Violet looked at Calla, her mind racing despite the lingering fog of exhaustion.
Just how? How did she figure it out? Why is she suspicious?
But her face showed none of that turmoil. Instead, she wore the expression of her old, naive self—the sick daughter who trusted too much and questioned too little.
"In the village, Mother." Her voice came out small, hurt. "Do you think I'm lying?"
Her eyes glistened with what might have been tears. Her lip trembled slightly.
The picture of wounded innocence.
Calla studied her face for a long moment, searching for cracks in the facade.
Then she sighed, the sound carrying both relief and lingering doubt.
"It's not like she has the gall to lie to me," Calla thought. "She's always been too honest. Too trusting. Too weak."
But something still nagged at the edges of her mind. An instinct honed through years of court intrigue and careful manipulation.
I can't shake this eerie feeling.
"No, little bird," Calla said finally, her voice softening. "I don't think you're lying. I'm just... concerned. That boy seemed very familiar with you for someone you've only known a month."
Violet managed a weak smile. "He's just... he's kind. And Papa's teaching means we spend a lot of time together."
"I see." Calla's fingers tapped once against her arm, then stilled. "Well, we should get you home. You need proper rest."
Violet nodded gratefully.
As Calla turned to speak with the healing mage about aftercare instructions, Violet caught movement near the doorway.
Vael lingered there, partially hidden behind the doorframe. Their eyes met.
Violet's lips barely moved. The words came out in the faintest whisper, shaped more than spoken:
Find papa and mama. Tell them to back up the story. She might check.
Vael's eyes widened fractionally. He nodded once—so slight it could have been mistaken for a nervous twitch—then disappeared from view.
***
The carriage ride back to the village was silent.
Calla sat across from Violet, ostensibly reading through papers the healing mage had provided. But her eyes kept flickering up, studying Violet's face when she thought the girl wasn't looking.
Violet kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, pretending exhaustion. Inside, her mind churned.
Please let Vael have made it in time. Please let him have found them. Please—
The cottage appeared through the trees.
Calla helped Violet down from the carriage with exaggerated care, one hand supporting her elbow.
Maria must have seen them approaching. The door flew open before they reached it.
"Violet!" Maria rushed forward, eyes wide with worry. "What happened? Are you alright?"
"She collapsed during a routine examination," Calla said smoothly. "Nothing to be overly concerned about—just her condition acting up. But she needs rest."
Maria pulled Violet into a tight embrace, then immediately stepped back to examine her face. "You're so pale. Come inside. I'll make tea."
They moved into the cottage. The familiar warmth wrapped around Violet like a blanket.
"Maria," Calla said gently. "Could you take Violet to her room? I'd like to speak with you for a moment afterward."
Something in her tone made it clear this wasn't a request.
Maria's smile tightened slightly, but she nodded. "Of course. Come, sweetheart."
She led Violet to her room, helping her into bed with fussing efficiency.
"Rest now." Maria kissed her forehead. "I
'll handle this."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
***
In the main room, Calla stood by the window, gazing out at the forest.
"Is everything alright?" Maria asked carefully.
"Yes. Yes, of course." Calla turned, her smile warm. "I'm just... I wanted to ask about Garrett. How has he been?"
"Garrett?" Maria blinked. "He's fine. Same as always. Hunting, teaching Violet when she's well enough."
"And he hasn't taken on any new... projects? New responsibilities?"
The question hung delicately in the air.
Maria's expression remained open, guileless. "New projects? Well, there is one thing." She moved to the stove, beginning to prepare tea with practiced motions. "A new family moved into the village a few weeks ago. They have a boy about Violet's age—Vael."
Calla's fingers tightened on her bag strap. "Oh?"
"Yes. The father asked Garrett to teach the boy some basics. Hunting, tracking, that sort of thing." Maria poured water, not looking at Calla. "Garrett agreed. He's been working with both of them, though Violet can't always keep up because of her illness."
The words came naturally. Too naturally to be a prepared lie.
"The boy—Vael—he seems sweet," Maria continued. "A bit naive, but kind. He and Violet have become friends. It's been good for her, I think. She's been so isolated."
Calla's mind churned through this information, testing it for weak points, searching for inconsistencies.
A new family. Weeks ago. Garrett teaching them both. Violet unable to keep up because of illness—that tracks with what I've observed.
She couldn't find a crack in the story.
And asking around the village would only make her look like a gossip. Would tarnish the carefully cultivated image of the concerned, dignified mother.
"I see," Calla said finally. "That does sound good for her. Companionship at her age is important."
Maria smiled, genuine warmth flooding her face. "Exactly what I thought. Would you like to stay for tea?"
"No, thank you." Calla moved toward the door. "I should return to town before dark. But I'll visit again soon to check on her."
"Of course. Thank you for taking care of her today."
Calla paused at the threshold. "That's what family does."
The door closed behind her.
Maria stood very still for a long moment, listening to the carriage pull away. Then she exhaled slowly and sagged against the counter.
"Gods," she whispered. "That woman."
***
In her room, Violet heard the carriage leave.
She waited three minutes. Five. Making absolutely certain Calla was gone.
Then she pushed herself out of bed—legs shaky but functional—and moved to the window.
A soft knock came at the door. Not the main door. Her window.
She opened it to find Vael crouched outside, balanced precariously on the narrow ledge.
"Is she gone?" he whispered.
"Yes. Come in."
He climbed through with practiced ease, then straightened—
Violet grabbed his ear and twisted.
"Ow! What—"
She dragged him further into the room and shoved him down to sit on the floor. Then she began hitting him—not hard, but with emphatic frustration.
Smacks landing on his shoulders, his head, his arms as he tried to protect himself.
"You—"
smack
"—absolute—"
smack
"—idiot!"
"I'm sorry!" Vael's arms came up defensively. "I didn't know she'd be there!"
"You burst into a healing ward!"
Smack
"Without checking!"
Smack
"Without thinking!"
Smack
"I was worried about you!"
"You almost ruined everything!"
Smack, smack, smack
"I said I'm sorry!"
Violet finally stopped, breathing hard, glaring down at him. "You're lucky you learned that disguising spell early. Where did you even—"
"Kari taught me yesterday," Vael mumbled, rubbing his sore shoulder. "She said it might be useful if I came to visit you. Said humans get weird about Beastkin."
"Weird is an understatement." Violet slumped down beside him, suddenly exhausted again. "She was this close—" She held up two fingers barely apart. "—to figuring everything out."
"But she didn't." Vael looked at her sideways. "Because I warned your parents. Like you told me to."
Violet's anger deflated.
Vael's voice was quiet but fierce. "You're my friend. My pack. I told you—I'm not letting anything happen to you."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then Violet's hand came up and smacked him one more time on the back of his head.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For being an idiot," Violet said, but she was smiling now.
Vael rubbed his head, grinning despite himself. "Fair enough."