“So,” Gerald said, his low voice lifting in clear surprise, “did I hear that correctly? You are offering me your share of the Mortimer territory?”
I did not answer.
A brief chuckle rolled from his chest, deep and steady.
“In that case, I accept. But I never take without giving. How about this, Victoria? Bind yourself to me under a long oath.”
I stiffened.
“You always spoke of wandering beyond the mountain lines,” he continued smoothly. “It so happens I have invested in a great traveling conclave, a gathering that moves from pack to pack. I still lack the one who will stand at its center and speak.”
“I am no longer young,” I said instinctively. “My form, my presence…”
“Enough,” Gerald cut in without impatience. “Fifty-five winters is not the end of anything. You were once the most luminous voice to rise from the High Academies. That has not changed.”
He did not ask what I had endured.
As if my path were already decided, his tone left no space for refusal.
“Forget Gerald,” he said. “Look forward. I will come for you when I return.”
Some things never changed. He was still as commanding as he had been in his youth.
After a long pause, I exhaled slowly.
“Very well,” I said. “I accept, Edmund.”
For the first time in decades, my life was beginning on my own terms.
Gerald did not return to the lodge that night.
At dawn, his call came through the rune-stone.
“Bring the morning meal to the council hall,” he ordered. “Prepare enough for two. We have a guest.”
He never trusted food prepared by others. For thirty winters, even when I was fevered or sleepless, I rose before sunrise to cook for him.
When I entered his chamber at the hall, I stopped short.
Tessa stood there.
She wore a pale-gold mantle, her posture elegant and composed. At her feet lay my favorite hide-canvas, torn apart and scattered across the stone floor.
In its place stood a new moonstone carving.
My mind went blank.
“Who did this?” I demanded, heat surging up my spine. “That was my work.”
Tessa’s eyes widened, her hand rising in feigned alarm.
“Oh, I thought it was nothing of value,” she said softly. “It looked crude. I replaced it with one of mine. Forgive me, Victoria.”
That canvas was the only piece Gerald and I had ever crafted together during the journey we once called sacred.
Gerald did not even look up from the scrolls in his hand. He crossed the room and took the food vessel from me.
“It does not matter,” he said dismissively. “That old thing had no worth. This place finally feels refined.”
As he passed me, his shoulder struck mine.
I fell.
Broken frame shards cut into my palm. Blood spilled instantly, sharp pain flashing white through my vision.
I tried to rise.
Then I saw it.
A pale silk garment, discarded carelessly in the corner.
My chest tightened, breath catching painfully.
Gerald noticed none of it.
When Tessa’s eyes shimmered and she said softly, “Gerald, there were ground nuts in the porridge. You know I cannot tolerate them. I could have died,” his expression darkened at once.
Without hesitation, he hurled the vessel into the fire pit.
Then he looked down at me on the floor with open disdain.
“Stop acting weak. Clean up that ugly thing. And never use ground nuts again.”
He took Tessa by the hand and left.
That night, at her celebration feast, I watched him shield her from the crowd, refusing to let her carry even the smallest satchel.
“Your hands shape beauty,” he said fondly. “They should never be burdened.”
I returned home and treated my wound myself.
Then I gathered every gift Gerald had ever given me.
Each feast, each turning of the moon, everything came in pairs.
Only then did I understand.
Nothing had ever been meant solely for me.
By the time the sun dipped low, I hurried to collect my grandson, Henry.
As he emerged with the other pups, laughter rose nearby.
“Is that your grandmother?” someone jeered.
Henry flushed crimson.
“No,” he shouted. “She is just our caretaker.”
Then he lifted a carved-image scroll.
“This is my grandmother. She is a great sculptor.”
It was Tessa.
I felt nothing.
On the ride home, Henry stayed silent.
When we stopped, he whispered, “Grandmother, are you angry?”
I looked at him calmly.
“Henry,” I said, “if you wish for another grandmother, I will help you have one.”
