Chapter 64

Chapter 64: Chapter 64

"There, there. It won’t hurt anymore." She patted the boy’s arm, watching as his eyes widened, his lips jutting out as though he couldn’t believe it.

"It’s gone, Mama. No pain." He said, turning to his mother. Evelyn laughed seeing his reaction.

"Thank you, my Lady. Thank you so much." The mother bowed repeatedly in appreciation.

"No, no. It’s quite alright. Now, Deandre has to make sure he doesn’t get hurt anymore. Alright?" She said, eyes on the boy, who nodded in return.

Evelyn rose to her feet, waving goodbye to the boy and his mother. She’d been watching the pack children play when the boy sprained his wrist badly and his mother came rushing out. A boy of that age wouldn’t have had his wolf yet, thus his ability to heal wasn’t there. Then came Evelyn, who couldn’t watch idle—she had to do something.

She heard the footsteps before they even reached her, turning around only to find Clara walking toward her.

"My Lady, you have a package."

Evelyn’s brows furrowed slightly as she brushed the grass from her skirts. "Another one?" She hoped this wasn’t another of Sophia’s stupid packages.

Clara’s expression carried a note of caution, as though she’d already anticipated the question. "This one has no note attached, my Lady. Only your name on the wrapping."

"Bring it inside." Evelyn started back toward the house.

In no time she was back in the house. This time, Varek and Celine weren’t around, leaving only her and Tristan. Tristan’s brows furrowed once he saw Clara walking in with a package.

"Another one?"

The maid nodded, placing it on the table.

"You think this is another of Sophia’s things?" Tristan asked, still remembering the last package Evelyn had received.

Evelyn shrugged. "I hope not." She reached for the box and opened it. Inside lay a bouquet, wilted slightly from travel, and beneath it, a framed portrait.

Evelyn’s fingers paused, and for a moment, she simply stared at the frame.

Then she lifted it carefully, her breath caught.

Lily.

The portrait captured her exactly as Evelyn remembered her from those first years. Bright eyes, soft curls, a small smile on her lips.

Once, that face would have been enough to make Evelyn smile.

She still remembered that day as clear as day. Lily had been just a few months old. Evelyn sat still, Lily in her arms, while the Artisan painted them. In that moment, that was the happiest Evelyn had been.

But now, looking at the same picture, all Evelyn could remember was the Lily who had run into Sophia’s arms. The Lily who had called her evil. The Lily who had screamed, "You are not my mother."

Her throat felt tighter, and her jaw tightened. Perhaps this was the reaction Kael wanted from her. What did he call it then? The mother in her wouldn’t abandon Lily.

She wiped the tear that threatened to fall and threw the portrait straight into the fireplace, watching it burn.

Clara gasped where she stood. She knew her Luna had changed—she’d been with her for the past months—but this? She hadn’t thought of it. Lily was once her Luna’s entire life, and now she would toss the frame into the fire.

Tristan, who stood behind her, looked down, guilt-stricken and ridden.

"What a fool Kael is," Evelyn began.

"He must be very confident," Evelyn said finally, her voice flat, "to think a portrait would undo what he did to me." She stared into the fire without truly seeing it. "Flowers. A painting. As though grief works like a ledger he can balance with the right gesture."

Her fingers curled at her sides. "What exactly is he thinking?"

Tristan remained silent while Evelyn turned toward the remaining flowers. "Does he truly believe I would see Lily’s face and suddenly forget everything?"

She laughed humorlessly. "Or perhaps he thinks the mother in me will always be waiting for her."

That road was gone. As much as she loved Lily, she was still Sophia’s child. While she thought she had brought Lily up, Kael had made sure to show her who her mother was. Evelyn was nothing but a placeholder for Sophia.

In that moment, Celine and Varek arrived, their footsteps coming to a halt when they saw the flowers on the table and the remaining part of the portrait being burnt.

Varek’s eyes moved from the smoldering frame to Evelyn, then to Tristan’s downcast expression, and something in his face shifted with understanding.

"Kael again," he said. It wasn’t a question.

"Kael again." Evelyn replied. "More flowers, and now this." She gestured toward the portrait burning.

Celine’s gaze lingered on the fire a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable in her expression before she looked away. "And the note?"

"There wasn’t one this time. I suppose he thought the portrait spoke for itself." Evelyn crossed her arms. "He’s not wrong. It spoke plainly enough."

Varek exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. "He truly believes this will work."

"He believes a great many foolish things." Evelyn turned from the fire finally. "I understand him a little better now, at least. He and Sophia aren’t so different from each other. Both convinced that if they perform loudly enough, I’ll feel something more than I already do."

No one spoke for a moment.

"I’ll have the rest of the deliveries intercepted at the gate," Tristan said finally, his voice quieter than usual. "You shouldn’t have to see them at all."

Evelyn looked at him—really looked—taking in the way his shoulders had curled inward, the guilt sitting heavy and visible across his face.

"Tristan." She called, and he met her eyes reluctantly.

"This isn’t yours to carry," she said. "Whatever’s happening in your head right now, it isn’t your failure. It’s his."

"I know," he said, though nothing in his voice suggested he believed it.

Evelyn held his gaze a moment longer, then let it go, turning instead toward the flowers still sitting untouched on the table.

"Burn these as well," she said to Clara. "And have someone inform the messenger that the next delivery will be returned unopened. I’ve made my feelings on the matter sufficiently clear."

"Yes, my Lady."

Varek watched her carefully as she moved past him toward the stairs. "You’re taking this well."

"I’m taking it the only way I can afford to." She paused at the base of the staircase, not quite looking back. "If I let every reminder of what I lost undo me, Kael wins simply by being persistent. I refuse to give him that."

She continued up the stairs without another word, while Tristan lingered longest, staring at the burning piece before finally turning and walking out toward the balcony alone.

Varek found him there sometime later, staring out at nothing, his hands braced against the railing.

"How long," Varek said, coming to stand beside him, "do you intend to keep doing this?"

Tristan didn’t look at him. "Doing what?"

"Punishing yourself for something she’s already forgiven."

"If I hadn’t done what I did," Tristan said quietly, "she would have had one last chance. To hold him. To bury him herself. To give him a name."

"It doesn’t matter now, Tristan. What’s done is done." Varek’s voice was steady. "She forgave you. Perhaps it’s time you let yourself do the same."

"I can’t forgive myself." Tristan finally turned to face him. "I don’t think I’m meant to. Forgiveness is hers to give, not mine to take for myself. All I can do is atone."

"Atone how?"

Tristan was quiet a moment. "She couldn’t find where he was buried," he said finally. "The grave was too overgrown, the shrine half-collapsed. She left that forest with nothing, not even a stone to mark him." He straightened from the railing. "If I could find the grave myself, clear the ground, give her somewhere real to return to—it wouldn’t undo anything, but it would be something. A small enough thing, measured against what I owe her." ℯℯ𝘭.

Varek studied him for a long moment, then nodded. Evelyn would greatly appreciate that—to know where her son was buried.

"You do that," he said, "and perhaps you’ll forgive yourself in the process."

Tristan nodded, looking back at the sky. The both of them knew forgiveness was a far thing from him.