Written in 67 minutes. The last line was giving me trouble.

Mother Mary.

…a mother can hope…

The words swirled around in her exhausted mind, leaving Elizabeth baffled. She followed the older woman out of the room, down the hall, and up a short set of stairs. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected when Jason spoke of Mary Mae, but she realized now she’d been expecting a woman around Jason’s age, perhaps — well, perhaps, a romantic connection.

Not the woman of advanced years with a warm smile, friendly eyes, with her slate gray hair worn in thick, tied back braids. This was his mother? But hadn’t he said his mother had died?

“I do wish he’d sent word that he was bringing company,” Mary Mae said, pushing open one of the doors in the hallway to reveal a small, but comfortable room with a fireplace, bed, set of drawers, and a wash stand. In the corner of the room, by the small window, a small square  table of roughly hewn wood sat with a pair of matching chairs tucked underneath. “It’s not much, but you’ll be comfortable here.”

Elizabeth set her bag down on the table, then looked at her hostess. “I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. Jason—Master Morgan—” she corrected hastily, averting her eyes when Mary Mae squinted at her. “He neglected to introduce us below. I’m Elizabeth Barrett of Shadwell.” She dipped slightly in a brief curtsy.

Mary Mae tipped her head. “Mary Mae Ward of Wymoor. Master Morgan, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was to escort me to Port Tonderah, but—” Elizabeth closed her mouth when Jason appeared in the doorway behind them.

Mary Mae turned to him, her expression suspicious. “I thought I told you to take the blue room.”

“I knew you would take the opportunity to ask Elizabeth about our purpose here and I would rather you hear it from me.” Jason met Elizabeth’s eyes and she made a face, then looked away.

“Well, Miss Barrett was about to tell me why you’d brought her to Wymoor rather than the capital.” Mary Mae lifted her chin. “Seeing as how we are on the opposite side of the island, it’s certainly going out of your way. Does this have something to do with the errand Valentin Cassadine sent you on when last you were here?”

Jason sent Elizabeth an irritated look, and she pretended not to notice. “You know that I can’t tell you that—”

“Yes, yes, you and your secrets.” Mary Mae folded her arms, looked to Elizabeth. “He was a good boy, I promise you, but somewhere in his travels, he got mixed up with that wretched Valentin—did you learn nothing growing up here, watching him wring the last of dignity from those who worked his land?” she demanded. “Turning tenant after tenant off his land—and then his nephew died, I hear he did the same to those estates—” She scowled. “If this girl is mixed up in Cassadine business, I want to know right now. I won’t have him in my home. Bad enough I can’t turn him away in my business—”

Jason rubbed the corner of his brow. “Are we to have the same argument every time I come here?” he wanted to know. “You complain when I visit, and complain when I don’t. It does not matter why I was taking Elizabeth to the capital. What matters is why I brought her to you.”

Mary Mae closed her mouth, pressing lips together in an unhappy line. “All right then, tell me your business and I’ll decide if your lady friend can stay.”

Elizabeth flinched at the inflection in the older woman’s voice, then looked down at the floor. She had been embarrassed when Mary Mae had thought her Jason’s bride, but she’d been friendly. Now that she was suspected of a Cassadine connection, all warmth had disappeared.

Jason exhaled slowly. “You say you expect better of me, Mary Mae, and well, I expected better of you. You know nothing about Elizabeth, and if you can’t treat her with respect, I’ll find another way to get her the information she needs.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Ma’am, I can assure you that I have no connection to Valentin Cassadine. None that I want anyway,” she added, and Jason sent her another sharp look. “I hesitate to tell you my story for it involves the secrets of others, but I promise you, I only want to find my family. Well, someone who might be my family,” she corrected.

Mary Mae turned to face Elizabeth fully, her back to Jason. Her expression was a bit less pinched, but the suspicion had not left her eyes. “I’m listening.”

Elizabeth licked her lips nervously. “When I was young, I believed my family had died in a fire. I was taken to live with someone else for many years, and I’ve never spoken with anyone I knew in my youth. While Master Morgan was escorting me south, he discovered that I have some belongings that he’s seen someone else with. It’s…it’s unique to my family. Only given to daughters. I can’t tell you what, ma’am. Please don’t ask me to.”

Mary Mae considered her for a long moment, then looked back to Jason. “You’ve brought her here to investigate this connection?”

