps had been lowered, but a fire still burned in the small receiving room. I placed the bottle on her desk with my copied page beside it.

She read the uncovered label without touching it.

Then she looked at me.

“Is that his handwriting?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know he authorized your prescriptions?”

“I knew he paid for them.”

“That’s different.”

I folded my arms tightly.

“He may not have known what was in it.”

Nessa pulled out a chair.

“Sit down.”

I remained standing.

“He signs household accounts. Medical expenses. Perhaps the physician only asked for permission to continue treatment.”

“That’s possible.”

Relief moved through me so quickly it made me dizzy.

Then she added, “It doesn’t explain why you were told it was a strengthening tonic.”

I lowered myself into the chair.

The fire clicked behind me.

“What does the signature prove?”

“That your father approved the continued prescription. We still need to establish what he was told, what the physician intended, and exactly what this mixture contains.”

I nodded.

Those were questions.

Questions could be answered.

They were easier to bear than the thought that my father had watched me wait for my wolf while paying to keep her silent.

Nessa examined the edge of the paper.

“May I keep this somewhere secure tonight?”

My fingers closed around the bottle.

She waited.

“I’m not taking it from you,” she said. “You can keep it. I only want you to know there’s a locked cabinet here if you’d prefer.”

I looked at the pale liquid.

For seven years, I had swallowed it because someone told me I should.

Now I could barely let another person hold it.

“Could you write down that you received it?”

“Of course.”

“And how much is left?”

She reached for a clean sheet.

We counted the remaining measures together.

---

I slept badly.

In one dream, the medicine bottle sat in the council brazier while everyone told me glass did not burn.

In another, I was fifteen again, listening through my bedroom door.

Mother’s voice.

Father’s.

A word I could not quite hear.

I woke before dawn with my hand pressed beneath my ribs.

“Are you there?”

The room remained quiet.

Outside, someone crossed the courtyard carrying buckets. A horse stamped in the stable.

I waited until my arm began to ache.

Then I lowered it.

“You don’t have to speak,” I whispered.

I felt foolish saying it.

I said it anyway.

---

Master Dain arrived at breakfast with a walking stick and a piece of muddy binding cord.

He placed the cord beside my plate.

“Yours?”

I looked up.

He was broad through the shoulders, with silver hair tied at his neck and one hand permanently curled around the head of his stick.

“Yes.”

“Poor material.”

“It was what I had.”

“I noticed.”

He sat opposite me without asking.

I pushed my chair back.

“Should we go?”

“Have you finished eating?”

“No.”

“Then why are you standing?”

I sat down again.

He waited while I took another mouthful.

“The marker held,” he said.

I set down my spoon.

“Through the night?”

“Through the night, a timber wagon, and my apprentice poking it before I told him to stop.”

I looked at the thread.

I had spent half the night expecting someone to tell me the repair had failed.

Dain watched me.

“Why the inner groove?”

“The outer channel was feeding into wet ground. I needed to isolate it.”

“And why didn’t you seal the crack?”

“Because the displaced base would have forced it open again. The current needed somewhere stable to go first.”

He grunted.

It did not sound disapproving.

“What did you use to test the return?”

“My hand.”

His expression changed.

“Don’t make a habit of that.”

“I usually have a probe.”

“Good.”

He reached inside his coat and produced a narrow copper instrument.

“Then you know how to use this.”

I accepted it carefully.

It had a worn wooden grip and a slightly bent point.

“Is it a loan?”

“For now.”

I turned it in my hand.

“When do you need it back?”

“When you stop working for me.”

I looked up.

He broke a piece from the bread basket.

“Assuming we agree on the work.”

---

Nessa permitted an hour in the workshop.

“No lifting, no boundary walk, and if she starts shaking, you bring her back.”

Dain looked offended.

“I know what an exhausted wardkeeper looks like.”

“Then we understand each other.”

