Chapter 3 The Elder's Death

Three weeks passed in an uneasy truce. The binding ceremony had cemented an alliance between our clans, but trust was a fragile seedling still struggling to take root. I remained at the Frostclaw fortress, ostensibly as a "diplomatic guest," though the guards who shadowed my movements suggested my status remained somewhat ambiguous.

I spent my days learning about werewolf culture—their traditions, their magic that was so different from yet complementary to our own. Nights I dedicated to star readings, charting the increasingly troubling celestial patterns from a tower Calder had granted me access to. The stars spoke of gathering shadows, of ancient enemies stirring.

The binding between us manifested in unexpected ways. I could sense Calder's general location and emotional state, particularly strong emotions like anger or pain. When we were in the same room, the connection hummed like a plucked string, neither unpleasant nor welcome—simply present.

We hadn't spoken again about his collar or my attempted escape. Instead, we maintained a careful politeness that occasionally slipped into genuine conversation when we forgot we were supposed to be reluctant allies.

I was in my tower on the night everything changed, mapping a troubling conjunction between the Hunter's Star and the Blood Moon, when I felt it—a sharp, sudden spike of distress through our bond. Calder was upset, more so than I'd ever sensed before.

Without conscious thought, I found myself moving toward him, following the invisible thread that connected us. The corridors were strangely empty as I descended from the tower, the usual guards missing from their posts. An unsettling silence hung over the fortress.

The bond led me to the council chambers. The doors stood partially open, voices raised in agitation from within. I slipped closer, staying in the shadows.

"—completely unacceptable! We must act immediately!" That was Elder Thorne, his normally measured voice sharp with anger.

"We don't have all the facts yet," Calder countered, though I could hear the strain in his voice. "Let's not make accusations without—"

"The evidence is clear, my prince." A voice I didn't recognize, cold and precise. "The blade bears unmistakable witch markings."

My breath caught. What blade?

I pushed the door open wider, stepping into the chamber. Every head turned in my direction—Calder, Elder Thorne, several council members, and a group of stern-faced werewolf warriors.

"What's happened?" I asked, though the heavy atmosphere told me it was nothing good.

Calder's face was a mask of controlled emotion, but our bond transmitted his inner turmoil—grief, rage, and something that felt uncomfortably like suspicion directed at me.

"Elder Marrok is dead," he said flatly. "Murdered in his chambers."

Elder Marrok—the oldest and most respected of the werewolf elders, the one who had been most supportive of the alliance with my clan. My stomach dropped.

"I don't understand. What does this have to do with witches?"

A warrior stepped forward, presenting a cloth-wrapped bundle to Calder. "We found this embedded in his chest, my prince."

Calder unwrapped it carefully to reveal a dagger with an ornately carved silver handle. My blood ran cold as I recognized it—not just any witch blade, but one very similar to Calder's own ceremonial dagger, the one he wore at his hip even now.

"That's impossible," I whispered. "No witch would use such a weapon. Silver is harmful to us too, though not as severely as to werewolves."

"Yet here it stands," said the cold-voiced council member, a thin man with calculating eyes. "A witch blade, in a werewolf elder's heart, just weeks after we welcome your kind into our fortress."

I looked to Calder, seeking support, but his expression remained guarded. Through our bond, I sensed his internal conflict—he didn't want to believe I or my people were involved, but the evidence was damning.

"I want to see the body," I said suddenly.

A shocked silence fell over the room.

"Absolutely not," the thin councilor objected. "This is werewolf business."

"Councilor Vane," Calder said, his voice regaining its authority, "Elder Marrok was a supporter of the alliance. If this is an attempt to sabotage what we've built, it concerns both our peoples." He turned to me. "What do you hope to find?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I have abilities that might reveal something your investigators missed."

Whispers erupted among the council members. Elder Thorne silenced them with a raised hand.

"The Stargazer's gifts include memory-reading," he reminded them. "If Elder Marrok's body still holds the echo of his final moments..."

"That's forbidden magic," Councilor Vane hissed. "Death-touching."

"It's called 'memory echo,'" I corrected, "and it's only forbidden because of the risk to the caster, not because it's dark magic." I met Calder's gaze directly. "Let me try. If someone is framing my people, I need to know."

After a tense silence, Calder nodded. "Show her."

They led me to Elder Marrok's chambers, a spacious suite now transformed into a grim tableau. The old werewolf lay on his bed, his expression frozen in shock rather than fear or pain. The wound in his chest was small but precisely placed—directly through the heart.

