Grabbing a lantern hanging from a tree branch, Quinn held it up to light our path. Willows grew between the walkways, their hanging leaves drifting over the dark waters like ghosts.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“To our leader.”
“Is he the one who ordered the attacks?”
Quinn shot me a sidelong glance. “Ask her yourself.”
The shardwolf darted ahead of us, sniffing at the base of an unusual tree. It stood out from the willows around it—brilliant violet petals bloomed from its black leaves. A manor rose behind it, painted white against the night.
A guard stepped from the shadows of its entrance and trotted down the porch steps to meet us. I stopped dead in my tracks.
He wore the uniform of Tirnanog—the same I wore. Our great tree was etched on his silver armor, laid over a dark purple gambeson. Raven feathers decorated his light leather helm.
“Lord Seradh,” he said. “What brings you . . .” Trailing off, his gaze swept over me.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Quinn asked.
“Yes.” The guard’s gaze refused to leave my face. “But I doubt they’ll mind. This way.” He spun on his heel, leading us to the doors.
My heart hammered; my head spun. I could no longer feel the world around me as I followed the men into the manor—it was like I waded through water tucked within a dream.
Shouting echoed from deeper in the home, bouncing off the bright walls. My vision spun as we marched through the foyer into an expansive sitting room.
Fire burned in a mantle, casting shadows across the wood floor. Two people stood opposite one another, locked in an argument: a man and a woman.
I didn’t hear their words, couldn’t read their lips. My gaze fell solely upon the woman.
She was beautiful—the picture of regality. A beautiful gown of deepest purple draped her figure, and a raven-feathered cloak gathered around her shoulders. White hair pooled atop her head, braided into an ornate bun. The same circlet I wore restedon her brow—the twigs of our tree, and its light purple flowers. A half-drained wine glass balanced in her left hand. She gestured with it every time she spoke.
The argument ceased as we entered the room. Their eyes shot toward us.
Bowing, the guard stepped away. Quinn lowered his head. “Forgive the interruption, Ethna.”
Ethna. Ethna.
The name bounced around in my skull, growing louder with each echo.
That was my mother’s name.
The woman’s pale lavender eyes locked on mine. She dropped the wine glass, and it shattered on the floor.
"Mare?" She breathed.
Like she'd seen a ghost.
I backed up. My head slammed into the wall.
My people were gone. Dead. Finding them had been a fleeting fancy, a far-fetched dream.
All this time, my mother had been alive. She'd been here. In the darkness. Why?
Why?
Spinning on my heel, I fled through the manor and burst through its doors.
I didn't know why I left. Where I was going. Everything was a blur.