“Yes. This woman came to the pub several months past to look for me. I did not take her name, but I thought it might be in your ledger. And you know nearly everyone in the region,” Jason said. “All I ask is that you look into it, and let Elizabeth stay here while I tend to a task in the capital.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, knowing that Jason intended to fake her escape to Thakrian and hope Valentin chased after her, leaving them time to search for her sister and devise a way forward. It was logical, and yet, Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with the plan. It put too much of the risk on Jason, and none on her. It was unfair, she’d told him, but he’d refused to hear her protests. But Jason sent her a look, and she closed her mouth, saving the protest for later.

“Is what you ask me to do a danger to my pub or the children?” Mary Mae wanted to know.

Jason hesitated, then shook his head. “No. All I ask is that is that if Elizabeth leaves the premises, she wears a cloak so that she’s not easily identifiable.” He avoided Elizabeth’s eyes this time, and she bristled. Of course Mary Mae would be in danger if Valentin learned that he was helping her find her sister. But this was not her family, and she’d already said too much.

“When you return, my boy, we’ll have a long discussion,” Mary Mae told him. “Now, you’ll go downstairs, wash up, and be ready for supper.”

“I need to speak with Elizabeth—”

“Not alone, not under my roof, young man.” Mary Mae arched a brow, and he grimaced, turned and left. She looked back at Elizabeth with a long measuring gaze. “Does he speak the truth? Do you bring danger in your wake?”

“Truthfully, ma’am, I cannot say.  We may have been followed, but Master Morgan seems to think we were not, and I would defer to his experience on the matter.” Elizabeth folded her arms around her middle. “I would like very much to wash up as well if that is possible.”

“Aye, I’ll send my girls up to start a fire and bring the tub and water.” Mary Mae pulled the door shut behind her, and Elizabeth finally exhaled, the tension leaving her body.

—

Jason pulled his shirt over his head, and tossed it on a nearby chair, then sat on the bed to remove his boots. The door opened behind him, and Mary Mae came in with a pitcher of hot water. She poured it into the bowl on the stand, left a hunk of a soap next to it. “I sent the tub to your lady. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“She’s not my lady,” Jason muttered, already picking up the shirt he’d dropped to the ground. He balled it up. “You could have been nicer to her—”

“And you could have been truthful with me, but I suppose we’ll both have to be disappointed.” Mary Mae lifted her brow, and he had to look away. She always saw too much. “I’m correct, am I not? You were taking her to the capital for Valentin.”

Jason said nothing. He dropped the shirt back on the floor, then went to the washstand to pick up a washcloth. He dropped it and the soap into the water. “All you have to do is say no, and I’ll find somewhere else for her to stay—”

“If you’d had somewhere else for her to go, you’d have taken her there. You’ve not come here willingly for years. I wish I knew why. Did I do something to make you feel unwelcome?” Mary Mae stepped towards him. “I know that I could not replace your mother—”

“I do not remember her,” Jason said, and that was mostly the truth. There were fragments around the edges of his memory. “What I do remember is no longer being hungry or cold, and that is because of you.”

“Then why—”

“Because I disappoint you with my choices,” Jason said, and Mary Mae sighed. “You cannot hide it. I see it now. To find someone to marry, settle down, and have a safe life. I could not do that.”

“I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself, Jason. And if I could only understand those choices — you left here without a word all those years ago, and I had nothing but letters. You  won’t tell me where you were, what you did, and well, I worry.” Mary Mae stepped towards him. “You think because I went on to take in more children that you were one of many? That I would not notice your absence?”

Jason shook his head. “I cannot be who you want me to be,” he repeated. “And I cannot break with Valentin. You told me that if I worked for him, you’d not be able to respect me. I understand that. I’ve made my choices, Mary Mae. And I’ll have to live with them. But I am asking you if you will look for this woman who might be Elizabeth’s sister, and allow her to stay here. I can pay for the room—”

“You’ll do no such thing. I’ve never charged one of my children for their room, and I won’t start now.” She went to the door, but stopped when Jason called her name.

“Will you look for the woman?” he asked. “You didn’t say.”

“I’ll do what I can, Jason, thought I have to say the story you’ve given me leaves more questions than answers. Who is this girl and why are you going to so much trouble to help her?”