The workshop stood behind the western wing. Unlike mine, it had windows on both sides, two long benches, and enough chairs for people to sit together.

A young man near the hearth rose when we entered.

“This is Owen,” Dain said. “He touches things before asking.”

“Once,” Owen muttered.

“This morning.”

Owen glanced at me.

“You’re the one who fixed the roadside marker?”

I nodded.

“With thread?”

“It was binding thread.”

He considered that distinction.

“Still.”

Dain pointed toward the nearer bench.

A practice stone rested in a tray of sand. Three channels had been cut into its surface, linked by removable copper bridges.

“Find the fault.”

I sat.

The task was simple enough that I wondered whether he meant to insult me.

Then I caught myself.

He did not know me.

He had a responsibility to the people living behind his wards.

I picked up the probe.

One bridge was deliberately loose. Another had been fitted backward. Beneath the stone, a narrow strip of damp leather interrupted the grounding contact.

I found the first two quickly.

The third took longer.

Dain said nothing while I worked.

When I lifted the stone and removed the leather, Owen leaned forward.

“I missed that one.”

“You were in a hurry,” Dain said.

“So was she.”

“She checked.”

I replaced the bridges, tested the circuit, and set down the probe.

A familiar warmth stirred beneath my ribs.

Then the room tilted.

I gripped the edge of the bench.

Dain’s hand came down beside mine.

“That’s enough.”

“I only need a moment.”

“You can have it sitting by the fire.”

“I can finish.”

“The test is finished.”

His voice stayed level.

I looked at the stone.

All three channels glowed steadily.

I had already done what he asked.

Still, my pulse hammered as though stopping would cost me the position.

Owen brought a chair closer to the hearth.

Nobody sighed.

Nobody asked why I was making a simple thing difficult.

I sat with the copper probe across my knees until my hands steadied.

---

Rowan joined us before midday.

Dain gave his assessment while I listened.

“She knows the work. Needs proper equipment and regular meals. I’d start her on records and workshop repairs until Nessa clears her.”

Rowan looked at me.

“Would that suit you?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can offer a month to begin with.”

He placed a written agreement on the bench.

Hours.

Wages.

Meals and lodging included.

My duties listed beneath Dain’s supervision.

I read every line.

Then I read the section about ending the arrangement.

Seven days’ notice from either party.

“Either party?” I asked.

Rowan nodded.

“If you find work elsewhere, you’re free to take it.”

“And my wages?”

“You keep what you’ve earned.”

I looked down again.

There was a space for my name.

Before I could reach for the pen, someone knocked on the workshop door.

A guard stood outside.

“Alpha. Message from Vale territory.”

My hand stopped.

Rowan took the folded paper.

“Emergency?”

“They’re asking after their daughter.”

The guard glanced at me, then away.

I could hear the fire shifting in the hearth.

My mother had sent a carriage.

Or Adrian had spoken to Father.

For one unbearable moment, I wanted both things so badly that I could not breathe.

Rowan read the message.

His expression revealed nothing.

“May I see it?” I asked.

He handed it over.

The letter was addressed to Blackthorn’s Alpha, written in the formal language my father used with neighboring packs.

It requested notification if Elara Vale entered his territory.

It mentioned my recent instability.

My tendency to misunderstand necessary discipline.

Then I reached the final paragraph.

My daughter requires a daily medicinal preparation. Should she be located, please ensure its immediate administration. Our physician can supply further doses.

Below it was my father’s signature.

The same long stroke.

The same sharp angle.

I read the paragraph twice.

Then I placed the letter beside the unsigned agreement.

For the first time, I looked directly at Rowan.

“Please don’t send him my location.”

He did not reach for the letter.

“Do you want me to tell him you’re safe?”

I considered it.

Safe would tell Father someone had found me.

It might be enough to bring him to the door.

“Not yet.”

“All right.”

I waited for a condition.

None came.

Dain slid the pen closer.

I picked it up.

My name shook a little as I signed, but every letter was clear.