Chapter 39
The last person Alaric had hoped to encounter in Velenshire was Callista—the woman who had ruined his former betrothal, humiliated Evelyne before half the court, and, given the chance, would no doubt turn her venom on Heidara as well.
That, above all else, he would not allow.
Still, the meeting could have gone worse.
At least Lord Bavrick had kept silent. If Kaldrek ever pieced together how deeply Ivan had hurt Evelyne, Alaric doubted anything would stop him from tearing the man’s throat out.
No one spoke as Alaric led them down another long street paved in gray stone.
The lane was quiet, bordered by graceful trees and thick greenery that softened the road’s edges.
If they kept straight, they would reach the Shaw estate.
Thankfully this route remained mostly deserted at night.
Lord and Lady Shaw valued their privacy, which made the field beyond their orchard the best place to shelter the wolves on such short notice.
The farther they walked, the darker the street became. Branches and bushes stretched overhead, turning almost black in the faint lantern light.
To their right, a sudden rustle disturbed the greenery.
Alaric’s gaze snapped toward it just as a small hooded figure hurried through a grove-like arch in the hedges and stepped onto the road, only to collide directly with Cillian’s shoulder.
A startled, feminine gasp escaped her as the impact knocked back her hood, revealing pale, blondish hair.
“Pardon me, sir,” the girl said quickly. “I did not see you there.”
“That is quite all right, miss,” Cillian replied, steadying her by the shoulders as she quickly reached to pull her hood back over her head.
“I should be on my way. Please excuse me.”
“It is rather dark along this street,” Cillian said politely. “Would you like us to escort you back toward the lanterns?”
“Oh—no, thank you, sir. I have a carriage waiting.”
Alaric stepped closer, trying to see her face more clearly.
“Alia?”
The girl turned sharply toward him, surprise widening her eyes.
What in heaven’s name was his family’s house servant doing out in Velenshire after dark?
“Mr. Stonebridge.” She dipped into a quick curtsey. “You are home. How—how wonderful it is to see you again.” Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them before her.
“What are you doing here?” Alaric asked gently. “Are you visiting Lord and Lady Shaw?”
“No, sir. I was only visiting the grove.” She gestured behind her toward the shadowed arch of branches. “It is such beautiful scenery, don’t you think?”
“I… cannot say that I have ever visited it,” Alaric admitted. “What exactly lies within?”
Alia laughed softly, clearly surprised by his ignorance. “The tree, Mr. Stonebridge. It is the most beautiful I have seen it as of late.”
“A tree?” Alaric asked in confusion.
“Yes, the Solwyn Tree. It’s magnificent.”
“The Solwyn Tree is here, in this grove?” Evelyne asked suddenly, stepping forward. “You know of it?”
The mention of the sacred tree sent memories surging back like a storm—the warnings, the whisper of wind through the land, the voice that had once haunted him and its insistence to bring the alpha to it. But why?
“Yes, of course, my lady.” Alia nodded quickly. “It is very sacred to my people—I mean… my family.” She faltered slightly before continuing. “I could show it to you in the daylight, if you wished. But I must go now. Again, I am terribly sorry to have interrupted you.”
“Alia, please stay with us,” Alaric said before she could slip away. “I will see you safely home.”
He knew perfectly well there was no carriage waiting.
He would have recognized any of his father’s drivers in the market, though none of them would ever be Reuben again.
The thought of his old driver—his friend—tightened painfully in his chest. His family must have replaced him while Alaric was away, and now the loss was permanent.
Reuben had been murdered by the very wolf pack Alaric now counted among his closest allies.
The irony of it twisted uncomfortably in his mind.
Only now did he realize how deeply he missed his home—and his parents.
“Please, join us,” Cillian added kindly.
Alia hesitated, then nodded with a small sigh of surrender. “All right.”
Alaric still did not understand why she had been wandering alone, nor why she would visit an ancient tree at such an hour.
And how, exactly, did she know of the Solwyn Tree?
He had too many questions, and judging by Evelyne’s expression, so did she.
But none of them could be answered tonight.
First, they needed to leave Velenshire. They needed rest, food, and the mercy of a long bath before anyone could think clearly again.
At last, the roofline of Shaw Manor rose above the trees.
Hopefully, its doors would open to them.
***
The Shaw Manor dining room glowed with candlelight and quiet luxury.
Heavy velvet curtains framed the tall windows overlooking the orchards, shutting out the night beyond, while crystal goblets sparkled beneath the chandelier’s warm light and silver platters held the remnants of the finest meal they had eaten in weeks.
For the first time in months, Alaric sat at a proper dining table.
Conversation had been scarce at first, hunger and exhaustion drawing everyone’s attention to the food before them, but the greatest relief had come the moment they entered the manor and learned that his parents were alive, Evelyne’s mother was safe, and both households remained unharmed.
It had been the first question asked, and the answer alone had persuaded them to stay and accept the Shaws’ hospitality.
As the meal continued, Alaric noticed that one person barely touched her plate.
Alia.
She sat quietly between Cillian and Aurelia, her hands folded in her lap more often than not.
Her hood had been lowered now, revealing the familiar blonde hair that shimmered softly in the candlelight.
Every so often her gaze drifted toward the windows overlooking the orchard.
As if she were listening for something beyond the walls.
At the head of the table, Lord Corvin Shaw studied the group, but it was Lady Mireya who finally broke the silence.
“Well,” she said in a light voice, swirling the wine in her goblet, “it is not every evening one entertains two wolf packs and half the future of the southern territories.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Kaldrek before settling on Evelyne. “Velenshire would faint dead away if they knew.”
Lord Corvin cleared his throat. “Which is precisely why they must not.” His gaze moved to Alaric. “You have questions.”