Jason considered not answering the question, but Mary Mae deserved more from him. She always had, so he gave her what he could. “She’s lost, just as I was once. You took me in when I had no where to go, and I’m asking you to do the same for her.”

+22

Written in 58 minutes.

Outside the house, there was a sharp crack of thunder followed directly by a flash of lightning so bright that it must have struck very near them. Elizabeth flinched, but Jason remained still, sitting before the fire with his knees drawn up, his arms loosely wrapped around them. The light from the flames flickered, leaving half his face in shadows.

Elizabeth twisted her long hair into a damp rope, squeezing the excess water from the long strands, unsure what to do or to say about Jason’s startling revelation. Rather than answering questions, it had only created more and she wasn’t sure where to start.

Or if she even should continue to ask questions. Jason had agreed to escort her to Wymoor where this Mary Mae might be able to tell her more about the mysterious woman connected to Elizabeth’s childhood. She was terrified to believe that it had been her sister, but hope had taken root all the same. For who else would have a set of daggers if not a woman borne to her family?

“I was young when Valentin came to Nevoie,” Elizabeth said, finally. “Too young to know much about my heritage. When my mother sent me to the Quartermaine estate to train, I thought it was an adventure.” She smiled wistfully, looking into the flames, thinking of her bright, vivacious mother. “She likely thought there would be time to tell me what I needed to know.” She exhaled slowly. “Did you know from the start that it was him, or was it something you discovered later?”

Jason looked at her, his brow furrowed slightly. Had he expected another question? “Not right away,” he said finally. “Not until the burial.” He returned his gaze to the fire. “His nephew was the heir. My sister was his wife. They died together in a carriage accident. A tragedy. But that day, after they’d lowered my sister into the ground, after everyone had gone to the house, I watched him stand over the freshly dug dirt and smile.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “I don’t understand. You said your connection to the Quartermaines was a secret. But if Valentin knows—”

“He doesn’t. He thought he was alone.” Jason was quiet, then looked at her. “I was waiting until they were gone. No one knew I’d been there.”

More questions swirled, but Elizabeth could answer some of them. He was Alan’s son, yes, but not by his wife. A bastard who had remained on the fringes of the family. Close enough to care, but not to claim. “I’m sorry. For the loss of your sister.”

Jason offered a short, rough nod, little more of a jerking of his chin. “You’ll stay in Wymoor,” he decided. “While Mary Mae looks for the woman. I’ll find a way to make Valentin think your escape plan worked.”

“My—” Elizabeth tipped her head. “I don’t understand.”

“You were trying to run from me last night.” He looked at her again. “I only went after to you to find out why. If you’d asked me to put you on one of those ships, I would have. You could have gone to Thakrian and disappeared into the interior. I’ll create a false trail, tell Valentin that’s what you did. He’ll either have to let it go or go after you.”

“Won’t he be angry that I escaped?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip. “You must have a reason why you’ve not killed him yet. Are you worried about retaliation?”

“Valentin won’t want to tip his hand yet. He doesn’t know what I know. And he’ll want to keep it that way.” Jason hesitated. “As for why he’s still alive, he’s a man with a great deal of power. He’s gathering his forces and capital to wage a war for the throne, but he hasn’t yet broken with Faison.”

“Faison.” Elizabeth looked away, closed her eyes. “I thought it was him for a long time. Sometimes I wonder if they did it together. My mother hated Faison. It’s one of the few names that I remember her speaking with real anger and hatred. Valentine knew that — he found me in the woods, and promised to take me to safety. It wasn’t until he had me locked in that house that I realized what he’d done. Or who he was. And it was too late by then.”

Jason studied her, his gaze so pointed that Elizabeth flushed. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. No. Just—I’ve wondered why Valentin waited so long. My sister has been gone for nearly ten years. If he was behind what happened at Nevoie, it was before he had the power of the Cassadine family. When did he move you to Shadwell?”

“When I turned eighteen. Eight years ago.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why is that important?”

“Eight years. When my sister died. He took the mantle of the Cassadines then. Why not double his power by forcing you into marriage then? Why put you in a village near the northern border. Why go to the trouble of a binding spell?” Jason shoved himself to his feet, and Elizabeth just watched him, mystified by the turn in the conversation.