The room had been undisturbed since the discovery, at Calder's orders. I circled slowly, taking in details—no signs of struggle, no forced entry. Either Elder Marrok had known his killer, or they had taken him completely by surprise.

"Everyone out," I said quietly. "The spell requires privacy."

Councilor Vane started to protest, but Calder cut him off. "Wait outside. All of you." His tone left no room for argument.

As the room emptied, Calder lingered. "This spell—how dangerous is it?"

I appreciated that he asked about the risk to me rather than questioning my intentions. "It depends on how violent the death was, how much... emotional residue remains." I removed my emerald pendant, setting it carefully on a side table. "Without this, my sensitivity increases. I should be able to glimpse his final moments."

Calder frowned. "Your pendant suppresses your abilities?"

"It helps me control them," I corrected. "Without it, the visions can be overwhelming, unpredictable."

He nodded slowly. "I'll stay."

"That's not necessary—"

"It wasn't a request," he interrupted. "If this spell backfires, someone needs to be here to pull you out."

I wanted to argue but recognized the logic in his words. Besides, there was something comforting about his presence, though I'd never admit it aloud.

"Fine. But stay back, and whatever happens, don't touch me until I indicate it's safe."

I approached the bed, steeling myself for what came next. Memory echo was indeed dangerous—not because it was evil, but because it opened the caster's mind to the chaotic energies released at the moment of death. Witches had been lost to madness attempting spells like this.

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hands on either side of Elder Marrok's head, careful not to actually touch him yet. I closed my eyes, centering myself, feeling the magic gather in my fingertips.

"Memories lingering, echoes of time, reveal to me your final chime," I whispered. "Last sight, last sound, last breath of life, show me the face, the hand, the knife."

I pressed my palms to his cold temples, and the world dissolved around me.

_Darkness. Moonlight streaming through windows. Elder Marrok at his desk, writing by candlelight. A soft knock at the door._

"Come," _he calls, not looking up._

_Footsteps. A shadow. Marrok finally raising his head, recognition in his eyes._

"You. What brings you at this late hour?"

_A figure moves forward, but their face remains blurred, as if deliberately obscured by magic. They speak, but their voice is distorted, unrecognizable._

_Marrok rises, frowning._ "That's impossible. The treaty was signed. The binding is complete."

_The figure steps closer. A glint of metal in moonlight._

"What are you doing? Put that away—"

_Pain. Shock. The knife entering his chest with surgical precision. Marrok gasps, his eyes wide with disbelief rather than fear._

"Why?" _he manages to whisper._

_The attacker leans close, whispering something in his ear. Words I can't make out. Then they place something in Marrok's hand—a small object that gleams silver in the moonlight._

_As life fades from Marrok's eyes, the last thing he sees is a pendant swinging from the killer's neck—a familiar pendant with a blood-red stone._

I gasped, pulling away from the body as the vision released me. My head pounded, my left eye burning as if someone had pressed a hot coal against it. I staggered backward, disoriented.

Strong hands caught me before I could fall. Calder's voice seemed to come from very far away: "Rowan! What did you see?"

I tried to focus, but the room spun around me. Something was wrong. The vision—it had felt strange, artificial somehow, as if...

"It was tampered with," I managed to say. "The memory... someone altered it. Obscured their identity."

Calder helped me to a chair. "That's possible?"

"With very powerful magic, yes." I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to sort through what I'd seen versus what I sensed. "But they left traces. Inconsistencies."

"What inconsistencies?"

Before I could answer, a wave of foreign magic crashed over me—dark, invasive energy that clawed at my mind. I cried out, doubling over as images flooded my consciousness: Calder's ceremonial dagger in my hand, plunging into Elder Marrok's chest. My voice whispering, _"This is for my people."_ My hand placing the knife beside the body.

"No!" I gasped, recognizing the intrusion for what it was. "These aren't my memories!"

But it was too late. The false memories overwhelmed me, burning themselves into my mind as if they were my own. I could feel myself losing grip on reality, the boundary between truth and fabrication blurring.

Through the haze of confusion, I dimly registered Calder kneeling before me, his face tight with concern. "What's happening? Your eye—it's glowing."

I couldn't answer. The false memories continued their assault, showing me planning the murder, sneaking into Marrok's room, watching with cold satisfaction as he died. It was like being forced to experience a nightmare as truth, unable to wake up.

Distantly, I heard the door burst open, voices raised in alarm.

"She's having some kind of fit!"

"Restrain her before she casts a spell!"

"My prince, get back—she's dangerous!"

