Chapter 148: Sign Here, Ms. Willows

Belong.

The word hung heavily in the air. Blair stared up at the Wolf King and felt it settle around her neck like a collar.

"I..." Her voice came out as a squeak. She tried again. "I-I can’t accept that, sir. It’s too much. I don’t..."

"Nonsense." Beralt waved a large hand. "It is already decided."

"What a generous idea, darling." Clarice’s voice floated over from the middle of the room, bright and sweet. Her smile was back in place, but it looked stretched. "You didn’t mention it."

"I wanted it to be a surprise, my love."

Their eyes met across the living room. It lasted only a second. But in that second, for the first time all afternoon, neither of them was performing.

Then Clarice laughed lightly and went to pick Kael up off the floor.

"You don’t have to say yes."

Blair turned. Daemus hadn’t moved from his chair. His pencil was still in his hand. He wasn’t looking at his father. He was looking only at her, his silver eyes steady.

"You don’t," he said again, quietly. "Nobody can make you."

Beralt didn’t look at his son. He didn’t acknowledge that his son had spoken at all. He simply kept his eyes on Blair and went on, as if the room had been silent.

"A human without a sponsor does not last long at the academy, Ms. Willows." His voice was warm and patient, the voice of a kind uncle explaining something obvious. "Surely you have noticed that by now."

Of course she had noticed.

"How very generous of you, Beralt," Jack said from the armchair. His book lay closed on his knee. "The academy will require the paperwork before the start of term. Signed and witnessed."

"Of course." Beralt reached into his coat and drew out a thick envelope sealed with dark blue wax. He broke the seal, unfolded the pages, and laid them flat on the dining table in front of Blair, right on top of her half-finished mock exam. "I took the liberty of having them drawn up."

Jack’s eyes narrowed. Just slightly.

Blair looked down at the papers. Page after page of legal language. Sponsorship Agreement. Wintercrest Pack. Beneficiary: Blair Willows. At the bottom of the last page was a line for her signature, and next to it, a pen.

She looked at Daemus. He shook his head, very slightly.

She looked at Jack.

His face gave away nothing at all. He just watched her with those unreadable red eyes. Then, so small she almost missed it, he dipped his chin.

Once.

Sign it.

Blair didn’t understand. But she knew by now that Jack Feron never did anything without a reason.

Her hand was shaking when she picked up the pen. She read every page twice, as fast as she could, looking for the catch.

The Wintercrest pack would pay her tuition in full, along with her books, her uniforms, and a monthly allowance for her living expenses. Suitable accommodations would be provided at the sponsor’s discretion. Any harm done to the Beneficiary would be treated as harm done to the Wintercrest pack itself, and answered accordingly. The agreement would remain in effect until the day the Beneficiary graduated from the academy.

In return, the Beneficiary would maintain satisfactory grades, conduct herself in a manner befitting the Wintercrest name, and make herself available to the sponsor upon reasonable request.

And one last clause, tucked near the bottom of the final page: All medical care for the Beneficiary shall be provided exclusively by physicians appointed by the sponsor.

Blair read that line three times.

It was a strange thing to put in a scholarship. But it sounded protective, maybe it even made sense.

She couldn’t find anything else. No trap. No trick. Nothing she could point to and say, there.

That frightened her more than anything else could have.

She signed her name at the bottom.

Blair Willows.

Beralt gathered the papers, folded them neatly, and tucked them back inside his coat. He smiled down at her. It was the same warm, generous smile as before.

"Welcome to the pack, Ms. Willows," he said.

Across the table, Daemus set down his pencil and walked out of the room without a word.

Later, when Beralt had gone upstairs to help Kael pack their things and Clarice was clattering loudly in the kitchen, Jack paused beside Blair’s chair on his way to his office.

She didn’t look up. "Why did you want me to sign it?" she whispered.

"Because a wolf who takes the time to draw up papers," Jack murmured, "has already decided what he wants." He tapped one finger on the edge of her mock exam. "Now he has it. And a beastman who has what he wants tends to get careless."

Blair stared at the exam in front of her. "And what does he want?"

Jack was quiet for a moment.

"That," he said, "is what you are going to help me find out."

***

That night, long after the house had gone quiet, Beralt stood alone at the window of Clarice’s room.

Clarice was asleep. Kael was curled up in a small, snoring ball at the foot of the bed.

He pulled a phone from his coat pocket. It was not his usual phone. It was cheap and black and had only one number saved in it.

He dialed.

It rang once.

"Wolf King." The voice on the other end was calm and quiet and faintly amused, exactly as he remembered it. "You have news."

"It is done." Beralt kept his voice low. "She signed this afternoon. The girl is under the Wintercrest name now. My protection. My pack."

"Good." A soft exhale on the line, almost like relief. "Very good. You have done well."

"I did not do it for your praise." Beralt’s jaw tightened. "You promised me my son. You promised me Kyana at his side, and the Blackwood pack behind him. When?"

"Patience."

"I have been patient."

"Then be patient a little longer." The voice didn’t rise. It never did. "Keep her close. Keep her fed. Keep her safe. And above all, Wolf King, keep her away from the crow."

"The crow is my son’s godfather," Beralt responded. "And her professor. That will not be simple."

"Nothing worth having ever is."

Beralt scowled. He hated it when the man spoke in riddles. He reached into his coat and pulled out the folded sponsorship papers, turning to the last page. The girl’s signature sat at the bottom in small, careful handwriting. Neat. Intentional. Like everything about her.

"She signed without a fuss," he said. "Blair Willows. It is all perfectly legal."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

Then, very softly, the voice laughed.

"Good," it said, then the line went dead.