But for those experimental treatments—for that tribute payment—
To secure Alaric's early release from confinement—
I let them destroy my wrist in the healer's trials.
Now I cannot even grip a brush.
And now I learn it was all merely a punishment game Alaric orchestrated.
How utterly absurd.
I remained silent the entire journey back to the den. Alaric seemed nervous, filling the quiet with endless chatter.
Obviously rehearsed words he'd gathered from other wolves.
All to convince me he'd truly spent three years in the holding cells.
I listened without really hearing. When he finally stopped, I asked quietly:
"Alaric."
"Did I do something wrong?"
He went completely still. His eyes reddened as he turned to look at me, his wolf flickering behind his gaze.
"What do you mean, Lyra? Why would you ask that?"
I suddenly remembered the last time I'd been permitted to visit the binding den.
I was so happy. I'd saved my meager allowance for ages and hunted fresh game to prepare for him—a proper meal I'd made with my own hands.
No wonder he'd wrinkled his nose and refused to touch it.
He thought the offering was beneath him.
Of course. I believed he'd spent three years suffering in confinement.