“Perhaps he wasn’t ready—”

“But what is he waiting for? Why not—” Jason paused. “You say you thought it was Faison behind the attack. You didn’t initially see Valentin as a foe. Why?”

“Because the Cassadines had been a reluctant ally to my mother. She liked Valentin’s older brother, Stefan, I think. What happened to him?”

“Died of a sickness two years before my sister and Nikolas. Valentin wouldn’t have had the resources to carry out an attack such as the one you described. But he held you captive, so he must have been behind it.”

Elizabeth licked her lips, then climbed to her feet, the folds of the borrowed shirt falling to mid-thigh. “But perhaps it was not alone. Valentine was saving me. Why now? Why did he send for me now?”

“The king died,” Jason said. “He was married to Faison’s daughter since he reached his majority fifteen years ago. There were no children born to the marriage, but Faison is attempting to keep the power by asserting his daughter as the queen in her own right.”

“Is it possible they’ve been working together all these years?” Elizabeth folded her arms across her middle. “What if Valentin was content to let me rot in Shadwell if Faison could hold on to the throne? But if he’s faced with losing it—”

“Valentin sent me to fetch you, but told me nothing. And he must have suspected you’d never trust one of his men with the truth.”

Elizabeth’s throat tightened and she wrapped her arms more tightly around her torso. “Oh, what a terrible story we’ve created. All these people who might have died just so two evil men can hold on to power. Your sister, her husband, my mother, maybe my sister — all the others at Nevoie who were killed in the fires. Perhaps Nikolas’s poor uncle, and the king? How can we know anyone was safe around them?”

“We can’t. And that’s why I haven’t killed Valentin yet. I want to be sure that when he breathes his last, the evil he’s done won’t somehow spread.” Jason took two steps towards her, then hesitated. “You’ll be safe in Wymoor. It used to be Valentin’s home base, but the people there hate him more than anywhere else. And Mary Mae hates him most of all.”

“Mary Mae.” Elizabeth nodded. “You trust her.”

“With my life. You can trust her, too,” Jason assured her. He gestured to the bedroll sprawled across the floor in front of the fire. “But you should rest. When the storm breaks, we continue there. I don’t want to be out in the open any longer than necessary.”

—

The storm continued to pound the area with rain and winds throughout the night, but the next morning, the clouds rolled on their way, leaving nothing by mud and puddles in their wake.

Dry and a little worse for wear, Jason woke Elizabeth and they were back on the road — not traveling directly on it, but remaining in the trees, following another route that Jason said belonged to the same smugglers who had built the hidden cottage. Wymoor was a destination for such people, and most routes led there.

Jason had estimated that they were maybe three days from the city, but he’d calculated that when he’d planned to travel at night and by road. Taking the smuggler’s road meant they could only ride when there was light.

It was almost a week of exhausted traveling by the time they reached the outskirts of the town, and Jason stopped long enough for Elizabeth to put up her hood, hiding her face from all but the most interested. Wymoor may hate their Cassadines, but Jason would not risk any chance that word reach Valentin that he’d been traveling with a young brunette. Jason needed Valentin to accept the false trail he intended to lead.

The Hare and Hound was still where he’d left it, at the end of Berry Lane, quiet for the late morning. He directed Elizabeth to mews behind the pub, and dismounted, leaving their horses for one of the stable hands.

“We’ll go in the back,” he told Elizabeth, placing a hand near the small of her back to direct her forward. She nodded, following his lead as she had for the last week without argument.

The back entrance opened into Mary Mae’s private rooms, and Jason slid in the key he’d been given as a boy. Mary Mae had never wanted it back — had always told him that he’d have a home with her for as long as he needed it.

The room was not empty — it never was. Just after breakfast, Jason realized, which meant it was time for lessons. All of Mary Mae’s lost children learned their letters and numbers, and they were crowded around a table, slates in their hand, chattering and talking.

Mary Mae stood over them, beaming as she watched her brood work on their numbers, then her face lit up even more when she saw Jason stepping inside the door. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

She came forward to embrace him, only wincing slightly at the travel-worn clothes and the smell of a long time spent on a horse. “Well, it’s a good thing I always keep a room ready in hopes one of my chicks comes home to roost—oh, what do we have here?”

Elizabeth stepped in behind him, pushing her hood down, revealing the tangled curls that fell down her back. “Hello,” she said, a bit nervously, looking around the room, then at Mary Mae, before inching closer to Jason.

