Chapter 161 CHAPTER 161
Seraphine crossed the boundary just as the forest behind her erupted with sound.
Wolves.
She felt them before she heard them - paws tearing through undergrowth, breath snapping close behind her, instincts sharpened by pursuit. She did not look back. She ran harder, skirts gathered in her fists, magic coiled tight and ready but unused. Not yet. Not here.
The spell bound wall rose ahead of her as she reached the entrance on the old tree trunk. She pressed her palm against it, murmured a single word under her breath, and slipped through as the magic parted for her.
The world changed the instant she crossed.
The sounds died.
The pressure lifted.
Seraphine stumbled a step forward, then stopped. She bent slightly, hands braced against her knees as she dragged air into her lungs. Her breath came fast and uneven at first, chest rising sharply as the echo of the chase still rang through her body.
Then – slowly - she exhaled.
A long, controlled breath, released with intention.
Safe.
On this side of the wall, the wolves could not follow. The boundary sealed itself behind her, smooth and unbroken, as if nothing had ever passed through. The forest beyond it was suddenly very far away.
Seraphine straightened. She smoothed her hair back, steadied her pulse, and let the last traces of urgency drain from her limbs.
Relief settled in her chest as she let her thoughts return fully to Red Valley.
She had not gone there with intention.
Curiosity had driven her to Red valley.
Seraphine had received word from her spy days earlier. Credible information gathered carefully and delivered in the dark of night.
The young Lycan King was traveling. He was leaving Mooncrest and was visiting Red Valley. He was not alone, his sister – Helena’s returned daughter - would also be with him. The girl who should never have survived.
Seraphine had told herself she only wanted to see her – Lisa. How she was doing as a princess, and what exactly she would be taking from her when it was time to collect.
But then something else entirely happened.
The portal opened, air folded inward and answered a wolf without spell or incantation, curiosity curdled into certainty. That kind of power did not bloom by accident. It did not awaken in wolves.
That magic had weight.
It had memory.
And Seraphine knew exactly whose hands it once obeyed.
The house was quiet when she returned, the kind of quiet that only existed in places where fear had long ago learned to behave. The servants kept out of her way. The walls did not creak. Even the fire in the hearth burned low, as if unwilling to draw attention to itself.
Seraphine entered the basement without announcing herself.
Jocelyn looked up from the bench where she sat, her expression neutral, almost bored. Whatever Seraphine had brought with her tonight, Jocelyn had long learned that fear only fed it.
Seraphine stopped in front of her.
“I know where it is.”
Jocelyn blinked once. “Where what is?”
“Your power,” Seraphine said. “You thought you hid it well, but I saw it tonight.”
Jocelyn studied her sister’s face, searching for madness, for exaggeration. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You went back,” Seraphine continued, voice sharp with certainty. “You went back to Mooncrest after everything burned. You begged for forgiveness. You offered what you had left. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Atonement through sacrifice.”
Jocelyn exhaled slowly. “If I had been able to give my power back,” she said calmly, “I would have. I would have handed it over the moment Mooncrest burned. But I didn’t have that choice.”
Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. “Then explain how it still exists.”
“I can’t,” Jocelyn replied. “Because I don’t even know what you think you saw.”
Seraphine leaned closer. “I saw a wolf open a portal without spell work. I saw magic answer him like it once answered you.”
Jocelyn’s lips parted in surprise. Something closer to relief flickered in her eyes.
“A wolf?” she repeated softly.
“Yes.”
Jocelyn leaned back slightly, absorbing that. “Then the goddess has raised someone else – another warden?”
Seraphine stiffened. “You’re pleased.”
“I am,” Jocelyn said simply. “Because if someone from Mooncrest carries power strong enough to stand against you, then what you did seventeen years ago will not happen again.”
Seraphine laughed, sharp and incredulous. “You think this is justice?”
“I think it’s balance,” Jocelyn replied. “And it terrifies you.”
Seraphine’s expression darkened. “If that power does not belong to you, then you will tell me where yours went. Where did you hide it, Jocelyn? I need it now more than ever.”
“I didn’t hide anything,” Jocelyn said.
Seraphine’s voice dropped. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” Jocelyn answered evenly. “And if what you saw truly came from Mooncrest, then perhaps the goddess decided someone else deserved to finish what you started. You should be scared.”
Silence stretched between them.
Seraphine’s jaw tightened. “You’re enjoying this.”
Jocelyn met her gaze, unflinching. “No. I’m mourning the sister I once had.”
Seraphine scoffed. “Spare me.”
“You were my big sister,” Jocelyn said quietly. “Before the fire. Before the blood. Before you decided the world owed you permission to burn it. How did love turn you into this monster you have become? Love is everything but what you have become, sister.”
Seraphine turned away, anger coiling tight beneath her skin.
Jocelyn watched her, sadness softening her voice. “If there is any part of you left that remembers who you were - who we were - stop now before you end up burning in the fire you start.”
“Spare me your emotional speeches Jocelyn. I will get the truth,” Seraphine said. “One way or another.”
