The firelight danced across Rhett's bare chest as he stood over the sacred basin. A jagged line of claw marks shimmered faintly, not from any beast but from the waking dream that had gripped him only hours before. He stared into the basin, watching the water ripple as if disturbed by a wind that did not exist. Behind him, the air thickened. A scent. Lavender and bloodroot.
Magnolia entered in silence. Her cloak whispered against the stone, her steps light as if the earth itself dared not weigh her down. "You should rest," she murmured.
"I can't sleep. Not when I see her face every time I close my eyes."
"Your mother?" Her voice barely rose above the echo of the fire.
He nodded, his jaw flexing. "She told me to bleed for it. For the throne. But I don't even know what it means."
Magnolia moved beside him, her fingers grazing the edge of the basin. "The old blood speaks in riddles. They want your body to remember what your mind has not yet learned."