Jason opened his mouth to explain, but Mary Mae abandoned him and went to Elizabeth, reaching for her hands. “Hello, darling. Please tell me that my boy has brought me a bride. I’ve always hoped he’d have a family of his own.”

Jason winced, wanting to crawl beneath the nearby table. Elizabeth looked at Mary Mae with wide, bewildered eyes. “Mother Mary—”

Mary Mae looked at him, then sighed. She squeezed Elizabeth’s hands. “Well, a mother can hope. Let’s get you two cleaned up and then you can tell me everything.”

+19

Written in 60 minutes.

Rivulets of water streamed down his arms, his wrists, hitting the floor beneath his boots, and the wind still swirled at his back, flashes and rumbles illuminating the dark sky. For one long ridiculous minute, he stood in the open doorway, staring stupidly at Elizabeth in front of the fire.

Of course she’d want to be dry. Of course she’d shed the soggy, water laden garments until the final layer of thin white cloth was all that was left. It fell down in a straight line just below her knees, leaving her arm and upper chest mostly bare. Her hair was still soaked, laying in wet ropes on her shoulders.

She shifted, a bit uncomfortably, looked down at the fire, then back at him, and the small movement broke the moment. Jason shoved the door closed and tossed the saddle bags to the ground. He dragged his own soaked hair from his forehead, kept his eyes averted so that he wouldn’t accidentally focus on the way the illumination from the fire revealed the long lines of her legs beneath the thin fabric. “The horses are settled. You should—” He cleared his throat. “You should look in the other room. It’s probably the—there might be some—” He gestured, words failing him.

“If it’s a bedchamber, there might be some linens or extra blankets. I’m cold, too,” Elizabeth offered. She raised her arms to gather her hair at her nape, and twist it into one long mass that laid against her left shoulder. “I’ll go look. You should get dry—”

She hurried past him, the shift fluttering as she moved, and he exhaled slowly, reminding himself that she’d spent the majority of her time isolated on the Cassadine estate and in Shadwell. She’d likely never spent any length of time with a man, and wouldn’t think of what she looked like standing in front of a fireplace wearing next to nothing.

He only hoped he’d be able to forget.

Jason dug through his saddle bag for dry clothes, and mercifully when Elizabeth returned a few moments later, she had some blankets in her arms.

“We don’t have a great selection — I think some of these are musty, and —” She made a face, dropping them in front of the fire. “Moth eaten,” she finished, holding one up to the light. “But I think this one might do.”

“Here.” Jason shoved one of his dry shirts at her. “You, uh, look cold,” he muttered, when she blinked at him. “I’ll go change.”

—

Elizabeth watched Jason head for the other room, a bit mystified, but then looked at the fabric in her hands. It was a bit rough, and clearly mended in several places, but it had been well-made once, she thought, running her fingers over the fine stitching around the hem of the collar.

She slid her arms through the sleeves, and wrapped both ends around herself rather than buttoning it. Then she went to investigate the status of her saddlebags. It would probably be better to wear one of her dry gowns, but she was more concerned for the status of her herbs and candles. She slid their container from the bottom of her bag, exhaling with some relief that all had survived the storm intact.

“You travel with your own candles?”

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of his voice, and turned, pressing the candles against her chest. He’d changed into a dry shirt and pants, his wet garments in a pile by the doorway to the bed chamber. “You should hang those up to dry,” she said. She laid the candles down and hurried over to get his things.

When she returned to the table, laying out his wet clothes, she found him studying the candles. “They’re not for light,” she told him.

“I realize that now. The colors,” he added, setting them back down. He shoved the wool stockings she’d packed. “You ought to put these on before you lose a toe to frostbite.”

Elizabeth made a face, but realized he was probably right. Her feet had dried and were now quite chilled. She pulled out one of the remaining chairs, perched on the edge and slid the stockings on, one at a time, tugging until they were snug at mid-calf. She glanced up to find Jason watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.” He rolled the green candle across the table. “What were you planning to do with this one?” he asked. “The only charms I know for green are curses.” He studied her with curiosity. “For Valentin?”

“For anyone who stood in my way.” She lifted her chin. “If you’d proved to be a problem, I’d have used it on you.” She snatched it away from him. “Is that something else your father told you about my family? Did he have nothing else better to do than to gossip and spread half-truths?”

