My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 467

Kane

I looked down at the case in my hand. A long, slow breath. "So you're suggesting I send a message."

My pen tapped against the file folder. Tap, tap, tap. I held myself still, waiting.

Callum nodded, shoulders tense. "Sir Jace is already up there, but nobody knows whether he made it, or whether he's even..."

My hand crushed the file as the words left his lips. The pen slipped silent. He was alive. Jace had to be.

I drew a sharp breath. The smooth metal of the scroll case filled my palm.

"Jace is alive, and don't you say that."

I turned the scroll case over in my hands, studying the Ironmaw crest. Callum shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then took a hesitant step forward. "I'm sorry for any disrespect, Alpha. I didn't mean to question Jace. I know he means a great deal to you."

He paused and tugged at his collar, swallowing hard. "My father told me what a crested scroll like that one means. If you send a message in a case bearing the Ironmaw seal, it grants immediate access to the throne. No waiting, no audiences, no delay." He glanced at me, then quickly looked away again. "The message goes straight to the Ironmaw Alpha's hand."

I stared at the crest pattern on the scroll case, my fingers tracing the raised ridges. I'd already known a crest opened doors up there. Before he left, I'd offered Jace one to carry. He turned it down. So Jace walked in with nothing to show at the gate. And it sat badly that the thing Jace refused might be the reason no word had come.

I crouched and picked the parchment up from the floorboards, working it out from under a torn stuffed bunny. I slid it back into the case, the metal cold and slippery against my palm, and tucked the thing away in the inside pocket of my jacket. "I'll think about it."

I pushed to my feet. I stepped over a broken music box spilling its innards. Callum cleared his throat behind me. "Alpha, I need these signed before the Mistwood idiots start making trouble."

I sighed and turned to face him, still clutching the pen and paper file. "Fine." I held out my hand. He gripped the stack of forms in both hands. Sheet by sheet, he passed them over. I braced each one against my forearm, the pages smooth and cool against my skin, and signed my name in a flowing scrawl.

The thick stack dwindled gradually as we fell into a rhythm. Callum passed a sheet to me, I signed it, and he stacked it neatly on top. Over and over I signed, my name blurring together, the pen smooth and certain in my grip.

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