I was losing myself to the darkness, drowning in false guilt. In desperation, I reached for the one tether I had left—the binding between Calder and me. _Help me_, I projected through our connection. _Someone's in my mind._

What happened next defied everything I knew about werewolves. Calder's eyes flashed amber, then he did something I'd never seen before—he partially transformed. Not into a wolf, but into something between human and beast, his features sharpening, claws extending from his fingertips, while maintaining his human form and consciousness.

With a feral growl that silenced everyone in the room, he grabbed my shoulders. "Fight it, Rowan," he commanded, his voice deeper, rougher. "Whatever you're seeing isn't real."

The pain from his transformation—I could feel it through our bond—cut through the false memories like a knife through fog. I latched onto that pain, using it as an anchor to reality.

"Someone's trying to frame me," I gasped. "Planting false memories—"

Calder turned to the stunned onlookers. "Get out! All of you!"

When they hesitated, he roared—a sound no human throat should be able to produce. They fled, the door slamming behind them.

Alone with me again, Calder took my face between his hands, careful not to scratch me with his claws. "Focus on me," he ordered. "On my voice. The binding between us is real. Whatever they're showing you isn't."

I stared into his amber eyes, using them as a focal point as I fought against the invasive magic. Gradually, painfully, I pushed back against the false memories, separating them from my own experiences.

"There," I whispered, feeling the foreign magic begin to recede. "I can feel it withdrawing."

Calder's partial transformation began to reverse, his features returning to human normalcy, though the amber remained in his eyes. "What happened?"

"Someone tried to plant false memories in my mind—of me killing Elder Marrok." I shuddered. "It's powerful magic. Dark magic. No Moonshadow witch would use such techniques."

"You're certain?"

"It's forbidden among our kind," I insisted. "The manipulation of memories violates our most sacred laws."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "I believe you."

Those three simple words nearly undid me. After what had just happened, I'd expected accusations, suspicion—not trust.

"Why?" I asked, unable to keep the bewilderment from my voice.

"Because I felt what you felt through our bond," he said simply. "Your shock, your horror—those can't be faked. And..." He hesitated. "When you called to me through our connection, I saw flashes of what was happening to you. The memories being forced into your mind didn't match your emotional response to them."

I sagged with relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he warned. "Others won't be so easily convinced. Whoever is behind this knows exactly what they're doing—creating discord between our peoples at a vulnerable time."

My thoughts raced. "In the real memory fragments I saw, the killer wore a pendant with a red stone."

Calder frowned. "A vampire talisman?"

"Possibly. But why frame me specifically? Why not just kill Elder Marrok and leave no trace?"

"Because killing him was only part of the objective," Calder realized. "Creating distrust between our clans is the true goal."

I nodded slowly. "We need to find out who did this."

"We need to keep you safe first," he countered. "Once word spreads about what happened here, many will call for your arrest—or worse."

The gravity of the situation hit me. "They'll say I used witch magic to kill an elder, then tried to claim mind manipulation when caught."

"Exactly." Calder paced the room, his movements betraying his agitation. "We need to get you somewhere secure until I can investigate further."

"Your people won't let me leave the fortress."

"Who said anything about leaving?" He gave me a grim smile. "There are places within these walls that even the council doesn't know about."

A loud commotion in the hallway interrupted us—raised voices, heavy footsteps approaching.

"Prince Calder!" Councilor Vane's voice called through the door. "By authority of the council, we demand the witch be handed over for questioning!"

Calder's expression hardened. "We're out of time." He moved swiftly to a tapestry hanging on the wall, pulling it aside to reveal a narrow door. "This passage leads to the old sections of the fortress. Follow it to the end, then take three right turns. You'll find a chamber with blue lanterns. Wait for me there."

"You're not coming?"

"I need to delay them, create a distraction." He hesitated, then pressed something into my hand—a small key fashioned from what looked like star iron. "This opens a door at the back of the blue chamber. If I don't come for you by dawn, use it. The tunnel leads outside the fortress walls."

I clutched the key, torn between gratitude and alarm. "They'll know you helped me escape. You'll be implicated."

"I'm their prince," he said with grim confidence. "They can't move against me without proof."

The pounding on the door grew louder. "Last warning, my prince!"

I grabbed my pendant from the table and slipped it back around my neck, instantly feeling my powers settle. "Be careful," I urged. "Whoever framed me won't hesitate to move against you too."

His eyes met mine, a silent communication passing between us. "Go," he said simply.

I slipped through the hidden door, hearing it close behind me as I entered a narrow, dimly lit passage. Moments later, I heard the main door burst open, voices raised in accusation and defense.

