Chapter 8: The Order

Evander's POV

The silver burn throbbed from wrist to elbow, and I let it.

It was the only thing in the room that hurt in a way I understood.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the east tower with the bandage she had tied still on my arm.

It was torn from her skirt, and it was knotted too tight.

I did not want to take it off.

Below, in the healer's room, my soldiers stood at every door.

Her mother slept under a blanket, and her guard had been told to lose his life before he lost the door.

That I could do.

That was simple.

The rest was in the pocket of my coat.

I took out the letter and unfolded it by the cold hearth.

My father had written it eleven months ago with a hand that was already failing.

I knew every line, and I read it anyway.

It said that when the Crown burned the Moon Court, the Queen had not died in the fire.

It said she had been taken north alive and sold as a thrall.

It said any child of hers would carry silver under iron.

It said that when that child grew, she would call the wolves to their knees, and the Crown would end.

It said I must find that child before she came into her power.

It said I must kill her.

It said, in the last line, in letters pressed so hard the paper tore: Swear it, Evander.

I had sworn it.

I was a good son, and he was dying, and I was angry at the world.

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