Page 111 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Cillian pushed himself back onto his knees and bowed his head. Closing his eyes, he released a long, slow breath, just as Lorena had taught him. The Ironwolf healer may not have been a witch, but she had shown him exactly how to steady himself.

A few seconds passed with only the impatient shuffle of feet behind him. Most likely Kaldrek.

“Touch the roots, Cillian,” Alia softly encouraged him.

Cillian reached out with trembling hands and lightly gripped the nearest root.

Then he felt it.

Heard it.

Heard her.

A beautiful, golden voice hummed and sang in his ears, vibrant with something like joy. The sound grew louder as he focused, and warmth spread through his blood, down to his feet and out through his fingertips, just as it did whenever he summoned light.

But this did not burn. It felt smooth. Silken. Alive.

“Holy…” Alaric said from behind him. “Look. At. That.”

The tree’s voice was so angelic, so kind and gentle. Like a mother’s lullaby soothing him deeper and deeper into calmness.

“She has welcomed you,” Alia whispered. “She says she has been waiting for you to come home.”

Footsteps drew closer behind him, and Cillian slowly opened his eyes to glance over his shoulder. Kaldrek stood there, his brown eyes wide, yet strangely vacant, as though some part of him had slipped beyond reach. He stared at the tree, utterly transfixed. For several seconds, he did not move at all, and the stillness grew uneasy. What had begun as curiosity sharpened into something darker. Hungrier. Almost possessive.

Then Kaldrek tilted his head like a predator catching the scent of prey.

“Kaldrek?” Evelyne called, and he seemed to snap out of his trance.

“Why don’t you step back and give Cillian some space? Wouldn’t want you to interfere with this moment,” Alaric teased, though concern seemed to flicker in his bright blue eyes.

Evelyne moved forward to grab Kaldrek’s hand and pull him toward her. “Are you all right?” she whispered, and Cillian saw him clear his throat and adjust his posture.

Cillian stood and felt the warmth drift away, though not fully. But the singing stopped, and Alia rose to stand with him, still wearing a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

A few seconds later, Evelyne broke the silence. “You both can summon light?”

“That is right, my lady,” Alia answered. “We are its kin.”

Cillian remembered the stories Lorena had shared with him. The stories of the Solgrove Kin—but the townspeople and covens called them something else.

“Sunweavers,” he mumbled.

“You know your history, my lord?” Alia asked in surprise.

“Not much, I must admit. Only stories of the light-bringers who once lived upon these lands centuries ago.”

“That is right. The witch covens in Velenshire called us Sunweavers, though we call ourselves the Solgrove Kin. And this tree is our mother.” Alia gestured to the Solwyn Tree and dipped her head in respect once again.

Cillian’s head spun. He was not merely a new Lord of Caltheris, not merely a light wielder born of prophecy, not merely a wolf—but kin to the Solwyn Tree as well?

How was that possible?

“Perhaps we should talk more another time, over tea?” Alia suggested. “I’m sure you have many questions for me. You all look quite surprised, actually.”

Alaric huffed a laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

“I think that would be a great idea, Alia,” Evelyne agreed. “I must admit I’m a bit dizzy over all of this news, and I’m sure Cillian’s mind is unraveling with thoughts.” She looked to him. “Are you well, brother? You are starting to lose color.”