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The mage turned to her. “Now, I cannot say any of this is for certain,” she prefaced. “But I saw someone else while I was away. A friend.” The mage reached into a pocket of her dress, pulled out a gold chain with a small ruby pendant, and held it out to Gwendolyn.
Sirus fell utterly still. He’d noticed that Gwendolyn hadn’t worn it to the spring, but he’d assumed she left it on purpose. He’d been wrong.
Gwendolyn held out her hand, and Levian placed the necklace delicately in her palm. “Your mother was human, but I believe she did have some witch’s blood.” Gwendolyn's breath was sharp and short, the emotion laced in her features so raw. “Her family hailed from Massachusetts, where they lived for some generations,” Levian went on. “I could find no trace beyond your great-grandparents.”
Levian’s eyes held something as she peered down at Gwendolyn, as if she brimmed to say something but thought better of it.
“So my grandmother could have been a witch?” Gwendolyn proffered with apprehension.
The mage gave a little shrug. “It’s hard to say. There would be records if she were a part of a coven, but I’ve heard nothing to confirm it from my contacts.”
Gwendolyn’s face twisted, and that little wrinkle grazed her nose. “So does that mean my father was magickal? If it didn’t come from my mother?”
The mage kept the secret veiled, but Sirus was too trained not to notice it flicker over her features. Barith noticed as well. No one said a thing. The knowledge of it merely hung around them. Sirus felt a heaviness settle deep in his bones. It was obvious the mage was hesitant to speak about anything more in front of Gwendolyn.
“It is likely,” was all Levian replied with a soft smile. “I will try to find out more.”
Gwendolyn was clearly disappointed but masked it well. The little nuggets Levian had given her were enough to chew on for the time being. “So, what now?”
The mage let Gwendolyn’s hand go and leaned back in her seat. “We continue on,” she replied with a smile. “I won’t give up so easily, as I hope you know by now.”
The gears in Gwendolyn’s brain were clearly turning, but she managed a small smile and words of gratitude to Levian for finding out what she had.
“There’s a kitchen to clean,” Rath remarked, putting away his knitting and standing so that he cast a shadow over them all as he blocked the firelight. “Gwen, will you help me?”
Gwendolyn often helped Rath in the kitchen. In this instance, the intention to lure her away was obvious to everyone except her. She stood without argument and drifted toward the door like she were in a fog. Sirus watched her, though she did not look at him once. Her focus was lost in her own head. Only when she turned in the doorway did she glance back. She met his gaze like he were a target for her arrow and bit her bottom lip.
Come find me. The words repeated in his head, and Sirus suspected they repeated in hers as well. Her face flushed, and she darted away.
Sirus wanted to curse, but he managed to hold it in. He calmed his heated blood with nothing but controlled determination and looked to the mage. He felt like an ass for keeping whatever was to be spoken from Gwendolyn, but he trusted Levian had her reasons. “What haven’t you said?”
Levian leaned back in her seat, took in a heavy breath, and let it out slowly. “Nestra is determined to prevail,” she said. What little bit of soft joviality she’d managed to muster for Gwendolyn was now gone. She seemed weighted and wary. “But this is not simply about Nestra or the danger she poses.”
Niah took Rath’s now vacant seat and handed Levian a dram of whiskey. The mage took a heavy pull before she continued, “I wanted to tell her, but she is still so new to our world. I was afraid to scare her.”
Sirus swallowed his trepidation.
“Tell us,” Barith prompted.
“I’ve not been able to let it drop,” Levian admitted. “It bothered me…that Abigail saw a mage in her scrying bowl. A mage who she admitted was clearly not me,” she continued. “I’ve been poring over texts for weeks. Corresponding with everyone I thought was safe…I spoke the truth about her mother. I wondered if perhaps the mother she’d known was a guardian of sorts, but I was wrong. The woman who died in that car accident was her mother by birth.”
Sirus was sad for her, but Gwendolyn had never suspected anything different. Her grief over her mother had already been real, so that was not new, at least.
“She is the daughter of witches,” Niah said, giving voice to one of the many threads that spun around them.
Levian nodded. “Yes. But not powerful witches. If her mother had been of power, Gwendolyn would carry more essence of the craft in her.”
“What of her father?” Sirus pressed.
The mage’s lips pursed. She looked as if she was still unsure whether this was appropriate to share, which only meant that it was important. Her expression softened and turned almost sad. “Gwendolyn is the single daughter of single daughters, each breaking three generations of sons who bore but one son.”
A ripple spread over him like the eerie touch of a ghost. Single daughters of single daughters for two generations could be considered mere coincidence. For three or more, it was nearly always an omen of powerful magick. For their coupling to break single lines of sons was something even more potent.
Barith cursed, anxiously running his hand through his matted hair.
“How far back?” Niah asked.
Levian shook her head. “I cannot say. Far enough that it doesn’t matter. Only magick brings something like that about. Only—” Her gaze shot to Sirus’s. Only destiny.
