Chapter 4

A shrill laugh cut through the silence.

It was Isolde. She was clutching her stomach, laughing so hard tears streamed down her face.

"Hahaha, a man's skeleton! Seraphina, your own blood magic can't even point straight, and you still dare to play these dirty tricks?"

"I see what this is. You're just trying to drive my sister-in-law out of this family!"

I ignored her taunts. My gaze fell back on the woman.

She had walked over to me. Her slender fingers rested gently on the back of my hand. Her voice was soft.

"Sera, listen to me."

"You've lived alone in the forest for too long. Always dealing with the echoes of dark magic. Has a spirit from the abyss corrupted your mind?"

"These visions, this feeling of death... maybe it's all in your head."

"You should go back to the forest and rest. Please?"

Her voice was so light, so gentle. Warm enough to make anyone lower their guard.

If I didn't know the truth, I might have actually believed her.

Just then, Caelan snatched the bloody bone shards from the ground. He quickly arranged them in his palm.

His eyes widened as he stared at them. He grabbed Dante's arm.

"Father! I understand!"

His voice was filled with ecstatic joy.

"It's not an omen of death! It's a sign of rebirth, like the sacred White Tree! The cracks... they form a rune of rebirth! It means the old life is gone, and a new one has begun!"

"Godmother must have been away from her divining for too long. She's out of practice. She misread the oracle!"

A collective sigh of relief went through the crowd. Even the guards relaxed.

Dante slumped against the chapel wall, as if all the strength had been drained from him. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Someone, please escort Seraphina to a guest room. She must be tired."

I stood there, watching them. Watching their relief. It was pathetic.

They'd rather believe a sixteen-year-old's desperate guess than my bloodline, which has never once been wrong in eighteen years.

A Seer's blood does not lie.

I ripped my hand away from the woman's touch.

"No."

I snatched the sharpest piece of bone from the ground.

"Seraphina, what are you doing?" Dante shot upright, his face pale with alarm.

I didn't answer.

Without hesitation, I dragged the sharp edge of the bone across my brow.

"Godmother!"

Caelan and Finn both lunged forward to stop me, but a powerful wave of magic blasted them back.

Blood streamed down my face. But before it could fall, magic caught it. It formed an ancient, dark red rune, hanging in the air before my eyes.

"Stay back." My voice wasn't my own. It echoed with an ancient, heavy power.

I opened my eyes. They glowed with an eerie blue light.

My ultimate bloodline gift. True Sight.

The air in the chapel grew thick. Heavy. It was hard to breathe.

The woman stumbled back several steps. Her face went deathly white. Her eyes flashed with unconcealed terror.

I looked down on her. I walked towards her, step by step. My voice was an undeniable weight.

"The master of Whisperwood. What did we call her, in private?"

"Say it."

The woman's pupils shrank. Her eyes darted around, desperately searching for the answer.

"She... she was..."

She hesitated. Finally, her lips moved. A name spilled out.

"Lady Lysandra!"

The chapel fell deathly silent.

Tears streamed down my face. Unbidden.

The real Elara would never have called her "Lady Lysandra."

In private, we only ever called her by one name. A nickname only the two of us knew.

He staggered. Collapsed to the stone floor. He gasped for air, choking on his own guilt.

The last shred of trust on Caelan and Finn's faces shattered. It turned into a tidal wave of hatred.

They drew their swords in the same instant. The tips were pointed right at the woman. Their eyes were bloodshot.

Caelan's voice shook with pure rage.

"Who the hell are you?!"