CHAPTER3:THE CELLAR
1554 Words
For several seconds, Rowan could only stare.
Alder Crane stood across the border with a crossbow in his hands and the face she had last seen in a portrait displayed at his funeral. Three years ago, Ironridge had mourned him. Dorian had barely spoken for weeks afterward, and Rowan had stayed beside him through his grief.
Now Alder was alive.
And he had just threatened her.
“You’re dead,” Rowan whispered.
Alder’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “Not yet.”
Kaelen moved in front of Rowan, shielding her from the crossbow.
“Lower the weapon.”
Alder glanced at him. “Kaelen Thorne. I wondered how long it would take you to find her.”
“You seem to know a great deal about what’s happening here.”
“I know enough to recognise a trap.”
“Then put down the crossbow and explain yourself.”
Alder laughed. “You expect me to surrender to you? I may be many things, Alpha, but stupid isn’t one of them.”
His attention returned to Rowan.
“Be careful who you trust. Especially those who claim they’re protecting you.”
Before she could demand answers, Alder glanced toward the trees.
“This conversation will have to wait.”
“Where are you going?” Rowan called.
“Ask yourself why Dorian died. Then ask who benefits from making sure you’re blamed for it.”
He disappeared into the trees before either of them could stop him.
Rowan tried to follow, but Kaelen caught her arm.
“Don’t.”
“Let go of me.”
“He has a weapon, and we don’t know whether he has backup.”
“He’s Dorian’s brother!”
“And he just threatened you.”
Rowan pulled free, her mind racing. Alder had been dead for three years. She remembered his funeral and the grief that had nearly broken Dorian.
If Alder had survived, why had he never returned? And why reveal himself now?
Before she could ask Kaelen anything else, hurried footsteps sounded behind them.
Several Blackthorn warriors emerged from the trees, led by a broad-shouldered man with a sword at his hip.
“Alpha,” he said. His gaze moved to the dead assassin. “We heard the shots.”
“Bran, take four warriors and secure the border. Search the surrounding trees, but don’t cross into Ironridge territory without my order. Find out whether the assassin came alone.”
Bran nodded.
“And the body?” he asked.
“Take it to the cellar. I want every piece of evidence examined.”
The warriors moved to collect the dead man.
“Keep any other attackers alive if possible,” Kaelen added. “I want answers.”
As the warriors carried the body away, Rowan turned to him.
“I want to see Dorian.”
Kaelen studied her. “Why?”
“Because he was my friend. I knew him before the ledger appeared and before the council called me a traitor. If he was murdered to frame me, I deserve to know what happened.”
“You may not like what you find.”
“I’ve spent six months being told who I am by people who refuse to hear me speak. I’m done letting others decide what I can handle.”
After a moment, Kaelen nodded.
“You can see the body. But answer my questions honestly, and don’t touch anything without permission.”
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“No. You’re a witness. For now, that distinction matters.”
He turned toward the trees.
“Come with me.”
The path wound between tall pines before reaching an old stone building partly hidden beneath a hillside. Moss covered its walls, and a narrow staircase descended beneath the wooden door.
“What is this place?” Rowan asked.
“An old storage cellar. We use it when we need somewhere secure to examine evidence.”
“Convenient.”
Kaelen glanced at her. “You think I’m hiding something?”
“I think everyone has been hiding something from me.”
He offered no reply.
Inside, the air smelled of damp stone and old wood. A lantern cast weak light over a narrow table and several shelves. Bran stood near the far wall.
“The body is ready, Alpha.”
Kaelen led Rowan farther inside.
Dorian lay on a stone slab beneath the lantern.
For a moment, Rowan forgot how to breathe.
His face was pale and still. Someone had cleaned the blood from his skin, but a dark bruise marked his neck. His clothes were torn and stained with dirt.
She stepped closer.
“Dorian,” she whispered.
There was no answer.
