He was rather growing on me.
“My, my, Ragnar, you certainly have changed over the years,” a smooth baritone voice said from behind me.
Ragnar?
I turned to find a handsome man in a tweed jacket several steps away: tall and built—surprisingly so, for someone who appeared to be in their late forties or fifties—with dark brown hair streaked with gray and a matching short-cropped beard. His light green eyes held mine with a kind humor, like he was exchanging a joke with an old friend. I merely raised an eyebrow, not wanting to speak too soon and give more of myself away than I wanted. That was something Ragnar had taught me—silence is a powerful defense.
The man chuckled at my lack of response and crossed his arms. “Where is the old fellow, anyway? I had it on good authority he was the Feywood challenger this year.”
“Who told you that?” I asked sharply.
“Him.” He winked. “Ragnar and I go way back. Used to pop by and see him for a spell when I traveled to Feywood on business. Before, well…before border laws became so messy. He got me out of a tricky situation with some Striders once, and I’ve owed him ever since.” The man looked around me. “Is he with you?”
I narrowed my eyes. Fates, how many people did Ragnar keep in contact with outside our province? “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
He tapped his nose, his light eyes sparkling. “If you want to try and blend in here, perhaps lose the satchel”—he nodded to my pouch of herbs—“and the winter sweater. You’re not in Feywood anymore. Also,” he leaned in closer, and I fought the urge to reach for my pouch, “You look just like your mother.”
I inhaled sharply. “How do you…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. My shock was palpable, coiling through me and making me shiver.
“My mother is from Feywood,” he explained. “I spent several years there in my youth, before our family moved to Tenebra to be with my father’s side. That’s how I met good ol’ Ragnar.”
Tenebra. He was certainly not as I imagined someone from thecold Shadow Wielder lands to be, based on stories I’d heard. A Shadow Wielder with an Alchemist mother—I wondered if he possessed both types of magic. It was a rarity to have multiple, and incredibly powerful.
“I’m a bit older than Ragnar, I admit, but I took a liking to him. He was always up for a challenge.” He smiled fondly. “Let’s see, I think the last time I saw him and Morgana was…well, I believe your mother was with child. I knew that must be you the moment you walked in—Ayla’s spitting image. A bit of Hamilton, too.”
His warm smile pricked something in me. I’d never met anyone outside of my aunt and uncle who talked about my parents. Who sounded like they trulyknewthem.
“How are they doing, by the way?” he added.
My heart stuttered. Images of blood and smoke erupted in my mind, the taste of sickly fear coating my tongue. Swallowing, I slammed my walls back up, forcing my face into one of neutrality. “They passed away when I was young.”
His face fell immediately. Eyes lit with concern, lips turned down, shoulders softening. “Well, I’m very sorry to hear that. They were good people. What’s your name, if I may ask?”
I hesitated before saying, “Rose. And you are?”
“Oh, how rude of me.” He held out a calloused hand. “My name is Alaric.”
My lips parted. “Alaric? As in…AlaricRinehart?” I asked, too surprised to even take his hand.
Alaric Rinehart was the runner-up in the last Decemvirate, and his story was well known across the provinces. He was the Tenebra challenger ten years ago and had been in the lead until the last trial, when the Iluze challenger had tricked him with a vision that left him momentarily blinded. Alaric still finished in second, but Tenebra and Iluze had been up in arms formonthsafter the fact.
I wondered why he was back—perhaps to mentor the new Tenebra challenger. Previous competitors did that, sometimes. Ragnar had met with one of Feywood’s prior challengers once or twice to gather as much information from her as he could.
Alaric’s grin was back, a hint of a dimple on his left cheek appearing among wrinkled skin. “I’m offended Ragnar never mentioned me. He knew I would be here.”
My surprise soured, the reminder of my uncle slamming back into me. “Ragnar is…he’s unable to compete.” I bit the inside of my cheek before adding, “He fell under the Somnivae curse last night.”
Alaric’s hand flew to his mouth. “Last night?”
“And…I’m taking his place,” I said, scratching awkwardly below my ear.
His eyes widened. “Well, this day is getting more and more interesting.” He bore an expression I couldn’t read as he said, “I hope there are no hard feelings, Rose.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, tilting my head.
“Attention challengers, guests. Please make your way to the south end of the hall,” a loud voice called out above the mingling crowd.
Alaric looked toward the south end as people headed in that direction, then back to me. “I’ll be seeing you more, I suppose.” He gave me a grim smile. “I’m the Tenebra challenger.”
