I sat stiffly in my chair, hands gripping the armrests hard enough that my knuckles went white.
Everyone in the room waited expectantly for Father to continue. Mother had settled back onto the lounge, one hand resting on her stomach. Arianne and Alysanne sat side by side, both leaning forward.
Selwyn looked at each of us in turn, his expression grave.
"First," he said, "what I say here does not leave this room. It does not leave House Tarth. Understood?"
I nodded, the movement feeling robotic. Jerky. Before Father could continue, Alysanne shot up from her chair.
"Wait!" she said. "I don't think Arianne and I should be here."
Arianne was immediately affronted. "What? Why? We're not children anymore!"
I raised an eyebrow at that. After last night's conversation about responsibility and trust, the irony was not lost on me. As if feeling the look I was giving her, Arianne looked pointedly away from me, arms crossed in a huff.
Alysanne turned to her sister, her expression determined. More serious than I'd ever seen her.
"It's not about being children or not." She took a breath. "One day, we will marry into another house. And we will be a part of it first and foremost, as much as Mother is a member of House Tarth now."
She looked around at all of us, meeting each person's eyes.
"I would never betray my own house. But I also know that a wife should not keep secrets from her lord husband. It is best we are not put in a position to choose between these loyalties."
Silence filled the room.
I blinked, caught completely off guard. She was right. Absolutely right.
Though I knew my sisters would one day marry into other families, that reality had never crossed my mind in terms of how it would affect something like this. Secrets. Family knowledge. The kind of stuff houses kept hidden from any possible adversary. I guess that's what I got from seeing my sisters as little babies still when they were, in fact, close to reaching their majority in just a few years.
I was surprised, too, by Alysanne's sensibility and foresight. I'd always been close to both my sisters, so I knew they were both as sharp as they came. But Arianne had always sought me out more between the two of them. Always looking to be included. Always wanting to help, even in her misguided ways.
Clearly, what I'd seen as Alysanne being too young to pester me about important matters was just her being more independent than her older sister. While Alysanne had a flourishing social life—friends with all the young ladies on the island and half the daughters of the mainland Stormlords too, Arianne was socially isolated. I'd never seen her with a friend. Either she was by herself or with one of her siblings.
No wonder one was more politically savvy than the other.
"But..." Arianne looked stricken. "It's not fair."
Alysanne shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's true."
Lord Selwyn looked at his youngest daughter with a faint smile. Mother stood then, smoothing her dress.
"Let us go, Ari," she said. "Your sister is right."
"You don't have to leave, Mother," Alysanne said. "Unless you're planning to marry into another house too?"
Lady Addison laughed lightly. "Not in a hundred lifetimes. But I think it's best not to involve myself in any serious matter now." She put a hand over her stomach, over the small swell of new life. "I trust your father and your brother to deal with this. They will let us know anything important should it come to it."
Arianne opened her mouth to complain again, but she looked around to find herself basically outvoted. Three to one. Her sister tugged on her shirt.
"Come," Alysanne said gently.
Arianne looked back at me before she left, as if hoping I'd speak up for her, but I only gave her an encouraging nod. Four to one. Biting her bottom lip in silent anguish, she acquiesced with a sullen nod and followed after Mother and Alysanne.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Lord Selwyn let out a long sigh. "That girl is twelve and already wiser than her old man."
"Wiser than her older siblings too," I admitted.
Father gave me a sideways look and snorted. "Aye, that she is."
Then, as if a switch had flipped, he turned serious. He left the window and moved back to sit behind his desk.
"I trust you are wise enough that I need not repeat the warning for secrecy." He looked at me hard. "You are to be Lord of Tarth after me. It will be up to you to decide when and how to pass this knowledge to your own heir. To decide if you will burden them with it at all."
I gave him a serious nod. Swallowed. My mouth had suddenly gone dry.
"The first thing you need to know," Selwyn said, "is that we are not the first rulers of this island."
I blinked. "What?" That was not what I expected.
"Much like what Orys Baratheon did to the Durrandons, our ancestors took Tarth by force. Along with the former king's castle, his sigil, and his daughter."
My mind raced. "Where are we from, then? And wait—how do we even know this to be true? How can we be sure?"
The trepidation I'd felt at a possible grand revelation suddenly dimmed, replaced by skepticism. Was my father simply taking whatever his father and grandfather told him as literal fact?
