The Things We Refuse to See.

Chapter 63:

Winter's POV

The room is silent after her last words. If the Eye of The Witcher, the single most important ancient symbol of protection and favor to Witchkind that hasn't been reported to make a single appearance since the Wolf-Witch War, wasn't what scared her, I don't know if I want to know what does.

"Those dreams you said you had. They're different from the type your grandma and all the women in our family used to have."

I feel like pulling my hair out. I chuckle under my breath. Just how different am I huh?

She continues, probably sensing my distress. "I don't mean to scare you Winter." She sighs. "It's just that, when we dream, it's majorly distorted flashes and glimpses that make no sense until later down the line. Now you're reporting full on episodes with vivid details and..."

I turn to her when she doesn't say anything. "And what?"

"It just scares me, that's all. When your grandmother dreamt of the flood, all she saw were muddied floors and a drop of rain. And those were in two different dreams. Her own mother dreamed of a failed assassination attempt. By dreamt I mean she saw a knife falling to the floor. Nothing else."

Her gaze held mine.

"Do you see the difference?"

I did.

Immediately.

Those were moments.

Snapshots.

Pieces.

My dreams weren't.

The realization settled slowly in my chest.

The dream in the forest.

The feeling of something chasing me.

The ocean.

The eye.

The necklace.

The voice.

Every dream had revealed more than the last.

Not fragments.

A progression.

Almost like chapters in a story.

"I've spent weeks trying to convince myself it meant nothing." I admit.

"That I was imagining patterns where none existed."

I swallowed.

"But?"

My voice was quieter now.

"With all of this development, it's almost impossible to still think that that's true."

A bitter smile crossed her face.

I looked down at the pendant again.

Concerned.

That felt like an understatement.

For several moments neither of us speak.

She continues my thought flow for me. "The way this is going I just hope... your father's mania wasn't actually right." She pauses. "Although, it would explain the reason you were attacked. Other creatures are sensing something and they probably think you know something. They know attacking the coven would be useless, so they go for their next best bet."

I find myself agreeing with her. My coven has several barriers installed that make it impossible to find, and impossible to attack. Ever since the war, we've practically been invisible to the rest of the world. No where traceable, yet always there. Kind of the walking dead.

Goosebumps spread up my back at Mother's next words."His theories better not have been right. If not... The whole realm may feel it."

My insight hums faintly in the background, and I hope to the gods it's wrong just this once.

I face my lap.

The necklace sat in my lap while the room remained quiet.

Not an uncomfortable silence, exactly. Just the kind that settles after someone says something that changes what tomorrow looks like.

My mother's words still echoed in my head.

"If he is right, Winter... then the attacks against you are not random anymore."

I should have been thinking about the attacks.

Or the eye.

Or the fact that my father apparently still had people searching for relics despite everything that had happened, and worse, his craziness might actually have an element of truth in them.

Instead, my attention kept returning to the necklace. My insight nudges at me to open it from its cover.

I listen.

The room is dead silent as it falls gently to my lap. I could feel it's weight now more than ever before.

The silver pendant caught the light whenever I moved it, throwing small reflections across the blanket gathered around my legs. It looked ordinary enough. Old, certainly, but not powerful. Not dangerous.

Yet every time I looked at it, something inside me tightened.

Because I had seen it before.

Not here.

Not in the waking world.

In my dreams.

The realization sent another chill through me.

When I finally looked up, I found my mother watching me carefully.

"You recognize it."

It wasn't a question.

I glanced back down at the pendant.

"Yeah."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The fire crackled softly in the corner of the room while voices drifted faintly from somewhere outside the palace walls. The sounds should have been comforting. Instead, they only made the room feel more isolated.

"It was in the dream," I admitted eventually. "The one with the ocean."

My mother's expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

That tiny reaction bothered me more than if she had looked frightened outright.

"You remember it clearly?"

"Too clearly."

I hesitated before continuing.

"The ocean. Your voice. The eye. All of it felt real when I woke up."

My mother lowered her gaze briefly.

When she looks back at me, I see something sad in her expression.

"I'm sorry Winter. I should've told you all of this earlier so I could prepare you but I'm just dumping it on you in half an hour. It's horrid to say the least and I apologize for it."

Oh Mother. I wrap my arms around her, taking both of us by surprise. When was the last time we hugged? Before the mating? Even before that?

