Chapter 17: The Top Drawer

Kendrick's father came to the castle at dusk on the twenty-sixth, alone, in his gardening coat.

He stood at the east gate with a leather satchel in his hand and asked the guard for me by name.

I had never heard him ask for anything.

The guard brought him to the parlor, where Kendrick, my father and I were sitting over the border book.

Kendrick stood up so fast the chair fell over.

"Father."

"Sit down, son."

The old man's voice was low and a little rusty. He crossed the carpet and set the satchel on the table.

"I'm Alpha of Greenhaven," he said. "I should have used that sixteen years ago, and I didn't."

"Rowena, I owe you more than I can say tonight, so I'll say the little I can."

He opened the satchel.

On top lay a small silver wolf on a thin chain, with a pale moonstone for an eye.

I stopped breathing.

"It was in the top drawer of her dresser," he said. "Under her gloves. I took it the day you left."

I picked it up.

It was cold, and it was lighter than I remembered. The clasp was bent where a child's fingers had once tugged it.

"There's more," he said.

He laid out a small account book in Lenore's round hand.

Every spring, one line: Ashdown letter. Returned. Then the date.

Sixteen lines.

"She kept a tally," my father said quietly.

"She keeps a tally of everything," the old man said. "She keeps one of me, too."

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