The founding of our house should be virtually impossible to truly ascertain. If it were true that House Tarth's history stretched to the dawn of days, as the legends said, then that would put those events some eight thousand years back. Any serious student of history would take the half-told stories from the Age of Heroes with enough salt to kill an immortal snail.
How could anyone verify an oral history that happened so many millennia ago?
Selwyn lifted a hand, stopping my spiraling thoughts. "I know what you are thinking, Galladon. You are not a fool. Please have the courtesy to assume the same of your father."
Ah.
Chastised, I gave him a sheepish smile. "My apologies. It's just..."
"I know," he said. "I had these same doubts when my father spoke to me. I had them until after he died." He paused. "But once you are lord of Tarth, there are ways to confirm."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"On the eastern side of the island, there are ruins older than Valyria. Older than the Wall itself."
"Morne," I breathed.
Selwyn nodded. "I imagine it is how all of this knowledge has sustained the passage of time after thousands of years. Should a father fall before he can pass it on to his son, the information could be regained eventually even hundreds of years later, whenever an adventuring Lord of Tarth visits the ruins of Morne." He met my eyes. "There he would find the truth. As I did."
I wet my lips. "And what did you learn?"
Selwyn let out a sigh. He looked away for a moment, toward nothing. Or perhaps toward a bitter memory.
"My father did not allow me to visit the ruins while he lived, you see. He told me I would not find answers there until I was lord of the island myself. And he was obsessed with it." His voice took on an edge. "Spent more time in that damned place than with his ailing wife, or his young son, or even ruling Tarth. He died while I was still a boy gone to the Stepstones as a squire."
Selwyn shook his head to himself.
"Aye, he made some excuse of illness to Lord Baratheon, then sent his son to war. All so he could stay fussing over the ruins. But the gods have their sense of humor. He truly did fall ill and died before I made it back home."
He sat quietly for a while. The only sound was the distant cry of gulls through the window.
"I hated that place, Galladon. I almost didn't go just to spite my father. And with all that comes with being a young lord—the duties, the responsibilities, learning how to actually rule—it took me years before I finally visited Morne."
I was surprised at the resentment in my father's voice. The bitterness.
Lord Edmin Tarth was not much of a topic of conversation in our household. He'd died before Father even married Mother, before any of us children were born. But I'd never noticed any bad sentiment the few times his name was brought up.
Still, I'd learned from my histories that House Tarth had declined much in power and prestige over the last half-century. Father and Maester Rowen had never explicitly mentioned Lord Edmin as the culprit for it, but an absentee lord could certainly explain the decline. A lord obsessed with ruins instead of running his lands. Neglecting alliances, trade, the careful politics that kept a middling house afloat.
Father turned back to me then, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made me sit straighter.
"You want to know what I learned?" He paused. "To forgive my father."
My eyes widened. Selwyn gave me a small smile, as if he knew I'd react that way.
"What I saw there changed me, son," he continued. "And I know now that it changed my father too, if for the worst. I forgive this weakness in him. That he would let the knowledge consume him to such an extent that he'd abandon his duties to his family and his house." He drew a hand down his face in a tired motion. "One day, when I'm gone, you will go there yourself. And your blood will be the key."
"I don't understand."
"Blood on the stones," he said simply. "Amongst the many words carved in the ruins, some which tell the story of our house's founding—those will be the only ones you'll be able to read until you spill your blood there."
I reeled back. "You're speaking of blood magic."
The words hung in the air between us.
"That's why you weren't surprised by Arianne's powers or the glass candle," I continued, the pieces falling into place. "You knew that magic, whatever it may be, is real. That it exists."
Selwyn nodded. "It exists, yes. No matter what Maester Rowen says. No matter what the Faith preaches." He let out a breath. "The power that lies in our veins, that lies in Morne, is older than the Citadel and the Faith of the Seven both."
He stood, moving to the window again. Looking out at the island he ruled.
"But while the fact our family practices blood magic is another reason this must be kept secret, it is not the main reason."
"Then what is?"
He turned back to me. "You must understand that I myself know little beyond a few of the carvings in the ruins. When my father explained it to me, the little that he did, he said some lords see more than others. Some find new writings never before seen. Others see visions, much like the one you described from the glass candle." His expression darkened. "He was always bitter that he never managed to see a thing beyond a few writings. I myself saw only glimpses. Dark things. Cold things. It was over quickly too. Confusing. And I had been drinking to gather the will to go there after so long avoiding the ruins."
