Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 147

Chapter 147

ATASHA’S POV

“When you were at the northern outpost, rumors about you being a witch were already spreading inside the territory,” Sister Veris started. I looked at Cassian in response. He gave me a nod as if telling me to listen to what Sister Veris has to say.

I nodded, and Sister Veris continued.

“I believe this began with Matron Yara,” she said. “The rumors spread too quickly, too neatly. They were seeded.”

I glanced at Cassian. Again, he didn’t speak, only met my eyes and tipped his head as if telling me to listen. Was he letting me handle these things on my own?

Sister Veris folded her hands more tightly in her lap. “I am certain the Lord and Lady already know the shape of it. I’m telling you this for selfish reasons.”

That made me still. “What reasons?”

“For years, the Briarholts have had no heir.” Her tone didn’t wobble. She stated it like a record in a ledger. “It isn’t only my house. Many of the council families are the same. Our lines have thinned. Some have failed entirely.”

My thoughts jumped to Grace’s gossip by the bonfire, to the way she’d laughed without humor about Halden Morrow and his wandering bed. I narrowed my eyes, and Sister Veris caught it.

“You’ve heard about Halden’s bastards,” she said, a dry curve at the edge of her mouth. “Everyone has. That is one answer men reach for, spread seed everywhere and hope something takes root.”

She lifted her chin a fraction, then looked at me, not at Cassian, when she said, “But women are different. We can’t multiply chances the same way. We are measured by whether a single child lives.”

Her gaze slid to Cassian. “Matron Yara and I have no children of our own. None who carry our blood.”

I said nothing, sifting through council rosters in my head. Yara’s ‘niece.‘ Veris’s ‘son‘ who never looked like her. I had assumed adoption to bind alliances, the way noble houses filled gaps.

Sister Veris seemed to read that too. “The heirs you know are wards. Clever placements. Just bargains. They are not ours.”

I nodded slowly.

“The decline isn’t chance,” she went on. “Not across this many households, not over this many years. Not when the first stillbirths began the winter after the last Red Moon, and the miscarriages followed in waves every two or three cycles. Not when healers find no cause, and yet the same families fail again and again.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, a small shift that would be easy to miss if you weren’t watching for it. Yet, he said nothing.

15:57 Tue, Oct 21

Chapter 147

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“I believe,” Sister Veris said. “Someone is breaking the North from the inside. Piece by piece. I believe a witch, one with patience and skill, cursed our bloodlines. Not to kill us in battle, not to starve us at once, but to make sure our lines end while we are busy managing everything else.”

The carriage wheels hummed under us. I stared at the small iron kettle and watched the steam curl up and fade. “You think Matron Yara is part of that.”

“I cannot say without proof,” she said. “I have investigated this matter for years, but nothing came up. But I know this…..” She looked at Cassian without hiding the hesitation in her eyes. “Witches can do almost everything… if you give them the right sacrifice.”

“The Lord is aware,” she said, to me, not to him. “He approved the searches when the last two lines failed. We sent letters, riders, even paid southern scribes for archives.”

She stood and poured the tea with steady hands and placed a cup in front of each of us before sitting back down. I took mine, letting the warmth seep into my palms, it did little to calm my thoughts, but it helped.

“Most of the heirs we’ve welcomed,” she went on. “Come from those western branches. It took years to find them, but we did. That should have been a relief.” She paused, met my eyes. “It wasn’t.”

15:58 Tue, Oct 21

Chapter 147

“Why?” I asked.

“Because they are not ours,” she said flatly. “Not by blood.”

My frown deepened. “Explain.”

“It’s difficult to outline the full method without a scribe,” she said, choosing her words. “But every old house keeps a way to confirm bloodlines, marks, tinctures, and an oath–binding that reacts to specific traits carried down the female and male lines. We tested privately. We tested three times. The results held.”

“And the results say-”

“They’re strangers,” she said. “Placed well. Papers that look proper. Stories that fit. But when we check for the markers, there is nothing. Not a trace of our line.”

I swallowed. “So, someone is feeding people to the north….”

“Yes.” Her jaw tightened. “And doors open when you present records that look official and a face that fits a name from a century ago. People are tired and afraid. They want the problem solved. If a ‘cousin‘ arrives with a ring and a signed letter, who argues?”

I frowned at that. “Do you think… do you think perhaps someone is using these people to infiltrate the north?”

AD