POV: Ravenna
The morning before the hearing, Lysander sends word that he needs to speak with us. Not just me. Me, Theron, and Father. All three of us. Together. In Father's private study.
"This can't be good," I mutter as we walk through the palace corridors. My arm still aches faintly where Solace's wing was torn. Phantom pain. Lysander says it will fade with time.
Theron walks beside me. Silent. Steady. His presence is grounding even though my stomach is in knots.
"Whatever it is," he says quietly, "we'll handle it."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." He glances at me. "You've survived everything thrown at you so far. This won't be different."
I want to believe him. Really do.
But the look on Father's face when we enter the study makes my blood run cold.
He's standing by the window. Rigid. Tense. Like he's bracing for impact.
Lysander is already there. Sitting at Father's desk. Surrounded by old documents. Medical records. Things that look ancient and yellowed with age.
"Thank you for coming," Lysander says. His voice is gentle. Which means whatever he's about to say is going to be TERRIBLE.
"What is this about?" I ask. Take the chair across from him. Theron stands behind me, hand on my shoulder.
Lysander looks at Father. "Are you certain you want to hear this?"
"I have suspected for twenty-one years," Father says. His voice is rough. Raw. "Tell them. Tell us the truth."
Oh gods. This is about Mother.
Lysander takes a breath. Looks at me. "Your mother was poisoned during labor."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"What?" I whisper.
"Elara knew she was dying," Lysander continues. His hands are shaking slightly. "She felt it happening. Recognized the compound because she had studied poisons as a healer—all healers do, to know what they're countering." He pauses. "She had minutes at most. The poison was designed to kill slowly enough that she would deliver you first, but fast enough that no intervention could save her."
"Who—" My voice cracks. "Who poisoned her?"
"I don't know. I'll get to that." Lysander spreads out the documents. Medical records from twenty-one years ago. "What I need you to understand first is that Elara knew. She knew she was dying. Knew she couldn't save herself." His eyes meet mine. "But she could save you."
Tears are already streaming down my face. I can't stop them.
"She used every ounce of her healing gift to create that crystallized scale," Lysander says. "Pouring her life force and power into it intentionally. Not randomly. Not accidentally. She chose this. She chose to give you her gift, her element, her healing magic—all of it compressed into that scale."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Father's voice is barely controlled. Shaking with rage and grief. "Twenty-one years, Lysander. Twenty-one YEARS you kept this secret."
"Because you were drowning," Lysander says gently. "You lost your wife. You could barely look at your daughter without breaking. I gave you the scale and told you it was important, but I couldn't—" He swallows hard. "I couldn't tell you it was murder. Not then. Not when you were barely surviving."
Father makes a sound like he's been punched.
"She told me with her dying breath," Lysander continues, looking at me now. "She said: 'Give this to Ravenna when she needs it most. Tell her I love her. Tell her she was worth it.'" His voice breaks. "And then she was gone."
I'm sobbing now. Can't breathe past the tears. Can't process this.
Mother didn't die because of me. She died SAVING me. She died because someone murdered her and she used her last moments to give me a gift I wouldn't need for twenty-one years.
Theron's hand tightens on my shoulder. Grounding. Steady.
"Why?" I manage. "Why are you telling us this NOW?"
"Because the hearing starts tomorrow," Lysander says. "Because House Ashford is connected to dangerous people. Because I think—" He hesitates. "I think your mother's death and the attempts on your life might be connected."
"Connected how?" Father demands. His hands are clenched into fists. White-knuckled.
"The poison used on Elara was distinctive," Lysander says. "A compound created only in Skyreach. Only Air Kingdom alchemists know the formula. It's extremely rare. Extremely expensive. And extremely effective."
Skyreach. Air Kingdom.
Lady Seris.
"Seris," I breathe. "You think Seris—"
"I don't know," Lysander says quickly. "She would have been too young to order it herself—she's fifty-eight now, would have been thirty-seven then. But she's from Skyreach. She has connections. And she's shown unusual interest in you, particularly after your gift awakened."
