“I was wrong in many ways,” he continued, more quietly now. “But this is a difficult matter, very delicate. And I made the decision to keep it for myself. I am still not sure if this is the Circle of Binding.”
Her brow furrowed, wary now. “What is that, exactly?”
“A circle like that,” Alaric explained, voice low, “was used during ancient rituals to focus magic. To gather power. Not just to cast something—but to force it. Amplify it. Think of it like… a funnel, one that made a weak flame into a wildfire. They were used in the last days of the Last War.”
“Before the Sundering?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “The final campaign started by Kaer’Vosh. The spell known as the Void Tear—it was meant to restore magic by fusing the mortal plane with arcane breath. Instead, it obliterated the capital. Left a crater. That’s where it began.”
Evelyne said nothing, but her expression darkened.
“I don’t believe magic is gone,” he continued. “Not entirely. But I believed it couldn’t be used that way anymore. That no one would try.”
Her mouth was a tight line. He rubbed his neck.
“I should have told you,” he admitted. “You have every right to be furious.”
She averted her gaze, jaw tightening. Then, in a restrained murmur: “You believe that was used on Dasmon?”
“I believe someone attempted it—or wished to make it appear so. And if that kind of power is being invoked once more… I needed to know what remains in your memory. What you witnessed.”
She gave no immediate reply. Her focus rested on the floor, though her mind was far from it.
“I still have questions,” she added, lifting her chin slightly. “Too many. And I don’t know where they all lead. But I know there’s more. I feel it.”
Her brow tightened.
Evelyne turned and walked toward the window, her steps quiet against the stone. She didn’t speak again, only stood there, gazing out as if the night beyond might answer her.
Alaric exchanged a glance with Cedric—then with Vesena.
“We need a plan,” he noted.
Evelyne nodded once, not turning. “I agree.”
She looked over her shoulder without turning her body. “If you have something that can help us, Alaric—don’t withhold it again.”
He gulped.
She stepped away from the window and crossed the room. She stopped in front of him and stared straight into his soul. “Because if you do… I won’t forget it twice.”
He stared back into her blue eyes transformed by the sunset, burning with the low, steady glow of dark gold. Like embers submerged in water.
“I won’t,” he promised. And he meant it.
She gave a small nod, and this time, when she met his eyes, something had shifted. “Good. Because the truth you’re chasing?” Her voice stayed level, but he didn’t miss the edge beneath it. “I want it too. All of it.”
It surprised him how much relief came with those words. A door she had previously kept locked out of habit, fear, or necessity, was ajar now.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “We’ll follow your lead.”
Her eyes stayed on him, longer than before.
And underneath it all, buried just enough to be almost missed, was the question neither of them would speak aloud. Why her name had been there. Why it hadn’t yet been crossed out. And how much time they really had before someone tried to finish what had been started.
Chapter 49
The banners snapped in the wind, each one stitched with the royal crest. Horns blared down, the scent of metal, horses, and overripe apples clung to the breeze. Evelyne held her place at the castle’s front, high above the assembled masses, draped in Edrathen’s colors—silver cloak over a maroon dress.
