"At first light tomorrow, I'll escort you to their memorial stones."
I pressed further—surely they'd left me something? Territory rights, bloodline artifacts, anything from the Nightveil holdings?
But Alaric's response came out fragmented, uncertain.
"Everything unraveled so fast. Before I could sort through the inheritance claims, rival packs conspired against me. I was confined to the holding cells under false accusations."
"Now I finally have the standing to investigate what truly happened back then."
His gaze shifted as he captured my hand in his.
"Lyra, perhaps your parents didn't truly die. Perhaps there's still hope."
Ha.
The three-year mark was approaching. He'd deceived me about their deaths, and now his story was unraveling beyond repair.
So he changed course—suggested there might be hope after all.
Too late. He'd already wasted his final chance.
Several days later, Alaric departed under the guise of an alliance negotiation. In truth, he was going to see Lily.
I watched the moon climb toward its peak, then scattered sleeping herbs across the den floor.
My runner arrived with word. Healer Rowan's voice carried steady through the message: "Everything's prepared."
I nodded and sent Alaric a scent-message:
"Alaric, your penance wins. You wanted to defend Lily? Fine. Take everything."
"Take my life too."
At that same moment, his message-stone hummed insistently on the bedside ledge.
