Something flickered across Cedric’s expression—old and unshakable.
“Because I promised her brother I’d protect her,” he shot back. Then, without hesitation, “And you too.”
Cedric’s eyes, always sharp, always ready with a cutting line or dry quip, were flat now. And tired.
Alaric’s throat worked, but no sound came.
Cedric was right.
He took a breath, slow and sharp, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight. His gaze drifted to the desk near the window, its surface cluttered with scrolls, ink pots, and books left half-open. But his eyes went straight to the object near the corner—a folded piece of vellum, delicately inked. A map from Thalen.
Alaric moved toward it now. He rested his hand over the edge of the map, fingers brushing the parchment.
“Sorry,” Cedric muttered. “I didn’t mean to—” His voice caught, as he brushed his palm along his face. “After what happened…I haven’t exactly been calm.”
“No,” Alaric shook his head. “I deserved it. You’re right. I may not have contributed to the chaos, but I didn’t stop it either.”
Cedric exhaled, putting his hands in his pockets and looking towards the window. “You really think she’s the Drowned Flame?”
Alaric didn’t answer right away. He followed his gaze, where dust motes flickering like hanging ash.
“She could be,” he pondered. “Too many things point to her. And too many don’t. That’s how it always goes with prophecy—truth twisted in metaphor, threat disguised as fate.” He glanced back at Cedric. “But this one wants her dead. That alone tells me she’s important.”
Another beat passed. They didn’t fill it. Somewhere in the castle, boots echoed against marble. Somewhere outside, a raven cawed.
“Maybe she is the Drowned Flame,” he murmured. “Maybe not. But that’s not what matters.”
Cedric raised a brow. “It isn’t?”
“Not for me.”
Cedric looked straight at him. “For her, it might be.”
Alaric paused, then nodded—slower this time. “If the wrong ears catch wind of it, they’ll do more than ask questions. They’ll break her to find answers.”
Cedric studied him for a long beat, unreadable as ever. Then he gave a single, sharp nod. “So tell her. When we get her home. When it’s safe.”
Alaric met his eyes. “I will.”
Cedric looked at him for a long moment, then dipped his head once in agreement. “I’ll make sure you do.”
Alaric didn’t flinch from it. He’d take it.
“We’re good?” he asked.
Cedric smirked. “So far.”
Alaric smiled back, then turned toward the desk. He crossed the room, fingers brushing the edge of the map as he reached for the ink and quill. The door creaked softly as Cedric stepped out. His retreating footsteps echoed once, then faded, followed by the dull click of the latch sliding into place.
Only then did Alaric lower himself into the chair. He uncorked the ink, steadied the quill between his fingers, and bent over the map, scribbling in her bottom left corner…
Recorded in the Castle of Vellesmere, Year 1319 A.S.
By the hand of King Thalen the Brave
Chapter 79
The brittle hush of a place was torn up and stitched poorly back together. Even her boots, soft-soled and worn to the contour of her feet, made no sound.