She turned sharply toward the door. “Bring her.”
Footsteps approached as Queen Helena entered the basement her posture stooped from years of labor rather than submission. She carried the smell of hearth smoke and damp earth.
She froze when she saw Jocelyn.
Jocelyn stood abruptly, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re alive,” she whispered. “I thought she killed you. I never knew…”
Helena frowned, studying her. “Who are you?”
“My name is Jocelyn,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m Seraphine’s younger sister.”
Helena’s eyes widened slowly, understanding dawning with a kind of tired disbelief. “Killing me would have been mercy,” she said hoarsely. “What she’s done instead… I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
Seraphine’s patience snapped. “Enough. I did not bring you here to reminisce.”
Helena turned to her, weary but unafraid. “Then why am I here?”
Seraphine faced Jocelyn again. “You will tell me how the power you once carried now belongs to Commander Liam or your hand carries the blood of another one.”
Helena stiffened. “Liam?” she repeated. “You mean… Lora’s boy?”
The name hit her like a memory she hadn’t allowed herself to touch.
“He carries witchcraft,” Seraphine said. “And your silence Jocelyn will cost her life.”
The air closed around Helena’s throat with brutal precision.
Helena gasped, stumbling back, her hands clawing uselessly as invisible force crushed her breath away. Her face reddened, then darkened, tears spilling freely as her body strained against nothing.
“Stop!” Jocelyn cried. “Please!”
Seraphine held her there, watching, unmoved.
Then she released her.
Helena collapsed, coughing violently, struggling to draw breath, her body shaking with the aftermath. When she finally lifted her head, tears streaked her face, but her eyes were clear.
“Don’t,” she rasped to Jocelyn. “If Lora’s boy carries that power, don’t tell her. Let her kill me. I won’t have another child suffer because of my silence.”
Jocelyn knelt beside her, heart breaking.
Seraphine laughed softly. “So noble. Do you think that absolves you? Mooncrest burned because you stayed quiet. People died because you refused to tell the truth. You should have told them the truth Helena; I didn’t do anything wrong. All I did was fall in love – and that love cost me the man I loved.”
Helena met her gaze. “I’m sorry. I failed you,” she said. “I know that. And I will carry it forever. But what you did… what you became… that was your choice.”
“Stop. I’ve had enough,” Seraphine said finally.
Her voice was flat now, stripped of theatrics, stripped of patience. Whatever satisfaction she had hoped to extract from them had curdled into irritation.
“Decide who dies, or decide to tell me the truth.”
She looked between them, her gaze sharp, calculating. “And if you think your lives are too expendable - too easy to end - then I will make the choice harder for you.”
Jocelyn did not flinch. Helena barely lifted her head.
Seraphine smiled.
“The next time I come here,” she said calmly, “I will bring you your daughter. Lisa.”
The name slipped out easily. Casually. As if it were nothing more than another threat in a long list of cruelties.
“Then,” Seraphine continued, already turning away, “you can tell me whether she dies… or whether you finally tell me the truth, Jocelyn.”
Her footsteps receded up the stairs. The door shut. The lock slid into place.
Silence fell over the basement.
For a heartbeat, neither woman moved.
Then Helena turned slowly.
Her breath had gone shallow, her eyes wide, unfocused, as if she were afraid the sound of her own voice might shatter something fragile and newly formed.
“Did she just say…” Helena whispered. “Lisa?”
Jocelyn looked at her.
“My daughter?” Helena continued, her voice trembling now. “Did she say my daughter is alive?”
The words barely made it out.
Jocelyn didn’t answer right away. She watched understanding bloom across Helena’s face in real time, watched disbelief give way to something so raw it almost hurt to witness.
Helena let out a broken sound - half sob, half laugh - and before Jocelyn could rise, Helena had crossed the space between them and collapsed against her, arms clinging desperately, as if Jocelyn were the only thing keeping her upright.
“She’s alive,” Helena cried. “She survived. Oh, goddess… thank you. Thank you.”
Her body shook as years of grief tore free all at once.
“I thought she died,” Helena sobbed. “I thought she was eaten by wild animals in the forest. She was so small. I left her all alone. I thought I condemned her to death.”
She pressed her face into Jocelyn’s shoulder, clutching her like a lifeline. “But she lived. She’s alive. My daughter is alive.”
Jocelyn wrapped her arms around Helena and held her tightly, anchoring her as the sobs came harder now, cathartic and aching all at once. Tears slid silently down Jocelyn’s own face - not from fear, not from pain, but from the quiet miracle of it.
Helena pulled back just enough to lift her face toward the ceiling, eyes shining with tears as her lips moved in prayer.
“Thank you, goddess,” she whispered over and over. “Thank you for protecting her. Thank you for letting her live. Thank you for not taking her from me.”
She bowed her head, still crying, still smiling through it, as if joy and sorrow had finally collided and decided to coexist.
Jocelyn tightened her embrace and allowed herself a small, fragile smile.