Page 22 of The Wolf

“There you go,” Scarlet soothed, smoothing a hand over the small child’s head. It was rare that she had a few solid hours free to help the sick and downtrodden, but Scarlet hadmadetime to make this specific house call. It had involved calling in a few favors with the manor staff to cover for her should anyone look for her, but it was worth it.

For every life she’d taken in the past, she tried to save one. It didn’t negate what she did for her stepmother, nor did it clear her conscience, but it wassomething. Her own silent rebellion against the monster that had taken over her life.

The child she was currently helping, Moses, had been unwell for weeks now. He had a chill despite the fact the weather was warm, and clearly his body was not up to the task of combating the disease on its own. Luckily, Scarlet had just the right potions and salves to help the boy.

The child’s mother sighed with relief. “Just like that?” Riia asked, not daring to hope. “Just like that, he’ll be all right?”

“Give him three drops of this every four hours,” Scarlet instructed, turning from Moses to hand Riia a jar full of a deep purple liquid. “Make sure he takes the whole bottle. And I mean it—the whole bottle. Even if it seems like he’s fully recovered, do not stop until the bottle is finished. Otherwise, the chill may come back. Then apply this to his forehead whenever he feels especially hot.” Scarlet procured a pale green salve from her bag and handed this over to the boy’s mother.

Riia nodded in understanding. She dared to smile at her husband. Abel was sitting in the corner, the better to hide his worried face from his son. His wolf ears perked up when he heard Scarlet’s assurances though, and his expression brightened.

In Betraz, unions between Talagans and humans were forbidden. Prejudice still ran very high here. After all, the province had been one of the most staunchly loyal to King Destin, who had hated shifters. Even though Arwen and her pack of wolves were shifters themselves, they ruled the Talagans and their ill-fated human paramours with an iron fist. To that end, it wasn’t safe for Riia to take her child to a normal healer. Hence why she’d begged for Scarlet’s help.

With a small smile, Scarlet procured one final potion from her bag. Green again—this time the color of the forest. She knew from firsthand experience that it smelled of grass and sunshine and other pleasant things—she’d made sure of it. Scarlet got to her feet to stand in front of Abel, who rose from his seat to meet her gaze.

“So long as you can keep your true form from showing”—she pointed at his ears—“and take three drops of this potion three times a day, then your shifter scent will be hidden. Moses’, too. At least then you should have more recourse to go about your daily lives.”

Abel could only stare at her, bug-eyed with disbelief. “We cannot afford such a thing. And it is illegal.”

“So is having a mixed child,” she said, not unkindly. She held out the potion again. “As for the price, it’s on the house. Trust me, if my helping you can ease your lives by even a small fraction, it will be worth it.”

Abel fell to his knees and placed his forehead on the tops of her feet. “You are too kind, my lady.”

Scarlet grimaced. She didn’t deserve the family’s thanks; helping them was just a small penance against the blood on her hands because of her stepmother. It truly was the least she could do. Not enough, but it was something.

She patted Abel on the shoulder and backed away, giving Riia and Moses one last glance before leaving.

As she snuck home through the dusty streets, the cool spring breeze causing her to shiver, she left food and supplies at several more houses—people she knew desperately needed it, other forbidden shifter-human couples; the very young and the very old, whose parents and carers had been ravaged by the mimkia epidemic and were now left to look after each other; maidens desperately trying to carve out an independent life so as to avoid being married off to much older men who everyone knew would treat them poorly; Talagan men who were in hiding, terrified of being driven once more into a war they did not choose and did not want.

In truth, the province of Betraz was filled with more desperate, broken people who needed Scarlet’s help than those who did not. It was very much a region where the very few benefitted hugely from the many, and Scarlet hated it.

What she hated even more was that she helped reinforce the system that kept everyone oppressed. But no matter how long or hard she agonized over going against her stepmother once and for all, Scarlet found that she could not do it. She didn’t have enough faith in herself to win against Arwen. She would only achieve her own death. And then what sort of change could she effect?

Nothing. None at all.

By the time Scarlet arrived back at the estate, tiptoeing into the kitchen, it was fully dark outside and her mood was ever darker.

“You best get upstairs quickly,” Dris urged in hushed tones the moment she spied Scarlet. Her eyes were wide and panicked. “Your stepmother is in a rage.”

When is Arwen not in a rage?

“What is it this time?” Scarlet asked, rubbing her fingers against her temple to ward off an incoming headache. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with tonight.

Dris glanced at the door leading out of the kitchen, ensuring that they were alone, before saying, “Apparently the duke of Merjeri died the night before last. And the sheriff has disappeared too.”

Scarlet dropped her hands, and the blood drained from her face.

Oh no.

That changed things.

“Where is my stepmother now?” Scarlet questioned, barely able to ask the question as her brain chased after a thousand different questions. Who had killed the duke of Merjeri? Whose side were they on? Did they work for the Hood, whose men Scarlet had sometimes helped get out of tricky situations in Merjeri when she should have killed them? Or did they work for something more sinister? The Dark Court? Did her stepmother know of her involvement?

“She will be home soon,” Dris said. “The messenger she sent out first was terribly out of breath when he arrived. So I would get upstairs and tend to her fire before then.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Dris,” Scarlet said, placing a quick kiss on her surrogate mother’s cheek before swiftly exiting the kitchen, rushing through the manor and up the grandest tower to her stepmother’s rooms. They were expansive—half of the entire east wing of the house—and had once belonged to Scarlet’s father. Once they had been a place Scarlet loved. They had been welcoming.

Now they were cold.

---