Chapter 3

"The staff is probably in storage somewhere," Seraphina said dismissively, waving a hand. "It' s hardly a priority."

"It's a priority to me," Silas stated.

He thought of the letters he' d received over the past year, supposedly from Seraphina.

They always asked for money. "For Order renovations," she' d written. "For essential projects."

He' d sent what little he had, believing he was helping her, supporting her work, even as their life grew harder.

"Speaking of priorities," Silas said, his voice tight, "those funds I sent. For the Order."

Seraphina looked confused. "Funds? What funds, Silas? I sent you money, for you and Willow. Regular payments."

Silas stared at her. Then at Julian, whose smile was a little too knowing.

"I received letters," Silas said, pulling a crumpled one from his pocket. "Asking for money. Signed by you."

Seraphina took the letter, her brow furrowed. She read it, then looked up, her face pale.

"This... this isn't my phrasing. And the account number for deposits... this isn't an Order account I recognize."

Julian stepped forward smoothly. "Ah, that. A simple administrative error, I'm afraid."

His eyes gleamed with false sympathy.

"When I was helping Seraphina streamline some of the Order' s finances, and her personal accounts, there might have been a mix-up with correspondence. Some letters intended for internal Order benefactors might have accidentally been sent to you, Silas. And it seems the funds Seraphina allocated for you were... misdirected. Terribly sorry. We'll rectify it, of course."

"Misdirected?" Silas repeated, the word tasting like ash. "We barely had enough to eat sometimes, Willow went without, because I thought you needed that money."

Seraphina looked shaken, glancing between Silas and Julian. "Julian, how could this happen?"

"An oversight, my dear, purely an oversight," Julian said, his tone soothing, but his eyes held a glint of triumph. "We've been so busy with more significant matters."

"Significant matters?" Silas' s voice was dangerously low. "My daughter' s well-being is not significant?"

"Don't be dramatic, Silas," Seraphina snapped, her composure returning, now tinged with irritation. "Julian said it was an error. It will be fixed. You'll be compensated."

"I don't want compensation," Silas said, his gaze hard. "I want my Heartwood Staff. Now."

The money was a symptom. The staff was the cure. Or the weapon.