Jason frowned, then cocked his head to the side. “Of course my father told me about the House of Nevoie. If you trained with him, you should have known, too. Why would your mother not tell you?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it, confused. “What does that mean?” There was a large clap of thunder, closer than the last rumble, and she jolted. “The storm is only getting worse,” she murmured. “Do you think it will pass soon?”

Jason went to the window, peered out, at what she couldn’t have guessed. It was nearly pitch dark, and all sense of time had been lost. Was it night or simply the darkness of the season?  “I don’t know.”

“How far are we from Wymoor? You’d wanted to travel through the night. Is it just a day away?”

“We’re at least three days out. If we’d traveled tonight, we could have cut some of that time.” Jason exhaled slowly. “If we’re delayed too long, Valentin will grow suspicious.”

She pressed her lips together, repacked her candles and herbs, offering nothing in comment. If he wanted to worry about disappointing the man who had kidnapped her, she wasn’t about to challenge him.

“He targets family, you said so yourself,” Jason said. Elizabeth looked up, found him studying her. “If he thinks I’ve betrayed him—and I have—he won’t hurt me. Not right away.”

“Your father—”

“He’s not my family,” Jason cut in. “I’m not going to turn you over to him, but it’s foolish to think we can both disappear without consequences.”

“You needn’t have come with me. You could have told him I escaped—”

“It’s what I’ll have to do. I have a job to complete,” Jason said. He returned to the window, peered through the glass panes. “Your would-be sister contracted me to kill Valentin. I don’t intend to change that now.”

“You said that before,” Elizabeth said. She twisted the fabric of her borrowed shirt between her fingers. “You also said that you’d already planned to kill him before my sister asked you to. Is that what you—what you do? Are you an assassin? A m-murderer for hire?”

“No.” Jason came away from the window, then went to the fire. He found the woodstack next to the mantel, tossed a log onto the flames. “And she’s not paying me. She came to me for the same reason I’m helping you.”

Bewildered, Elizabeth rose to her feet, pulling the ends of the shirt more tightly around her torso. “I don’t understand. Why would you help strangers? Why would you agree to kill for strangers?”

Jason watched the fire for a moment, not answering immediately. The flickering lights cast his face partially in shadow, then he looked at her. “You really don’t know anything about your family, do you?”

“I was eleven when I lost them. Do you remember everything from your childhood?” Elizabeth challenged. “Why do you always answer with a question instead of the truth? Why would you help me when it could put you and people you care about in danger? Why do you think I should already know that answer?”

Jason dragged a hand down his face, then sighed. He returned to the table, to the saddlebags and drew out two lumpy rolls. He brought them back to the fire, released a string on both, and she realized they were bedrolls, laid flat on the floor. “It’ll warmer down by the fire, and your hair will dry faster,” he told her. He sat down, folding his legs.

Warily, Elizabeth dropped down to the fabric, tucking her legs beneath her. “Are you going to answer my question?’

“I don’t know. I’m going to try to. You know that most of the families, the oldest ones, they were once self-governing?” Jason asked. “Some of the old alliances were passed down the generations. Nevoie and Quartermaine — they’re borderlands.”

“I know that. I’ve visited the estate. And I know that my family were once more than just nobles. My mother’s title is old, and our religion goes back to the ancient ways. The Lady of Nevoie was a title on its own.” Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “It’s why Valentin targeted her, isn’t it? He wanted to eliminate powerful families.”

“Not just powerful. Rivals to the throne. The Lady of Nevoie was a queen once. Or had the power of one without the official title. The Quartermaines weren’t equal then, or now. They swore fealty to the Lady and that oath has been passed from father to son for generations. It’s why—” Jason looked away, then shook his head. “My father thought he was the last of his kind. The last protector to the Lady of Nevoie. When he taught me about your family, it was a history lesson. If he knew you’d survived, he’d have found you.”

“So you agreed to kill Valentin because of a generational oath?” Elizabeth asked dubiously.

“I would have helped your sister because of that oath, yes. To protect her, to see her safe. I’ll do the same for you. But killing Valentin? No, that’s not why.”

“Then—”

“My sister.” The words were low, and painful. Jason looked up, found her gaze. “Valentin murdered her so I intend to return the favor.”

+17