The healers arrived with their stretcher and herb-pouches, their urgent voices shattering the morning quiet of the Keep.
At the Healer's Lodge, an attending wolf asked urgently, "Where is the patient's bonded mate? We need the Alpha's mark on the consent scrolls."
Mira was frantic, wringing her hands. "I've sent howl-calls to Alpha Fenris over a dozen times. No response."
She fumbled for the message-sigil crystal I kept by my bed. "I tried seventeen times through the Lady's own channel too. The sigils just... fade. As if warded against."
I forced my eyes open and reached for the healer's sleeve. My voice was barely a whisper.
"I'll mark the scrolls myself. I don't want the pup."
The words left me hollow, as if they'd carved out everything I had left.
I thought about the past two moons—how Fenris had mentioned wanting to strengthen the bloodline, so I'd stopped taking the moon-herb that prevented conception.
This pup had quickened by accident. Now it would leave the same way.
It was never wanted. Never welcomed with love or the joy of true mates.
It shouldn't come into this world.
The head healer's expression was grave, her silver eyes troubled. "The situation is critical, my Lady. The fall has caused great damage. We may not be able to preserve the pregnancy, but we can attempt—"
"Don't." I closed my eyes. Tears slid down silently, soaking into the healing linens. "Let it go."
In the treatment chamber, the harsh glow of spelled crystals was blinding.
The cold clatter of healer's instruments rang sharp and clear against stone trays.
Every movement felt like a piece of my soul being carved away.
I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, refusing to let myself cry out. My wolf howled somewhere deep inside me, grieving what we were losing.
A week later, afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains of the recovery wing, falling across my bed in pale golden stripes.
I set down my scrying mirror. The surface still showed Aurora's latest image-sending to the pack. In the vision, Fenris was crouched before her in the gardens, fastening the clasps of her ceremonial boots. They were both laughing, carefree, their wolves clearly at ease with each other.
I darkened the mirror with a touch, my face blank. As if I'd seen nothing at all.
"Lyra."
The heavy door swung open.