Page 23

The rest of the ink was far too faded for me to read, but three words practically pulsed from the worn page.

Rite. Ascension. Chosen.

Three things that hadn’t existed before the Ascended ruled Solis.

But that had to be impossible. He had explained that the Ascended had created the Rite as a means to increase their numbers and to make livestock out of mortals. Except they didn’t feed from all third sons and daughters. Some carried an unknown trait, which Isbeth had discovered allowed them to be made into those things—a Revenant. Still, it made no sense for a Rite to be mentioned in a time so far in the past where the names of the kingdoms had been nearly forgotten. A time of no Ascended.

My gaze lifted to one of the faded portraits. A time possibly even before the first Atlantian had been created through the heartmate trials? Setting the book aside, the hem of the dressing robe whispered over the floor as I hurried back to the shelves, searching for older records—the tomes which appeared close to disintegrating. Taking one in my hands, I was even more careful as I opened the book and went through the pages, searching for any mention of the Rite—and dates.

I found it—a passage with just enough ink left to make out a reference to the Chosen, but I was even more confused. Because when I cross-checked the births in the other ledger, only the third sons and daughters born of the same family had no death dates—dates only marked by the month, day, and the age. I was positive that wasn’t due to faded ink.

“How was the Rite possible, then?” I asked the empty chamber.

The only answer was if the Rite had existed and then had stopped, somehow being forgotten by the time the first Atlantian was born. That was the only explanation, as I knew he couldn’t have lied about this. Every Atlantian and wolven I’d met believed that the Rite had begun with the Ascended.

As I stared at the ledger, it struck me that these records could be far, far older than I believed. Possibly written during a time when the gods were awake.

My lips parted. “These ledgers have to be—”

“Older than sin and most kin.”

I jerked at the raspy voice, my gaze swinging to the half-open doors. A shiver coursed down my spine at the sight of the hunched figure shrouded in black.

It was her. The old woman. The widow…who might not even be a widow.

“But not as old as the first mortal, birthed from the flesh of a Primal and the fire of a draken.”

I jolted again. Was that how the first mortal had been created?

The veiled head cocked to the side. “I startled you, I see.”

I swallowed. “A little. I didn’t hear you enter.”

“I’m as quiet as a flea, so most don’t hear me,” she said, shuffling forward. I tensed. The long sleeves of her robe covered her hands, and as she drew closer, I made out the barest hint of pale, creased skin beneath the lacy veil. “Strange reading for a time when most are sleeping.”

Blinking, I glanced down at the ledger. “I suppose it is.” I looked back at her, surprised that she had moved so close so quickly. “Do you know exactly how old these ledgers are?”

“Older than the kingdom and most wisdom,” she answered in that brittle voice that reminded me of dry branches.

The old woman swayed slightly, and I remembered my manners. Most wouldn’t sit before a Queen unless given permission. I imagined mortals would behave the same in the presence of a god. “Would you like to sit?” I asked.

“If I sit, I’m afraid to admit, I’m likely never to get up again.”

Based on how the robes barely moved to show whether she was breathing, I was also afraid of that. “I don’t know your name.”

“I know who you are, with that glow in your eyes as bright as a star,” she replied, and I did everything in my power to keep my face blank. “Vessa is what I was once called.”

Once called? I resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, to see if she truly was made of flesh and bone. Instead, I opened my senses to her, and what I felt was…strange. It was murky. As if whatever she felt was clouded somehow. But there were faint traces of sugary amusement, which was also odd. I wondered if her age made reading her hazy.

I had a feeling she was likely the oldest mortal I’d ever met—possibly even that existed. But her age meant that she must have seen a lot of what’d occurred in Massene. A lot of what the Ascended had done.

“What did you do here, Vessa?”

The lace in front of her face rippled gently, and I caught the scent of something vaguely familiar. A stale scent I couldn’t quite place as she said, “I served,” she said. “I serve still.”