Page 52 of Claimed By Stone
“Actually, I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind.”
Khuldruk arched a brow but said nothing, allowing her to take a seat beside Thavros.
“Okay, suit yourself,” Callie said as she walked over to Khuldruk. “Come find me when you're done.”
“Of course, my pet,” he said before kissing her.
Callie turned to leave, and anxiety began to wrap around me until Thavros put his large, warm hand on my knee.
Frema wasted no time. “We’ve confirmed the rumors,” she said, dropping a sealed scroll onto the table. “The statue, the one that held Seraphina, was a gift from the Westerly Clan. Given just before the death of our parents.”
Silence fell like a hammer. Khuldruk’s jaw clenched. Thavros didn’t move, but Seraphina felt the tension ripple through him like a coming storm.
“There’s more,” Frema continued. “There are whispers now, not just of political dealings or bribes, but of… something darker. People are being turned. Brainwashed. A trusted member of the werewolf pack, someone who’d lived among them for years, suddenly opened the gates to Westerly raiders. Said they heard the ‘true call’ and turned on their own.”
“And you believe this?” Khuldruk asked, voice low and dangerous.
Frema nodded. “I saw the aftermath myself. The wolves are shaken. We helped drive them back, but it’s clear—the Westerly Clan is playing a longer game. One that involves infiltration.”
Thavros spoke, voice steady but grim. “And the statue?”
Frema met his gaze. “The elder I spoke with remembered it. Said it was ‘a tribute to peace’ from the Westerly Clan. Delivered with all the pomp of a diplomatic gift.” Her lips twisted. “But it came just weeks before your parents died. And then… well, we all remember what happened after.”
Seraphina’s stomach turned. The firelight flickered across the crystal embedded in the table, now glowing faintly. She could feel its warmth even from across the room. But all she felt inside was cold.
Frema leaned forward, her gaze steady on Thavros. “There was more,” she said, voice quieter now. “That winter, there was supposed to be a ceremony.”
Thavros frowned. “What kind of ceremony?”
Khuldruk answered, arms crossed. “A transfer of power. Our parents planned to step down at Yule. I was to be officially named chief. They wanted to spend their final decades in peace, guiding from the background.”
Frema nodded. “He was there when they began preparations. The feast was to be held in the Great Hall. The crystal was to be blessed again under the bond of your lineage.” Her voice softened. “But they died before Yule ever came.”
The silence that followed was a different kind. Thavros stared at the table, his hand resting on her thigh beneath the glowing crystal.
“They died,” Frema said, “and the crystal dimmed with them. We thought it was grief. Loss. But now... maybe it was something else.”
Khuldruk’s jaw tightened. “The Westerly Clan attacked weeks later. Just enough time for grief to distract us. Enough time to make it look like bad luck instead of strategy.”
Seraphina’s fingers curled tightly in her lap. Her heart was pounding.A gift. A death. A war.
“I was already here,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I was already in the mountain when it happened.”
Thavros turned sharply to her, pain written in every line of his face.
“I don’t remember doing anything,” she said quickly. “What if there was enough magic left to throw everything into motion?”
“You don’t know that,” Thavros said fiercely. “You don’t know what they used you for.”
She met his eyes. “But we’re starting to understand, aren’t we?"
I barely heard the rest of what was said around the table. Their voices turned to echoes, muffled by the pounding of my heart in my ears.
A gift.
A death.
A war.
