Vaduin still hovers by the study door as the others gather near the hearth. Our eyes meet, and he reads the weight of unasked questions in my expression.
“When Ravin was taking the vessel, he spoke of his existence depending on it. You realized something then. What was it?” I keep my voice low, dropping to a whisper as I come to a stop before him.
His gaze drops to the deck in my hands. “Are you withholding healing unless I tell you?”
“I am not that cruel. But I am exhausted, and I might need some help.” I pass him a card, and, together, we begin mending his wounds.
He answers my question: “Ravin is not real.”
“I’ve watched him kill those I love. He seems real enough.” I lean against the doorframe opposite him, utterly spent.
“Inthis world,yes.” His words are deliberate, and he waits to see if I understand.
I narrow my eyes, parsing what I might have missed. Then it strikes me, and I draw a sharp breath. “He was made by the World.”
Vaduin nods. “In every record of Revisan I could find, in what Laylis revealed—Naethor and Queen Elari had one son: Kaelis. Ravin is nothing more than a construct, created by the World from Naethor’s wish to further deny Kaelis his rightful throne.”
Does Kaelis know this?The implications of it have my mind spinning.
Ravin exists only because of a card and a wish. He’s a product of a remade world. While Kaelis let his father believe he served him, harboring his own ambitions, Ravin played the same game. Each son fighting for the World—to make a reality they desperately needed.
“Is Kaelis and Ravin’s younger brother real?” I ask.
“So far as I can tell.” Vaduin nods. “Given that he was born a few years after the world was remade.”
That’s why Naethor was speaking to him like an heir when I overheard them in Fate Hearth. Probably also why he’s protected Prince Belen. The crown prince isn’t real. The “second” prince—the rightful heir—is the last person Naethor wants inheriting the throne. The only son he has whom he’d want to inherit the crown…is Belen.
Does the younger prince know the truth about his brothers?
“So, Ravin wants to use the World to make himself real,” I murmur as my thoughts race.
“Now that he has the vessel, we must move carefully and quickly,” Vaduin continues. “We need to steal it back.”
“No…Let him think he’s won. It’ll divert his attention. He still thinks Naethor has the golden cards.” Assuming he can’t sense they’re fakes. But if he could, he would’ve already made a move, surely…“He’ll focus on finding the Star, and we both know that won’t work out well for him. As for the vessel, I’ll make another.”
“How? The citadel and its altar are destroyed; we both know there’s no way it survived.”
“I know. But this academy is an extension of the citadel.” I try to project confidence, though it’s only theory. “The font of the World here contains liquid identical to what I used for the vessel’s ink. The main hall mirrors the altar’s design. The similarities are undeniable. I think I can use the font of the World to make another vessel.”
He sighs. “Not as if we have alternatives.”
“However…I’ll need to get more material to turn into powder for the ink.” I’ve been avoiding this ever since I began to entangle myself with Kaelis. But at every turn, it haunts me. Looms. Reminding me ofthe greatest mystery I’ve willfully left unsolved. “I need to go to Clan Hermit.”
He freezes. I watch him carefully, waiting for any tells. Vaduin is more guarded than I’ve ever seen him. “I’ll come with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I know the way.”
I give him a dumb look. “The path to find a giant hole in the ground is not hard. It’s literally on maps.”
“It is forbidden by the crown to go there. You might need assistance navigating it.”
“It’sa hole in the ground,” I repeat flatly. “Clan Hermit was destroyed years ago. Nothing remains but rubble.” And perhaps traces of reversed cards I need for the vessel’s ink. “How well guarded could it be?”
“It was destroyed not that long ago…” He stares out the window, his features twisting with an emotion I can’t read.
“Long enough. Oricalis has no use for it now; it’s a crater most people fear to even mention, let alone visit. Multiple people poking around would draw more suspicion than a single person who could slip through any patrols—if there are any.”