Alaric set down his fork. “That would be an understatement.”
Corvin nodded. “You know of the Solwyn Tree, but not what it truly is.”
Lady Mireya leaned back in her chair. “The oldest living source of magic in the southern territories,” she said softly, “and perhaps on the entire continent.”
Cillian lifted his head.
“Long ago,” Corvin continued, “when Vaelora first began her rise, the witches of Velenshire joined with the Duskwood bloodline to perform what we now call the Great Rite.”
“The ritual that created the prophecy,” Evelyne murmured.
“Yes,” Corvin said. “But it did far more than that.”
“The ritual bound the southern territories to the prophecy’s fate,” Mireya said. “It drew a veil of protection across the land.”
“A veil?” Alaric asked.
“Not a wall,” Corvin clarified. “More an invisible glamour. It masks magic from ordinary humans and discourages wandering magical creatures from crossing into the southern lands.”
“They feel something unsettling at the borders,” Mireya added. “A quiet urging to turn another way.”
Kaldrek leaned forward. “And the Noskari?”
Corvin’s expression darkened. “The veil was made to mislead Vaelora herself, not the corruption she had already let loose.”
“Yes, my love,” Mireya said, “but the Noskari were born of that corruption. Perhaps the veil might keep them at bay, or even drive them from these lands in time—though if the prophecy has been fulfilled, it may already be fading.”
A quiet voice came from farther down the table.
“No. Lord Corvin is right. It will neither destroy them nor keep them away.”
Everyone turned to Alia. She looked up slowly.
“It may hinder them,” she said, weighing each word, “but it will not stop them. The veil cannot erase what has already taken root.”
Alaric noticed Cillian watching Alia closely, then turned back to Lord Corvin. “And what of the families who have preserved this knowledge?”
“The Duskwoods carry the bloodline tied to the prophecy itself,” Corvin said.
Mireya nodded. “And your family, Mr. Stonebridge, has long been their closest ally.”
“Trade routes,” Corvin said. “Political influence. Eyes beyond Velenshire.”
“And a rather gifted seer in the family,” Mireya added.
Alaric stiffened. “What?”
“You did not know?” Mireya smiled. “Perhaps you ought to speak with your mother.”
Corvin continued as though nothing of consequence had just been revealed. “Our own duty has been simpler.” He gestured outward. “This estate was built around the Solwyn Grove. The orchard you passed through tonight was planted generations ago to conceal it.”
“Most visitors believe we simply grow exceptional fruit,” Mireya said.
“You do,” Alia murmured, her eyes drifting toward the windows again. “The soil here is unusually fertile.”
Mireya tilted her head. “Yes… it is.”
“Because the tree feeds the land,” Alia said, as if this were common knowledge.
“And the witches? How have they been tied into all of this?” Evelyne asked.
“The Hallowell covens help guard the tree,” Corvin said. “They are also the reason the enchanted map exists. I trust it proved useful on your journey, Mr. Stonebridge?”
Alaric instinctively touched the pocket where the map rested.
“As you may recall, it darkens whenever blood magic draws near,” Corvin said. “It is the only warning we have.”
“And the prophecy?” Kaldrek asked.
Corvin’s gaze shifted slowly to Cillian. “The Great Rite chose a single soul.”
Cillian went still.
“The Bringer of Light,” Mireya said softly. “The one destined to purge Vaelora’s darkness from this world.”
Corvin’s voice lowered. “That soul is yours.”
Silence settled over the table. Cillian looked down at his hands. Alia watched him, her expression holding something almost like recognition.
“Yes,” she said in a hushed voice. “That would make sense.”
Alaric looked at her sharply, but she had already lowered her gaze.
Lady Mireya rose from her seat and smoothed the front of her gown. “Well, that is quite enough ancient history for one evening. You are all exhausted.”
Corvin nodded. “You will remain here tonight. Your wolves may stay in the outer fields, but Velenshire must never see them.”
Kaldrek inclined his head. “That will not be a problem. I will join them and inform the group.”
Mireya looked him over with open appreciation before offering a warm smile. “Then I suggest baths, proper beds, and a few hours of sleep before the fate of the world resumes in the morning.”
Chairs shifted as the group began to rise. But Evelyne’s voice cut through the quiet.
“Wait.” She turned to Alaric. “You should warn them. They deserve to know what is coming.” Her gaze shifted to Lord and Lady Shaw, fear still shadowing her eyes. “These are no longer stories. The horrors are real—and dangerous.”
Alaric held her gaze, and understanding passed silently between them. Then he turned back to the table.
“Lord Corvin. Lady Mireya. If you would remain seated a little longer?”
“Lady Evelyne, we are quite aware of what lies beyond—”
“No, Lord Corvin,” Evelyne said, her voice steady. “Respectfully, you are not. You have not seen the monsters roaming beyond our borders. We have. And from what I have gathered tonight, you do not yet have a plan. We will need one. So please.”
She looked to Alaric once more.
The servants hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, but Corvin returned to his chair with visible reluctance.
Alaric drew a long breath. And then he told them everything.
From the moment he and Evelyne first left Caltheris to the long road north; the battles fought, the lives lost, and the corruption they had uncovered along the way.
He spoke of Vaelora’s rise, the Noskari born from her blood magic, and the darkness that had begun spreading beneath the world like a sickness in the roots of the land.
He spoke of the caverns and ruins, of creatures twisted by ancient power, and of the terrible truth that something still lingered beneath the ground not far from Velenshire itself.
The veil had hidden the southern territories for generations. But it would not hold forever. And when the Noskari finally found their way through it, Velenshire would not remain untouched.