Even though I could never win against Master's relentless coaxing, I still obediently took my medicine for six years. But he kept those words of mine close to his heart.
After I recovered, nothing sour or bitter ever appeared on my dinner table again.
I took the pot from Matron Thornwell's hands and, as if I couldn't feel the scalding heat, drank half the soup in one long gulp.
The remaining half I poured out beside Master's body.
I wiped my mouth. "Not bad, old man. But the blood mixed in makes it a little fishy."
"Have a taste yourself. Pay attention next time you make it."
That was what finally shattered Matron Thornwell's composure.
The tears she had held back for so long broke free all at once.
"Lynara, there won't be a next time. Your master is dead!"
Oh, right. There wouldn't be a next time.
Fine. Since Master couldn't look after me anymore, it was my turn to protect him for once.
I unfastened the cloak Master had sewn for me with his own hands and draped it over his body. My voice was calm. "Matron, watch over Master. Don't bury him."
"He'd be too lonely by himself. I'll find him some company for the grave."
Matron Thornwell couldn't stop me. All she could do was weep and beg me to come back alive. Somewhere beneath her words, I caught the salt-and-lavender scent of her grief thickening until it was almost unbearable, the hearth-smoke in it gone cold.
I carried my short sword and walked toward the Sovereign Grounds.
The stone path crumbled to dust behind me, and the whole mountain territory shook to its foundations. Every wolf within a mile radius felt it in their bones, a tremor that had nothing to do with the earth and everything to do with something old waking up.
Celestial-ranked soldiers rushed forward, blocking me outside the Gates of the Sovereign Grounds.
The one leading them was none other than my senior packmate from the Dawnveil Pack, Master's proudest wolf: Edwin Greymane.
He stared at me in surprise, brow furrowed. His scent hit me before his words did, that familiar damp parchment and tarnished copper, soured now with something I hadn't smelled on him before. Ambition, maybe. Or cowardice dressed up as pragmatism. "Lynara, if you've come to seek the Supreme Alpha's favor, you should keep your head down and your voice low."
"What's the point of making such a scene?"
I didn't bother looking at him. My eyes stayed fixed on the Gates. "Tell Fenris Voss to come out."
"Tell him an old friend has come to visit."
Edwin let out a weary sigh.
"Lynara, have you lost your mind?"
"We're mere low-born wolves. If not for this stroke of fortune, how could we ever have received Celestial Rank and stood before the Supreme Alpha?"
"'An old friend.' You're not embarrassed to say that out loud?"
Only then did I turn to look at Edwin, each word falling like a stone. "You call Master's death a stroke of fortune?"
Edwin faltered. A flicker of guilt surfaced in his eyes. His wolf dropped its gaze for half a breath before he forced it back up.
Rosalind Ashcroft, the second-ranked wolf, had just arrived. I smelled her before I saw her, that overripe berry sharpness cutting through the mountain air. She rushed to Edwin's defense the moment she saw his expression.
"Lynara, how dare you speak to Edwin that way?"
"Master's death wasn't our doing."
"If you want to blame someone, blame Master for being born with a Moonheart Core. We simply seized the opportunity that presented itself."
Looking at Rosalind's face, utterly devoid of remorse, all I felt was that Master had never been worth the love he gave them.
Edwin and Rosalind were the first wolves Master ever took into the pack.
He treated them no differently than he treated me.
He poured every ounce of his heart into raising them, even putting off having pups of his own.
That was why, after all those years, Master and Matron Thornwell never had a pup by blood.
Matron Thornwell would grumble about it from time to time, but that foolish old man would just laugh and wave it off. "It's fine. I trust my pack. When the day comes, they'll see us properly buried."
He was wrong, in the end.
But I knew that foolish old man.
He believed, to his last breath, that people were born good. Whenever his wolves made mistakes, he always gave them a chance to make things right.
I never agreed with that. But I didn't want him to die with his eyes open, restless and unsettled.
So I did what Master would have done. I gave Edwin and Rosalind one chance.
"I'll handle avenging Master myself. I don't need your help."
"Go back to the Dawnveil Pack now. Stay with Master and Matron Thornwell."
"Carry on Master's legacy. Make the pack flourish."
Rosalind had been spoiled rotten by Master since she was a pup, and her temper was as foul as they came.
The second she caught the commanding tone in my voice, her face soured. Something in my chest stirred, low and quiet, and I felt the air between us tighten. Rosalind's nostrils flared. She didn't understand what she was sensing, but her body did. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch before she caught herself and stiffened again.
