Page 98 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Alaric walked beside her toward the house, watching her with new consideration. He had always thought his mother a little peculiar—kind and watchful, but different in ways he had never fully understood. Maybe now it was time to listen more closely.

Alia and the kitchen staff had already prepared the dining room for breakfast. Tea steamed gently from the cups set at each place, the table laid with its usual touch of elegance. Vera handed Alaric a small basket of freshly baked biscuits and regarded him with a pleased smile.

“You’ve grown a beard,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I had not thought it possible, but it appears you have managed to make yourself even more handsome.”

Alaric allowed a small smile. “Thank you, Mother. You look in excellent health.”

“Indeed,” she replied, settling into her seat, “the weather has been most agreeable to my garden of late. Though I would be quite dishonest if I claimed I was not concerned for your safety while you were gone. I should have liked a proper farewell, but I understood your father’s decision to send you off so quickly, given the unfortunate business with Lady Duskwood.” Her expression grew warm. “Tell me, how is that dear girl?”

“She is…” Alaric paused. “Quite well, in fact. Though I must admit, we are no longer to be married.”

Vera gave a soft sigh. “Yes, I suspected as much.” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. “But I believe that is not what weighs most heavily upon your mind. What is troubling you, my son?”

Alaric lifted his teacup and took a slow sip, gathering his thoughts. When he set it down again, his voice had lost its earlier ease. “Did you know,” he asked with care, “what Evelyne and I were walking into?”

A faint crease formed between Vera’s brows. “No,” she said. “Not in the way you mean. But I knew you would both return safely.”

Alaric frowned. “And how, precisely, were you able to know that?”

“I told you,” she began, “the wind—”

“Yes, Mother,” he interrupted, his patience thinning. “You have said as much, but I do not understand what you mean. The wind does not speak. The weather does not speak. Please—” He drew his hand into a fist, steadying himself. “I would very much appreciate a clearer explanation.”

Vera folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze without flinching. “Have you ever truly stopped to listen to the world around you, Alaric?” she asked softly. “It may not speak in the manner we do, but it does, in its own way, choose those who are able to hear it. To feel it.”

Alaric stared at her, disbelief catching hard in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to abandon the conversation entirely and wait for his father’s return.

“The darkness reached your mind once, did it not?”

His heart dropped. “What? How could you possibly—?”

“If the wind did not speak to me,” she replied, “how else would I know?”

Alaric leaned forward, his voice tightening. “You know of the Noskari? Of what waits beyond our borders?”

“I did not know what they called themselves. But I felt the wrongness. And I saw that you would be chosen as its next victim.”

“When?” he demanded. “When did you know this?”

“Before you left for Velenshire.”

Anger flared within him. “And you still allowed me to go?” he said, his voice rising. “Knowing I could have become one of those things? Without understanding the horrors we were facing?” His hands struck the table with a sharp crack.

“I understand why you are angry,” Vera said calmly. “But there was purpose in what unfolded.”

Alaric let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “I do believe you have completely lost your mind.”

“Many would agree with you,” she replied, unoffended. “But your father does not. He understood the necessity of sending you. He trusted what I saw—that you would return to us… and that you would play a part in saving us.”

Alaric pushed back from the table, the weight of her words pressing in on him.

“Father knew as well?” he asked. He shook his head, frustration mounting. “Why?” he demanded. “Why go through with the betrothal at all? Why allow us to endure humiliation and anger? Did you not consider what that would cost me? We could have died!”

Vera met his gaze. “You are my son. I would never have permitted you to face such danger if I did not know you would return to me.”

Alaric pressed his hands to his temples, exhaling slowly.

“Mother,” he said, his voice strained, “that does not make sense. How could you possibly know what is out there? How could you know I would survive? It was—” He faltered, searching for words. “It was beyond anything you can imagine. The journey to Nerathar was filled with horrors. Creatures that burrow into a man’s mind and consume him from within. Beasts born of blood magic beneath the very ground we walk upon. Wolves that shift into men. Death everywhere.” His voice caught. “Reuben was… He was murdered before my eyes. And Lord Duskwood—”