He leaned back slightly, propping his elbow on his palm, fingers brushing the edge of his stubble. That was definitely odd. In Varantia, there was a saying that if no one was taken by the Assembly before the vows, the gods would claim someone after.
She met his eyes, steady and unflinching now.
“I don’t have proof. But I have memories. They don’t form anything coherent yet. Only fragments.”
“No, I believe you,” he murmured crossing his arms over his chest.
She shook her head slightly, the motion so small it might have been invisible if he hadn't been watching her so closely.
“And…” There was a pause, her throat worked once, a small, tight movement. “I can’t do it alone.”
Evelyne looked down, jaw set, then turned slightly as if the horizon might offer steadier ground. One hand drifted to her side, fingers curling lightly into the folds of her cloak. He could see how much it cost her—asking. She carried things. Until her shoulders nearly cracked from the weight.
“I need help,” she admitted at last.
Alaric didn’t answer right away.
She was still staring out across the hills, chin high, like even vulnerability had to be offered at an angle.
He nodded toward the blanket Cedric and Vesena had laid out beneath the spreading shade of the beech tree, his voice low. “Sit with me. We’ll discuss it over a meal.”
They walked slowly, the guards’ gazes following every step. Cedric and Vesena waited by the horses. Evelyne sat across from him, all composed edges and clean lines, adjusting each fold of her skirt as though the world itself depended on perfect symmetry.
Alaric placed a strawberry tartlet and a neat cluster of grapes on her plate, before turning to select a handful of nuts and a wedge of spiced cheese for himself.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind played through the tall grass, and far below the hill, the town murmured with distant life.
Then Alaric broke the quiet.
“I’ve been looking at Ravik’s latest patrol shifts,” he admitted. “He’s drawing everything in toward the castle. One of the outer watch points is under-manned, and any requests for additional coverage are redirected back to the capital’s perimeter.”
He glanced sideways at her. “And then there’s the High Preceptor.”
Evelyne’s eyes narrowed, just slightly.
He popped a nut into his mouth, chewed, and continued. “He called the wedding aritual. Said it was a way to ease unrest, givepeople something to believe in. He was talking about turning us into a symbol. Ravik has a reason. But also, what the Preceptor is planning to achieve is not religion. That’s control.”
Evelyne hummed gently. “The entire situation is strange. Ravik and the High Preceptor have never been close. They’re aligned on law and order, yes, but politically? They're oil and ash. And yet…” Her gaze flicked toward the Ivory Bastion. “I overheard them speaking.”
Alaric stilled.
“They were talking about the Maroon Slaughter, I’m sure of it,” she continued. “They said something about rites too. And then—” She hesitated, her fingers tightening briefly around her spoon, “they spoke of our union. As a kind of… purification.”
That word lingered too long in the air.
Alaric’s expression didn’t change, but his voice lowered. “Did they say what rite it was?”
“No. Only that the wedding wasn’t meant to be a show of force. That it was a consecration.” Her eyes narrowed faintly. “What do you make of that?”
He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he leaned back slightly, processing. His mind ran through a dozen overlapping theories.
He met her gaze. “I’ve been studying the roots of the Sundering. And I’m starting to think that the New Religion didn’t just replace the Old Gods. It just… took what was convenient and threw away anything else.”
She frowned. “You think they’re using the rites to contain something?”
“To channel it, maybe. Or bind it. I don’t know yet.” He paused, gaze steady. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to uncover what was lost. You’ve been living with the consequences. And if the Preceptor sees our marriage as a ritual, not a political event… then we’re not walking into an aisle full of flowers. AndI also don’t think that the use of words such as “ritual” or “purification” is a metaphor. Not in this scenario.”
She went still at that.