"That calculating look," I say. "After I healed. She was STUDYING me."
"Yes," Lysander agrees. "Which is why I'm telling you this now. Before the hearing. Before you're in a room with her and all of House Ashford." He looks between me and Theron. "Someone wanted your mother dead. Someone with Air Kingdom connections. Someone who has been operating in shadows for over twenty years." He pauses. "And I think they're still operating."
Father sits down heavily. Like his legs won't hold him anymore.
"My wife was murdered," he says. Voice hollow. "Murdered while giving birth to our daughter. And I never knew. Never suspected. I thought—" His voice breaks. "I thought it was just childbirth. Just bad luck. Just LOSS."
"It was murder," Lysander says quietly. "Premeditated. Calculated. Designed to look natural."
"Who else was present?" I ask. "During the birth. Who had access?"
"Midwives, guards, trusted servants," Lysander lists. "All vetted. All loyal. Most are dead now—age, illness, natural causes over two decades. But someone got to one of them. Paid them or threatened them or manipulated them into administering the poison."
"And you never found out who?" Theron's voice is hard. Cold.
"I tried," Lysander says. "For years I tried. But whoever orchestrated it was careful. Covered their tracks. Made sure there was no trail leading back." He looks at me. "Your mother's death looked like tragic childbirth complications. No one questioned it. No one investigated. The perfect crime."
"Until now," Father says. His voice has changed. Gone from broken to dangerous. "Until my daughter nearly died the same way. Until attempts are made on her life repeatedly." He looks at Lysander. "You think it's the same person."
"I think it's the same ORGANIZATION," Lysander says. "Someone with resources. Patience. Long-term planning. The kind of enemy who waits decades to strike again."
The Eclipse. It has to be. The organization that hunts gift-bearers. That sees people like Mother—like me—as threats.
"Seris has been in Cindravale multiple times over the years," Lysander continues. "As a diplomat. As an observer. Always with plausible reasons. Always above suspicion." He pauses. "But if she's connected to whoever killed Elara—if she's here watching to see if Ravenna develops the healing gift—"
"Then she knows now," I finish. "She SAW me heal. Saw the transformation. Saw everything."
"Yes," Lysander says simply.
Silence falls. Heavy. Oppressive. Loaded with twenty-one years of grief and rage and unanswered questions.
Father stands slowly. Walks to the window. Stares out at the kingdom he rules.
"I failed her," he says quietly. "Failed to protect Elara. Failed to investigate her death. Failed to see the truth."
"You were grieving," Lysander says gently.
"I was weak." Father's voice is harsh. "And my weakness let a murderer go free for twenty-one years. Let them continue operating. Let them nearly kill my daughter." He turns to look at me. "I will not fail you, Ravenna. Not again. Not ever."
"Father—"
"We investigate Seris," he says. Voice hard. Absolute. "Carefully. Quietly. During the hearing. While everyone is distracted by the trial." He looks at Lysander. "You're certain about the poison origin?"
"Skyreach," Lysander confirms. "I've verified it multiple times over the years. No other kingdom has access to that particular compound."
"Then we start there," Father says. "We find the connection. We expose whoever is behind this." His eyes meet mine. "And we make sure they pay for what they did to your mother."
I nod. Can't speak past the lump in my throat.
Mother didn't die because of me. She died protecting me. Saving me. Giving me a gift I'd need decades later.
She was murdered by someone who saw her healing gift as a threat.
And that someone might still be here. Watching. Waiting.
"Tomorrow," Father says, "we focus on the hearing. On clearing Theron. On defeating House Ashford's accusations."
"And after?" I ask.
"After," Father says, "we hunt."
His voice promises violence. Vengeance. Justice twenty-one years overdue.
I should probably feel afraid. Should probably be worried about what happens when we start digging into powerful people's secrets.
But all I feel is RAGE.
Someone killed my mother. Tried to kill me. Nearly succeeded multiple times.
And now I have her gift. Her power. Her legacy.
They wanted us dead because we could heal. Because we were threats.
Well. Let's show them exactly HOW threatening we can be.