Chapter 78
Post supper, Master Benedict poured tea into three simple clay cups before lowering himself into his chair with the ease of someone genuinely old-or someone who had spent decades convincing the world he was.
The envelope from Theo rested on the table beside him. He had already read it.
I wrapped both hands around my cup, more for something to do than to drink. Across from me, Rhaevan sat straight-backed, looking as though he had managed to turn "drinking tea" into an official duty. He was still hell-bent on ignoring me.
Jerk.
Master Benedict gave the letter one last glance before folding it shut. "Theo's letter was... surprisingly brief." His lips twitched. "Sending them to you. They'll ask too many questions. Good luck."
I sighed dramatically. "That is absolutely something he'd write."
His amusement faded. "But I imagine your questions are not amusing ones."
Rhaevan answered before I could. "We seek the Heartforge."
Silence. Even the crackling fire seemed to quiet.
Master Benedict carefully set his cup down. "So." He exhaled slowly. "It has finally begun."
I frowned. "You make it sound like you've been expecting this."
"I have." His gaze lingered on us. "Long before either of you were born, there existed a family whose understanding of magic surpassed every kingdom."
"Ardentian." My fingers tightened around the cup.
"They were scholars before they were nobles, mages before politicians. They devoted generations to studying the very foundation of magic." He paused. "They discovered too much. What they found should never have belonged to mankind."
Neither of us interrupted.
"The Heartforge was not merely a relic," he continued. "It was knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. The kind kingdoms wage wars over before they even understand what they're fighting for." He looked into the fire. "When they sensed betrayal from within their own ranks, they chose a path no one expected."
"They dismantled their own legacy. They burned libraries. They destroyed their research. They erased centuries of scholarship. They buried relics. They sealed ancient paths."
"They ensured that if Ardentia ever fell... its greatest discoveries would fall with it."
I stared at him. "They destroyed their own work?"
"They chose to vanish from history rather than let that power fall into the wrong hands."
Somehow, that answer felt heavier than losing a war. They had chosen it.
"The Veiled Thorn knows Ardentia concealed a powerful relic," Benedict said, his fingers folding together. "They know it exists, but not where. For decades, they searched ruined cities, unearthed forgotten vaults, and collected journal fragments, but they still couldn't find it."
A dry laugh escaped him. "An enemy who does not know their destination often becomes the most dangerous."
I didn't like where this was going.
"So they changed their approach," Benedict said. "They stopped searching for the secret. They began searching for the people who might know it. They hunted scholars, archivists, mages-anyone who dedicated their life to studying Ardentia."
The warmth of the fireplace suddenly wasn't doing much.
"They questioned them," his expression hardened. "And when questions failed... they resorted to torture."
I swallowed. "They found nothing?"
"They found frightened people. Broken people. But no answers." He looked directly at me. "Because those loyal to Ardentia had already taken an oath. Knowledge can be stolen. Memories can be extracted. Pain breaks most people." He paused. "Magic breaks the rest."
A chill crept down my spine.
"So Ardentia devised something far crueler."
"They formed the Covenant. It was not merely an oath; it was a memory-binding spell. No guardian retained the complete truth. No scholar remembered every location. No mage carried every answer. Each person held only a fragment-enough to guide the next, never enough to betray the whole.
So even if someone was captured, there would be nothing meaningful to reveal."
He nodded. "They could search your memories or question you for years, and they would recover only scattered fragments. Nothing that could lead them to the Heartforge."
I looked down at my untouched tea. "That's..." I searched for the word. "Horrifying."
"It was," he didn't try to soften it. "But it worked. Theo and I were among the few entrusted with fragments of that Covenant."
My head snapped up.
"We remember very little," Benedict said. "We remember enough to recognize when the time has come." He looked at me. "And enough to recognize the people meant to continue the journey."
I shifted under his gaze. "So you can't tell us where the Heartforge is."
"If I knew, I would." He smiled sadly. "But I do not. The oath also prevents me from learning what you discover. If I cannot remember it, I cannot reveal it."
He pushed himself up and shuffled toward an old cabinet in the corner. For a moment, all I heard was the sound of drawers opening.
He returned carrying a small wooden box and placed it gently on the table.
The lid creaked as he opened it. Inside lay what looked like an old brass compass.
Its surface was darkened with age, the glass scratched, and the needle spinning aimlessly, never settling on north.
Tiny symbols circled the rim instead of cardinal directions.
I leaned closer. "...A compass?"
"It isn't a compass," Benedict carefully lifted it. "At least... I don't believe it is." He looked at me. "Your mother entrusted it to me."
Everything else disappeared.
"My..." I swallowed. "...mother?"
He nodded. "Rosaline Valerith Ardentia."
Hearing her name spoken aloud felt strangely unreal.
"Many years ago," his brow furrowed. "I cannot remember why. The memory-binding spell took that from me. But I remember what I was instructed to do." He held the object toward me. "If someone bearing the Ardentian bloodline ever came seeking answers... I was to place this in their hands."
I hesitated before taking it. It was colder than I expected. Heavy. Solid. Old. And... nothing. No glow, no warmth, no surge of magic.
I turned it over. "It's broken."
"I'm afraid it has always been like that."
Rhaevan reached over. "May I?"
I handed it to him. He examined it quietly, closing his eyes to search with his magic. After a few moments, he opened them again. "I don't detect any enchantment."
I stared at the thing in complete disbelief, then looked back at Benedict.
"So..." I held it up between two fingers. "...we've just had an incredibly dramatic ceremony... to pass me an antique paperweight."
For the first time that evening, the old mage laughed. A genuine one. "I'm beginning to suspect your mother had an unusual sense of humor."
"I really hope that's the explanation," I muttered, staring at the useless... whatever-it-was into my satchel.
Because if this mysterious family heirloom turned out to be nothing more than an exceptionally ugly pocket compass... I was going to have serious words with my dead ancestors.