The Heartwood

Chapter 3 Severing the Roots

The Great Hall emptied after the feast. Before going below, I returned to the twin thrones.

I drew the silver dagger and pulled my tunic away from my shoulder. The mate mark curled over my skin in a silver spiral, warm with the bond Caleb had just denied before Elder Maeve.

I set the blade against it.

The first cut burned through skin and magic together. Caleb’s hand under a full moon flashed through my mind. So did his rare smile after a victory and the night he whispered *forever*.

I dragged the silver through the entire mark.

Blood ran down my arm and spotted the floor. By the time I lifted the blade, the sigil had become a torn, smoking scar. I waited for the bond to pull at me.

The wound had none of the neatness of a ritual cut. Silver had caught in the sigil and burned outward, leaving the skin raised around it.

I pressed my sleeve to my shoulder until the worst of the bleeding slowed.

Nothing.

I drove the dagger into the leather seat of Caleb’s throne and left it standing there. He would know which promise had ended there.

In the Heartwood chamber, the tree still held the blood from my last offering. Gold moved weakly under its bark, following the old routes through its roots.

I pressed my palm to the trunk. The Old Tongue came without teaching, syllables carried in my bloodline long before Bloodmoon claimed it. I called back every offering the roots had taken from me.

The words scraped my throat raw. Each one loosened a memory from the wood.

I saw a night spent kneeling during the Great Blight and the Red Winter offerings measured while fighting to remain conscious.

Then came all the smaller cuts, each made because Caleb said the pack needed one more day.

The floor shook. Soil split around the trunk, and the roots twisted against the stone. A knot of gold rose through the wood, no larger than my fist.

I kept calling until it broke free.

The Heartseed dropped into my hands, warm and beating in time with my pulse.

Three years of my life sat inside that light: the Great Blight, the Red Winter, Silas’s torn body, and hundreds of ordinary nights no one had recorded except me.

Behind it, the Heartwood sagged. Gold vanished from the roots. By morning, the border wards would begin to fail.

I wrapped the Heartseed in leather and tied the pouch at my belt.

My room held little worth packing. I took a change of clothes, a waterskin, and the *Sustenance Log*. Then I cut every silver crescent from the bonding robe and left the silk in a heap on the floor.

The carved incense box fit into my bag as well. I nearly left it behind, then remembered Caleb’s open hand in the chamber. He had no claim on that last quiet piece of my life.

Outside, the Great Blizzard had swallowed the road and half the courtyard. It would bury my trail within minutes.

I reached an old side gate before anyone called my name.

“Elara!”

Silas blocked the opening. “You’re running away? Is this another tantrum because you didn’t get your crown? The Alpha protected someone weak. That is his duty.”

Snow blew past him into the passage. He never looked at the blood soaking my shoulder.

“Move.”

“Lady Elara, listen to me. No wolf survives the Northern Wastes alone.”

I stepped around him. He followed far enough to shout, then stopped where the shelter of the wall ended.

The wind pulled at my cloak and packed snow into my boots. The Heartseed stayed warm against my side. I kept walking until the stronghold disappeared.

Once the towers were gone, I used the north ridge to hold my course. The storm erased each footprint behind me.

If Bloodmoon sent scouts, they would have to choose a direction without my trail to guide them.

(Caleb's POV)