Page 142 of An Archer's Reckoning

When we returned, the ledge-side table was laden with platters and plates. We ate with little care for the world, enjoying the simple pleasure of a reunion between mother and son—no, between mother and sons.

“I nearly forgot how much I love this wine,” I said as I downed my fourth glass and promptly refilled it.

Ayden swilled his glass like the lordling he was, then took a long sip. “Is this one of the privileges of magical rank?”

I rolled my eyes.

Kelså didn’t miss a beat. “It istheprivilege, aside from all the Gifts and amazing glowing clothing.”

My tunic flared as though appreciating her humor.

Ayden’s eyes widened.

Kelså sipped her wine, and her eyes drifted. “After a thousand years, it still amazes me how it changes with my mood. One minute fruity, the next like chocolate, then dry. There were only ten of us when the wine was crafted, but I never knew who was responsible. I would name something after that Mage if I could figure it out.”

I raised my glass. “I’d name the whole continent after whoever made this stuff.”

Over the hours that followed, I recounted my journey home, discovering the destruction of Grove’s Pass, and the subsequent invasion. Ayden finished as many sentences as I started, earning a wry grin that rarely left Kelså’s lips.

When I detailed Órla’s sacrifice and my voice broke, my mother rose and held me tight against her.

A moment later, Ayden’s arms joined hers around my shoulders.

The stubborn child gave way as sobs racked the man.

Kelså owned no words or magic salve to heal my wounds, only a mother’s gentle grace and abiding love. She and Ayden held me until the sun rested below the mountains. When I finally rose from their embrace, she gathered our plates and left us to enjoy the bright, moonlit night on the mountainside ledge.

Another glass of wine vanished before we finally rose and wandered to the stone circles on the far side of the ledge.

“These stones are ancient beyond ancient,” I explained. “They are a magnifier of magic, used to amplify power and, more recently, as a training aid for one wayward Son of Magic.”

“Wayward sounds about right. The rest is just grand posturing.”

I punched him playfully in the arm.

“Abuse! Do not make me call upon your good mother!” He gripped where I’d punched and pretended to rub feeling back into his muscles.

“Such a fucking lordling.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

I absently ran a hand along the ancient surface of a nearby stone, and warmth rebounded at my touch.

“What? I know that look,” Ayden said.

“It’s odd. The stone . . . it pulsed or tingled or flared heat . . . something. They never did that before.”

I walked to the circle’s center and stared into the perfectly polished scrying bowl on its pillar. No one cared for its metal, but magic maintained its perfect surface. After everything I’d been through and witnessed, after everything I’d learned, magic still brought a sense of wonder each time I witnessed its handiwork.

I turned my gaze skyward and stared into the darkened heavens at the twinkling of countless stars. “Are they Spirits, as some think, or just bright magical lights?”

I sat on the ground with my back to a stone, still staring up. Ayden joined me, then gripped my hand and laced our fingers. “I do not know—or care much. They are pretty and constant.”

I snorted. “Truer words . . .”

I needed constant in that moment.

Our feet dangled off the cliff’s edge.

“I felt such terror sitting here the first time. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

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