"What about the writings?" I asked. "The ones you managed to see. What did they say?"
Selwyn's mouth formed a thin line.
"Like I said, I couldn't read much of it. Some are older than any language I've ever seen. I was also drunk and angry at that place for even existing." He was quiet for a long moment. "But aside from the history of our founding, one carving I do remember clearly. I'll never forget it."
He gripped the edge of his desk.
"It said... it told of the terrible duty of our house. A duty we could never afford to forget. That one day, when the great night falls upon the world for a second time, the Evenstar must take up sword once more."
He took a breath.
"And once more, betray mankind."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I sat unmoving, jaw locked tight.
"That it is the only way," Father continued, his voice quiet. "That it must be done. It must be done, it said. Written there in stone. In our own blood."
I felt like I could hardly breathe. The room seemed to spin slightly.
Selwyn sighed, the sound heavy. "I fled after reading that. That was my weakness as much as my father's obsession was his. I have not returned to Morne since then."
"The writing," I managed. "When it says we must betray mankind. What does it mean?"
Selwyn shrugged. "You know as much as I do now, Galladon. And I have avoided pondering over it my whole life." He looked old suddenly. Weary. "The Long Night was eight thousand years ago. How many Lords of Tarth have come and gone since then? How many lived and died without ever having to confront this terrible duty we are supposed to fulfill?"
He sat back down heavily.
"I had hoped to be just another lord in a line of many. That I would pass in peace and my children would never need to know. Never need to carry this burden."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Didn't know what to say. All I knew was that I needed air. Needed space to think. To process.
The chair scraped loudly as I stood.
"Father," I said, my voice coming out rough. "I need some time to think about what I've just learned. May I leave?"
Selwyn nodded. "Go on." He pointed toward the door. But before I could take two steps, he called me back. "Do not let this consume you, Galladon. Do not be like your grandfather." He met my eyes. "Or your father."
I nodded. "Think, but not too much."
Selwyn gave me a wan smile. "See, you can be wise after all."
I answered with my own small smile, though it felt weak.
"Oh, and Galladon?" Father said. "Tell your Arianne to come back to my solar. I'm not yet done speaking to her."
I raised a questioning eyebrow, and my father seemed glad to answer.
"You are a man grown already, and a knight besides," he said. "I will not lecture you on your mistakes like a child. But Arianne's not old enough for the same privilege."
Nodding, I closed the door behind me and started to walk, not quite trying to think yet. I would get Arianne, send her into the lion's mouth, and go for a ride.
Yes. Nothing like a ride in the country when you needed to ponder world-ending revelations.
xxx
After telling Arianne the bad news, which saw her turning pale as paper, I headed straight to the stables, and found Smoker sniffing at a chestnut mare over the stall partition, neighing loudly to grab her attention.
His pale gray coat was groomed to perfection, courtesy of the stable boys, and he tossed his head with all the confidence of a knight at a tourney. The mare turned away from him, imperiously lifting up her muzzle and giving out a short, stiff whinny, as dismissive and uninterested as any highborn maiden.
I couldn't help laughing at it.
"Striking out again, are you?"
Smoker turned at the sound of my voice. Surprised, his ears shot forward and he let out a forceful blow through his nostrils, showing all his teeth in a large equine smile. I chuckled again. He stomped his feet on the straw-covered floor, came closer, and pushed his head out of the stall over the central aisle, his pale mane shaking with excitement.
Smiling, I walked up to him and patted him on the head. His coat was warm beneath my palm, the familiar scent of horse and hay filling my nose.
He let out a soft nicker, nudging my chest.
"Oh, stop that. It's not been that long."
Smoker snorted, as if disagreeing vehemently.
"Yes, yes, don't worry. I need to go for a ride too, buddy. A long one."
Soon enough I had him saddled and bridled. The familiar motions were soothing—tightening the girth, adjusting the stirrups, checking the bit. Simple and mechanical. No prophecies or ancient duties involved.
We rode out of Evenfall Hall at a fast trot, Smoker's hooves clattering against the cobblestones of the courtyard. The guards at the gate called out greetings that I barely acknowledged.
Outside, the wind blew on my face, carrying the salt smell of the sea, before we sharply turned inland, going down the incline that led from the castle and then taking the dirt road toward the fields beyond.
