Page 156 of Severed Heir

The ground seemed to shift beneath me. My balance faltered as the world tilted around that single name.

“You knew?” I whispered. “You called me a mudded blood.”

“It was the truth,” Victor said, his voice flat. “Your mother was a traitor.”

Archer’s fists clenched at his sides. “Then at least give her daughter the truth about who she is.”

He said nothing at first. Then something flickered in his eyes, a glint of pain, like a memory he had spent years trying to bury.

“Fallon betrayed us,” he said quietly. “She led Reina to the Forgotten. She is the reason Reina is dead. The reason your mother is dead.”

“No,” Archer breathed. “You killed her because she tricked you into gifting the sunlight to Demetria.”

“I gifted the sun,” Victor snapped. “But when Fallon killed Veravine, it nearly cost Theodore his life. Your grandfather, Archer. Fallon got to her. Convinced her that the only way to save her father was to force him to sever his bond with Ciaran. She was desperate, and she looked for help in all the wrong places.”

Archer shook his head. “No. I don’t believe a word you say.”

“I didn’t kill her. I loved your mother, Archer.”

Without another word, Archer took my hand and pulled me off the Ravensla beach. “We’re done here.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.

“Then don’t,” he said quietly. “You had nothing to do with your mother.”

It hurt, but I understood. If Victor was telling the truth, then my family had helped destroy his. I couldn’t help but wonder what had really happened between them to breed such hatred. It couldn’t be just a rivalry over a title.

We walked in silence along the narrow path until the Ravensla Inn came into view, its red door glowing faintly against the darkness.

“Why here?” I asked.

“Lynwood,” Archer said. “He grew up around here. He might have more answers.”

“Answers to what?” I snapped. “Hadrian’s port opened for me. It’s clear he’s my father. What more do we need?”

Archer’s voice turned grim. “Your mother is working with the Forgotten. We were just caught in one of their attacks. There’s still a lot we don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell us anything before,” I murmured, the memory of the Harvest Festival surfacing, and the night Archer and I had shared a bed in this very inn.

“Then we ask again,” Archer said, tightening his grip on my hand. “If we want the truth about your real father, we start with her past. Why she chose Hadrian. Why she told my mother to seek help from the Forgotten. I’m tired of people feeding us half-truths just to protect themselves.”

I stopped him before he could reach for the handle. “I never told you what I heard in Veravine’s port. The day Charles tried to strip me of my quell, it cracked open. And it said Lynwood protected my mother.”

Archer’s jaw tightened. “Then Lynwood knows more than he let on.”

He pushed the door open.

Inside, Lynwood stood behind his desk. A black eyepatch covered one side of his face, the other obscured behind thick, smudged glass. The inn looked unchanged. Tapestries still hungfrom the walls, their corners frayed with age. Shelves of mismatched mugs and worn, leather-spined books gave the waiting room a familiar, dusty charm.

“Archer Lynch,” Lynwood said, dipping his head in a shallow bow. “Didn’t expect you back so soon. Miss Blanche, congratulations on your heirship. The whole town is talking.”

“We’re not here for pleasantries,” Archer replied, his voice sharp as he stepped forward. “Tell us everything you know about Fallon.”

Lynwood froze. His hand faltered mid-reach, and the quill slipped from his fingers, striking the desk with a sharp clatter.

“I already told you what I remembered.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You didn’t. Veravine Almera’s port said you protected her. Please, Lynwood. I need the truth. Why did she join the Forgotten? And when?”

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