Chapter 7

Throw it out if you want. I only ask that when you think of me — if you do — you don't hate me too much.

Elara held the note for a moment. Then she called her manager in.

"Take half the notes and send them to Garrett Alderton. Convert the rest into food and clothing and donate it to the northern border troops in Helen Whitmore's name."

"Return the Seal to the Alpha Council."

The manager left.

Elara sat back down at her desk and went back to her accounts.

The candle lit her face. She looked the same as always.

One tear dropped onto the page.

What happened to them after that, I learned from others.

Cain resigned his Alpha title and went back to the border town where he had first joined the pack's war force.

No home. He rented a mud-brick room at the base of the city wall.

During the day he hauled cargo at the docks. At night he drank the cheapest grain wine.

He didn't talk to anyone. He lived like a ghost.

Clara's news reached me earlier.

After Cain's very public search for me spread back to the Capital Territory, the whole story came out about him and Clara.

The Whitmore Pack elders held a formal assembly and stripped Clara of her pack membership. She was driven out.

No home. No money. Not one person willing to take her in.

She was found at Helen's Memorial Stone.

Kneeling, a deep bruise across her forehead, a knife in her chest.

A letter beside her addressed to me.

The letter was long. Several sections were blurred with water stains.

"Sister, I know you won't read this."

"But I still need to say it. Of everyone, I hurt you most."

"When he came to find me, I struggled for a long time. But I couldn't make myself leave him."

"I know that's not an excuse. Nothing is an excuse."

"If I could do it again, I'd rather have never met him."

"I'm sorry, Sister."

Word came that Cain rode through the night from the border town when he heard. But when he arrived, the burial was already done.

He stood at Clara's grave through an entire night.

Then he went north.

He applied to join the border defense force as a common soldier with no rank.

They said he charged into every fight at the front, spear broken, still going in with the broken end.

After that, the news came through an official dispatch from the Alpha Council.

Cain Calloway, ambushed at the northern border. Cut off from his unit. Died fighting.

The dispatch reached me in the back courtyard of my textile workshop.

It was the first autumn rain of the season. Flowers were knocked off the trees, scattered across the ground.

My manager came in carefully with the document.

"Authority. Should I—"

I took it and read it. Set it aside.

"Noted."

He didn't leave. He hesitated.

"The report says General Calloway left a final letter. He specified it be delivered to you."

"No need."

"But, Authority, in the letter he left all his compensation and the land granted posthumously—"

"To Helen Whitmore's name. Is that what it says?"

He paused. Nodded.

"Then what's owed to the Council goes to the Council. What's owed to the troops goes to the troops."

"Tell the northern commanders to give him a proper burial."

"That's the end of it. Don't bring it up again."

The manager withdrew.

The courtyard went quiet again.

The rain came down steady. The wind chime under the eave rang.

I picked up my tea and took a sip.

Just for a second, my fingers stopped.

Three months later, I opened a new wing of the textile workshop.

Merchants from across the region came. City officials came. Even a messenger from the Alpha Council came down from the Capital Territory.

I stood at the entrance, gold scissors in hand.

The sun was bright on the fresh plaque above the door, the lettering catching the light.

My manager ran through the ceremony steps beside me. Banners, drums, the whole event.

I cut the ribbon. The crowd cheered.

The sound of drums and celebration exploded, red confetti filling the air.

I stood in that red rain and suddenly remembered a moment from long ago.

Another crowd this loud. The same drums and red banners.

Me, holding the Bond Decree, walking to find Cain. Certain that the happiest moment of my life was about to begin.

Then nothing came of it.

Nothing came of any of it.

I stood in the sunlight and took a long breath.

Flowers on the breeze, mixing with the smell of fresh-cut wood.

Far out, the river had boats moving back and forth, sails overlapping.

These are my boats. My workshop.

No one had to give me ten miles of red flowers. I built this myself.

Light came through the high windows and fell across the bolts of finished cloth.

The looms made their quiet, steady sound.

I stopped at the largest loom and ran my hand over a fresh bolt of pale silk.

Dense and smooth.

Mother would have loved this.

"Mom," I said quietly, in my own head. "Your daughter has let it go."

By the time I walked out of the workshop, the sky was near dusk.

The river was lighting up with boat lanterns, one by one.

I stood on the stone bridge and watched.

Once I thought if Cain wasn't in my life, everything would fall apart.

Now I saw that I had been wrong.

The world was wide. The sun still rose.

No one was worth waiting forever for.

And no one was worth spending the rest of your life mourning.