Smoker settled into an easy rhythm, his gait smooth and steady. I loosened the reins, letting him choose the pace.
The immediate surroundings of Evenfall Hall gave way to farms. Fields golden with wheat stretched on either side of the road, the stalks heavy and ready for harvest. Workers were already out despite the early hour, their tools catching the morning sun. They looked up as we passed, raising hands in greeting.
Beyond the farms, wood groves rose in gentle slopes. Oak and beech dominated, their leaves creating a canopy of green overhead. Scattered among them were tall, shaggy pines that stood like sentinels. Grassy meadows opened up between the trees, spotted with colorful wildflowers—blue and yellow and purple, names I'd never learned but that dotted the landscape like an impressionist painting.
Further west and beyond the horizon, rivers cascaded down from the northern mountains in great waterfalls, some cutting through the valleys to reach the ocean, their waters white with foam where they tumbled over rocks. Others pooled in great lakes nestled in the valleys, deep blue in color, so clear you could see the bottom even from the shore. To the south there was the Oldwood, a dense forest that dominated a good third of the island, crisscrossed with so many brooks and streams that their gentle babbling felt like a constant background music whenever I rode through it.
In all, it was a place of abundant life and natural beauty. A paradise, really. The kind of place people in my old world would have paid fortunes to vacation in.
We slowed to a walk as we entered the woods, following a trail that wound between the trees. Smoker's hooves were quieter here, muffled by the carpet of fallen leaves and soft earth.
I let out a sigh. A long, heavy thing that felt like it came from my bones. Smoker turned to look at me with one eye, his ear swiveling back. Concerned, in his own way.
I leaned forward and patted him on the neck. "I'm alright, boy. Just thinking."
He snorted. Unconvinced.
I looked around at the forest surrounding us. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating patches of wildflowers and ferns. A deer watched us from a distance, perfectly still, before bounding away into the undergrowth.
I loved Tarth. And for a moment—a brief, stupid moment—I considered sending a ravem up to King's Landing to change my plans with Lord Steffon. Screw Essos. Screw the royal court. Screw politics and rebellions and whatever other fresh hell the cesspit that was Westeros decided to throw at us.
A man could live and die happily without ever setting foot on any foreign shore. Could spend his days hunting in these woods, managing the estate, watching his children grow up in peace.
But the thought lived only for a moment. Only in the fantasy of riding through this beautiful island with a faithful steed, smelling the flowers in the air and the refreshing dew on the grass.
The reality was that the problems of the outside world would always creep into our island paradise whether I liked it or not. Wars didn't care about borders. Famines didn't respect neutrality. And ice zombies riding ice dragons certainly weren't going to stop at Tarth's shores and politely turn around.
I knew there was no escaping that. Had known it since I was old enough to remember my memories of another world. Memories of the fights to come. The civil wars that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The rebirth of dragons in fire and blood. And of course, the final war for life itself against an enemy that had been dormant for eight thousand years.
I just hadn't expected the biggest curve ball to come not from some crazy political plot or unexpected deviation from the timeline I remembered, but from within. From my own house. From Morne and its blood-soaked stones and the terrible duty carved there by ancestors I'd never known.
Smoker picked up his pace slightly as the trail widened, sensing my agitation through my posture. I let him, welcoming the increased speed.
In my mind, while the world broiled with uncertainty and peril, Tarth had always remained a beacon of peace and refuge for myself and my family. A safe harbor in the storm. A place I could always return to.
What a great fool I was.
Now, that notion was nothing more than leaves on the wind. Gone and never to return.
My father, and likely every other Tarth lord since the dawn age, could never have the full context to understand what all these warnings meant. Not like I did, as someone who'd first seen this world as nothing but words on paper. Stories to be sold from bookshelves and borrowed from libraries.
I knew what the Long Night meant. What the Others were. What was coming.
And for some reason, eight thousand years ago, when the Others brought about the Long Night that lasted a generation and humanity was on the brink of extinction, my ancestors, my house, had fought on the side of darkness. On the side of the cold gods and the undead and everything that wanted to extinguish the light of life itself.
Fought against the living.
What's worse is that those bastards had not left behind an apology written in blood and carved in stone. Not a warning against similar mistakes in the future. Not a confession of their sins.
