My Son Gave My Name to His Father's Mistress

I shoved the crimson pouch and the heavy metal token into my canvas bag, pulling the leather straps tight.

"We go north," I said, my voice cutting through the howling wind. "To the Court."

Seraphine nodded, her amber eyes flashing with a dangerous approval. "A wise choice. The elders in the capital will want to see that crest."

"Drop the politics for a minute," I snapped. "Before we disappear into these peaks, I have one final stop to make."

I turned off the main trail, heading toward a massive, lightning-scarred oak near the edge of the ridge. The Blackpine messengers used its hollow trunk to drop border reports.

I pulled a scrap of parchment and a charcoal stub from my pack.

"You are leaving a trail," Seraphine warned, following close behind. She kept her hands resting on the hilts of her twin daggers. "If Damon finds that message, he will know you survived the lower pass."

"Damon doesn't check the border drops," I interrupted, pressing the parchment against the rough bark. "Only the patrol runners do. And Jace runs this route. He already knows I am alive."

I wrote three lines. Short. Direct.

Caleb. The grayish-blue thread will hold against the cold. Do not walk the western perimeter alone. - Wrenna.

I folded the paper into a tight square and wedged it deep inside the dry hollow, pushing it under a pile of dead leaves.

"He chose the stray," Seraphine said. She stared at the tree trunk with clear disdain. "He stood before the elders and called another woman his mother. Why risk our head start for a boy who discarded you?"

"Because he is seven," I said, turning away from the oak. "And I raised him. Damon's poison hasn't fully set in Caleb's mind yet."

"Loyalty to a fault," Seraphine muttered.

"It isn't loyalty," I replied, adjusting my pack straps so the canvas dug into my shoulders. "It is a goodbye. Now, lead the way."

Three days after we crossed the upper ridge, the silver withdrawal finally tore through my system.

The blizzard had broken at dawn, leaving a blinding white glare across the jagged rocks. I stumbled over a hidden root, my knee slamming hard into the frozen earth.

"Get up," Seraphine commanded. She stood ten paces ahead, her gray cloak snapping in the biting wind. "We are too exposed here. The rogue patrols sweep this valley at noon."

"Give me a second," I gritted out.

My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached. Sweat froze on my forehead the second it formed. The heat that had started in my wrist three nights ago now consumed my entire left arm, boiling beneath the skin.

"The third day is the hardest," Seraphine said, walking back toward me. She didn't offer a hand to help me up. "The powder is completely flushed from your organs. Your body is fighting a war."

"It feels like my veins are filled with boiling lead," I gasped, clutching my left forearm.

"That is your true nature fighting to the surface," she said. "Damon kept you suppressed for sixteen years. The rebound will test your sanity."

I forced myself onto my feet. My legs shook violently, betraying my exhaustion.

"I survived the border wars," I said, my voice raspy. "I can survive a fever."

"This is not a fever," Seraphine corrected, her tone deadpan. "Show me your hand."

"I am fine," I insisted, taking a stubborn step forward.

My vision blurred. A sharp, agonizing cramp seized my chest, stealing the air from my lungs. I dropped to my knees again, digging my right hand into the snow to keep from face-planting into the ice.

"Wrenna!" Seraphine barked.

I couldn't answer. The heat in my left arm spiked, searing the nerves from my elbow down to my fingertips. The pain was absolute, stripping away my pride. I ripped my wool glove off with my teeth and spat it into the snow.

My skin flushed a dangerous, unnatural red.

"Look at your palm," Seraphine ordered, dropping to a crouch beside me.

I forced my stiff, trembling fingers open.

A faint, metallic glow pulsed just beneath the surface of my skin. It wasn't a reflection of the harsh sunlight bouncing off the snow. The light was coming from inside me.

"What is happening?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the wind.

"The blood is waking," Seraphine said softly.

I stared at my open palm.

Thin, luminous silver lines traced the pathways of my veins. They shifted and writhed like living things beneath the flesh. The temperature radiating from my hand melted the frost on the rocks beneath me, sending up tiny plumes of steam into the freezing air.

I held my breath, watching the royal blood I never knew I possessed finally burn its way into the light.