Only then did I remember—all my resources flowed through my uncle's authority. Now that everything had passed to Alaric Ravenhart, he would have moved immediately to cut me off.
I had no choice but to return to the small, warded hideout my grandmother Mara had left to my mother.
I had only a few silver pieces remaining in my pouch. Forget next season's training fees at the Academy—I could barely guarantee my next meal.
I sat in the den that had been cleaned until not a speck of dust remained, a bitter ache swelling in my chest.
Uncle Fenris and my mother had been born together under the same moon—twins blessed by the goddess. When I was barely two winters old, a territory ambush claimed both my parents in a single bloody night.
The bond between the siblings had always run deep. Uncle Fenris could never bring himself to abandon this small hideout-den. He came often to tend it himself, running his claws gently over the worn furniture, breathing in the fading traces of her scent. He told me once that her shadow still lingered here, caught in the walls like moonlight trapped in amber.