But a call to action. To duty. To do it again. To once more betray mankind and take up sword for the cause of the dead.
I couldn't make sense of it.
Perhaps the ancient Tarths were just greedy bastards who'd tried to use the chaos of the Long Night to enrich themselves. To grow powerful on the backs of the rest of mankind while the world burned. I could understand that. That was human enough. Despicable, but comprehensible.
But this? This deliberate setup for their descendants to repeat the betrayal?
I wasn't a magical expert of any kind. But I knew that whatever blood magic they'd created at Morne had to have been incredibly powerful to last eight thousand years. Powerful enough that we could still receive their message after all these generations. Through all the rises and falls of kingdoms, through the Andal invasion, through everything.
It wasn't an accident. Couldn't be. The magic was too specific, too carefully crafted.
Somehow, my ancestors had been either evil enough or desperate enough to leave behind this harrowing duty. This terrible burden.
If it was true, that is.
I knew well how prophecies and visions and anything that came from magic in this world worked. A sword without a hilt. Dangerous to everyone who touched it.
Yet I couldn't simply ignore it. Couldn't pretend I hadn't heard. Couldn't just... not go to Morne eventually and see for myself.
Father had told me I wouldn't be able to properly read the carvings at Morne until I was Lord of the island. That my blood would unlock them when the time came.
But he could be wrong. Or the magic might work differently than he thought.
A part of me—a large, insistent part—wanted to drop everything I was doing and ride straight to Morne without stopping. Just to make sure it was there. That it was true. To see with my own eyes what had been written in stone and sealed in blood.
Another foolish idea.
I had duties on this island beyond the ancient kind. Real, immediate responsibilities. People depending on me. Projects that needed attention.
Smoker emerged from the woods into another meadow, and I pulled him to a stop. Let him graze on the sweet grass while I sat in the saddle and tried to organize my thoughts.
The sun was climbing higher now, warming my back. Birds sang in the trees behind us. Somewhere nearby, water burbled over stones. Everything was so peaceful. So normal.
How could the world hold both this beauty and such darkness? How could my house be both the Evenstar—the evening star, a symbol of light and hope—and also the ones who'd betrayed humanity in its darkest hour?
But why? For what purpose? What could possibly justify such a choice?
I thought back to the visions I'd seen in the glass candle. Aegon the Conqueror speaking of something that was "eventhe Others". I couldn't make full sense of the language, but did he mean something that was even worse than the Others? Something that even the ancient Valyrians had feared.
Was that connected somehow? Was the betrayal meant to fight that darkness? Or was I just making excuses? Trying to find a noble reason for something that was simply evil?
Smoker lifted his head from the grass and whinnied. Not at me—at something in the distance.
I followed his gaze and saw a herd of deer watching us from the tree line, the little one from before amongst them. A stag stood in front of the herd, magnificent with a full rack of antlers. It regarded us calmly, unbothered by our presence.
Then it turned and led the herd back into the woods, disappearing like they'd never been there.
I sighed and patted Smoker's neck. "Come on, boy. Standing still won't solve anything."
We rode quietly for a few more minutes, just the sound of Smoker's hooves crunching on the ground and the occasional bird call. The rhythm of it was meditative. Calming enough that I could think without freaking out too much.
I had planned to be plenty busy for the next few weeks. Dawnrest needed attention—the expansion was going well, but there were always issues that required a lord's input, which my father had left in my hands. The Companions needed training, preparation for whatever was coming. My family needed me present too, especially after everything that had just been revealed.
But that didn't mean I couldn't wrap multiple responsibilities together with the same neat bow.
I'd been planning a massive training expedition for the Companions since returning from the Weeping Town. Something to really test them. To give them the experience they'd need when real war broke out.
And there was plenty of wilderness on Tarth where they could train. Plenty of challenging terrain. Mountains. Forests. Rivers.
And in the eastern part of the island... Morne.
I clicked my tongue and pushed against Smoker's side with one leg. The horse answered immediately, ears perking up as he sensed we had a destination now. He took to a well-traveled trail in the woods that would take us closer to the Companions' mansion.
I could combine it all. Training expedition. Exploration of the island's more remote areas. Team-building exercises. Survival skills.
And maybe—just maybe—a little detour to some ancient ruins. Just to scout them out. Purely for educational purposes.
Nothing wrong with a lord knowing the geography of his own lands, right?
xxx
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