Chapter 12: Bitter Green

Ilsa's POV

I had followed the smell for three corridors before I understood what it was.

I had not been able to sleep.

The springs had done their work, and by nightfall the last of the wolfsbane was gone from my blood.

My wolf had come back all the way, quick and bright, and every sense I owned had sharpened until the castle felt too loud.

I got out of bed on my own for the first time, took the cane the healer had left, and walked.

I had no plan.

I wanted to find him and take back what I had said in the baths, or say it again, and I had not decided which.

Halfway down the east corridor, a thread of bitter green drifted past my face.

It was sharp, and it did not belong in a castle that smelled of cedar and stone.

My wolf lifted her head and growled low in my chest.

I stopped, and I knew it.

I had smelled it before, on a cold morning three years ago, in a cemetery, trailing behind an old man in a black coat.

I had put it down to the wreaths.

There were no wreaths in this corridor.

I followed it, faster, leaning on the cane, and the door at the end stood a little ajar.

I pushed it open without knocking.

The office was lit by a dozen lamps.

Roan sat behind a desk covered in papers.