She wanted to shake his shoulder and demand that he open his eyes. She wanted him to explain the ledger and tell her why he had stood silently while Garrick condemned her.
Most of all, she wanted him alive.
“Do you recognise his injuries?” Kaelen asked quietly.
“I’m not a healer.”
“You were beta for eight years. Surely you’ve seen enough to know whether he was attacked.”
“I have. But I can’t tell you how he died just by looking at him.”
Kaelen didn’t press her.
Rowan noticed that Dorian’s right hand was partially closed around something small.
“His hand.”
“Don’t touch it yet,” Kaelen warned.
“I wasn’t going to.”
A scrap of dark wool protruded between Dorian’s fingers.
“Someone left that there,” she murmured.
“Or he took it from his attacker.”
“Either is possible.”
Bran retrieved a pair of metal tweezers and carefully removed the fabric, placing it on a clean cloth.
The wool was thick, nearly black, and torn along one edge.
“I don’t recognise it,” Rowan said.
“Could it have come from an Ironridge cloak?” Kaelen asked.
“Possibly. But Blackthorn uses dark wool, too. It proves nothing.”
Kaelen gave her a thoughtful look.
“You’re more careful with evidence than your council was.”
The remark stung because it was true.
Rowan looked at Dorian’s closed hand again. If he had grabbed the fabric during a struggle, perhaps he had been trying to leave them a clue. Or someone might have planted it to mislead them.
“Check his other hand.”
Bran moved around the slab. As he examined Dorian’s left hand, Rowan noticed a glint beneath the edge of his torn sleeve.
“Wait.”
Bran carefully drew out a silver pin shaped like a split oak leaf. A small letter had been scratched into its back.
A.
Rowan’s stomach tightened.
Kaelen held out his hand, and Bran passed him the pin.
“Do you recognise it?” he asked.
“I recognise the symbol. It resembles Ironridge’s mark, but I’ve never seen this pin before.”
“And the letter?”
“No.”
She leaned closer. The initial was uneven, as though someone had carved it with a knife.
“Dorian never wore jewellery,” she said.
“Perhaps it belonged to someone else,” Kaelen replied.
“Then why was it in his hand?”
Neither man answered.
The pin looked deliberate. Someone had wanted it found, or Dorian had fought hard enough to take it from his attacker.
The letter could mean a name, a title, or a warning.
“Alder,” Rowan whispered.
Kaelen turned toward her. “Why Alder?”
“He appeared at the border moments ago. He’s Dorian’s twin, and this pin could be connected to him.”
“Could be,” Kaelen said. “But we won’t treat a guess as proof.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? You know how easily evidence can be planted. Don’t let anger make you repeat the same mistake.”
Rowan was ready to argue, but stopped herself.
He was right. The pin proved nothing on its own.
She looked back at Dorian.
“Someone wanted him dead. And someone wants us to find particular clues on his body.”
“Then we need to know who had access to him before he was brought here.”
A faint creak sounded from the staircase.
Bran reached for his sword.
Kaelen stepped between Rowan and the stairs.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
Another footstep sounded above them.
Rowan’s hand moved to the knife at her belt. The cellar suddenly felt smaller, its stone walls pressing in around her.
A shadow appeared at the top of the stairs.
Then a man descended into the lantern light.
Dark hair. Familiar features. A face that should have belonged to a dead man.
Alder Crane stopped at the bottom, his gaze moving from Kaelen to Rowan and finally to Dorian’s body.
His expression darkened when he noticed the silver pin in Kaelen’s hand.
“Ah,” he said quietly. “You found it.”
Kaelen raised the pin. “Care to explain what this is?”
Alder ignored him and looked directly at Rowan.
“Hello, Rowan.” A faint smile touched his lips. “I was hoping I’d find you before the Blackthorn Alpha did.”
Rowan tightened her grip on her knife.
“You’re dead.”
Alder’s smile widened.
“Not yet.”
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