She finally leans into my touch after freezing up on me.

"It's okay. Really. We'll figure it out together."

My mother seemed to reach the same conclusion.

Then a thought occurrs to me.

One that had been growing steadily since she arrived.

"Do you think Father was right?"

The question hung heavily between us.

My mother closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them again, she looked tired.

Older somehow.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

"I don't know."

The answer surprised me.

Not because of what she said.

Because she said it at all.

For as long as I could remember, my mother had been the voice of certainty whenever my father spoke about relics.

She had always dismissed his theories.

His research.

His obsession.

Now she looked anything but certain.

"I still think he's gone too far," she said carefully. "I still think his search has cost him things he should never have sacrificed."

Her expression darkened slightly.

"But I can no longer say with complete confidence that he's wrong about everything."

The admission settled heavily between us.

I thought about my father.

About the arguments.

The endless searching.

The way everyone whispered about him when they thought I couldn't hear.

Obsessed.

Paranoid.

Dangerous.

For years I had believed them.

Now I wasn't sure what to believe.

My mother reached toward the necklace.

"This is why I brought it."

My attention snapped back to her.

She lifted the pendant from my lap.

The silver glinted softly in the afternoon light.

"I should have given this to you months ago, but I didn't think you'd need it."

The honesty in that answer hit harder than anything else she had said.

She hadn't been withholding it because of secrets.

She had genuinely believed we would never reach this point.

Neither of us had expected things to become this bad.

Slowly, she stepped behind me.

I felt her gather my hair gently over one shoulder.

Then the cool touch of metal against my skin.

The clasp clicked shut.

The pendant settled against my chest.

For reasons I couldn't explain, the moment felt significant.

Not magical.

Not dramatic.

Just important.

Like a door quietly closing behind me.

My mother rested her hands briefly on my shoulders.

"Listen carefully."

Something in her tone made me straighten immediately.

"Wear it at all times."

I glanced back at her.

"Mother—"

"I'm serious."

Any argument died instantly.

She wasn't being protective.

She was being deadly serious.

"I mean it, Winter. Do not remove it. Do not give it to anyone, and I mean anyone, and you must absolutely make sure that you never lose it. It must never fall into the wrong hands."

I nod.

The intensity in her expression left little room for anything else.

"What does it do?"

A faint smile touched her lips.

"That is an excellent question."

I stared.

She laughed softly.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

The smile faded.

"Some of its purpose has been lost over the generations. I know it protects against certain forms of magic. I know it has been passed from mother to daughter for centuries."

Her gaze lowered briefly.

"And I know every woman who owned it considered it important."

That wasn't exactly reassuring.

But it was honest I guess.

Which somehow mattered more.

I touched the pendant again.

The metal felt warm now.

Almost familiar.

The room fell quiet once more.

Not awkward.

Thoughtful.

I found myself studying my mother.

She looked exhausted.

Travel, worry, politics, my father, the attacks—any one of those would have been enough.

Instead she had all of them.

Yet somehow she was still here.

Still trying to protect me.

The realization made my chest ache unexpectedly.

Perhaps she noticed.

Because her expression softened.

Then narrowed.

Very slightly.

My stomach immediately dropped.

I knew that look.

I knew it far too well.

It was the exact same expression Ariana wore right before asking a question she already knew the answer to.

"Oh no."

My mother raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes."

I groaned.

She ignored me completely.

For a moment she simply looked at me.

Then at my shirt.

Then back at me again.

The silence suddenly felt dangerous.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

My mother's smile was entirely too calm.

"Now that we've discussed relics, prophetic dreams, your father, attempted murder, and ancient magical artifacts..."

I didn't like where this was going.

"...I believe it's time we discuss something else."

I closed my eyes.

"Mother."

"Winter."

I already knew.

I absolutely knew.

There was only one subject left.

Only one reason she had been looking at me strangely since entering the room.

When I finally opened my eyes again, she was watching me with unmistakable amusement.

"Explain the wolves."

I groaned.

Her smile widened.

"More specifically, explain the Alpha."

Heat immediately flooded my face.

Which was apparently answer enough.

Because my mother's eyebrow rose even higher.

Then she delivered the final blow.

"And more importantly..."

Her gaze drifted meaningfully toward my collar before returning to my face.

"why you smell like him."