As I hurried through the ancient corridors, following Calder's directions, I tried to make sense of what had happened. Someone wanted me blamed for Elder Marrok's death—someone with access to powerful, forbidden magic. The false memories they'd planted had been convincing, detailed enough that I might have doubted myself if not for the binding with Calder.

The blue chamber was exactly where he'd said it would be—a small room lit by strange, azure lamps that burned without oil or wick. Ancient texts lined the walls, and a circular table dominated the center, its surface etched with star charts.

I had just begun examining a particularly old tome when pain exploded through my abdomen—pain that wasn't mine. I doubled over, gasping, as the sensation of claws tearing through flesh rippled across our bond.

Calder was in trouble.

Without stopping to consider the consequences, I closed my eyes and focused on our connection, following it back toward him. The binding between us was still new, untested, but I poured my will into it, trying to see through his eyes, feel what he was experiencing.

For a breathless moment, nothing happened. Then the world shifted, and I was suddenly seeing a different scene—the council chamber, filled with angry faces. Councilor Vane standing too close, something gleaming in his hand. Pain radiating from Calder's side.

"...conspiring with the witch," Vane was saying. "You've been compromised, my prince."

I snapped back into my own body with a gasp. Calder had been attacked, accused of treachery. The situation was deteriorating faster than either of us had anticipated.

I needed to do something—but what? If I returned, I'd be captured and likely executed. If I fled, Calder might suffer the same fate for helping me.

My fingers closed around the emerald pendant at my throat. There was one option, dangerous but potentially revealing: I could remove the pendant and attempt a controlled prophetic vision, seeking guidance from the stars themselves.

The risk was significant. Without the pendant's protection, my visions could overwhelm me, trap me in a maze of possible futures. But with Elder Marrok dead and Calder in danger, I was running out of options.

"Ancestors guide me," I whispered, unclasping the pendant. Immediately, I felt my power surge, my left eye beginning to burn with silver fire.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, centering myself as my grandmother had taught me. "Show me the path," I murmured. "Show me the truth."

The vision came not as a gentle insight but as a tidal wave, crashing over me with such force that I cried out. Images flooded my mind: Elder Marrok's blood pooling on the floor; a silver dagger identical to Calder's; a shadowy figure with gleaming red eyes; Calder's collar breaking apart; my silver vines wrapped around a throat, drawing blood; a mirror shattering to reveal another mirror behind it.

Then, with startling clarity, I saw Councilor Vane meeting with a pale figure in a forest clearing. Words exchanged, coins changing hands. Plans made—not just for Elder Marrok's death, but for something larger. Something that involved the Moon Tear Gem and a ritual I didn't recognize.

The vision shifted again, showing me Calder wounded, surrounded by hostile council members. His life hung in the balance, his fate dependent on choices not yet made.

I clawed my way back to consciousness, gasping for air. My nose was bleeding, my left eye burning as if someone had pressed a hot coal against it. But I had what I needed—a direction, if not the complete truth.

Vane was working with the vampires. He had been involved in Elder Marrok's death, though I couldn't tell if he was the actual killer. And now he was moving against Calder, eliminating those who supported peace between our clans.

I needed to get back to Calder, to expose Vane before it was too late. But how? The moment I showed my face, I'd be seized as a murderer.

Unless...

A desperate plan began to form in my mind. Risky, potentially suicidal, but possibly our only chance.

I quickly searched the chamber, finding what I needed among the ancient artifacts—a small mirror of polished silver. My grandmother had taught me a rarely used spell, one that could project what I'd seen in my vision to others. Normally it required preparation, ritual components—but with my pendant removed and our binding in place, I might just manage it.

I slipped the key Calder had given me into my pocket. I wouldn't be using his escape route—not yet, anyway.

Instead, I headed back the way I'd come, moving as quietly as possible through the ancient passageways. If my vision was accurate, Calder was in the council chamber, wounded but alive. I needed to reach him before Vane finished what he'd started.

As I navigated the dark corridors, I tried to prepare myself for what was to come. I would have one chance to reveal the truth—to show everyone what I'd seen in my vision. If I failed, we would both likely die.

But if I succeeded... if I could expose Vane's treachery and the vampire influence behind it... perhaps there was still hope for the alliance our binding had begun.

I paused at a junction, sensing Calder's presence nearby. Our bond pulled me forward, toward whatever fate awaited us both.

"Hold on," I whispered, though he couldn't hear me. "I'm coming."

With my pendant still off and my power flowing freely, I moved toward the confrontation that would either save us or destroy us both.