Chapter 82: THE BLOOD WE INHERITED

Tessa's point of view

The silence after the barrier faded was thicker than any spell.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the old woman stepped into the circle and offered me her hand. Her skin was dry and warm, the kind of warmth that held years—maybe centuries—of wisdom and pain.

“You may call me Matilda,” she said softly. Her eyes didn’t shimmer with power the way Arabella’s did. Instead, they held something heavier: memory.

I blinked at her. “Who… who are you really?”

Her lips lifted faintly. “A ghost of the old ways. A keeper of truths forgotten. But more importantly, I’m the last mage of the court who remembers what your bloodline once meant.”

My heart quickened. “What do you mean, my bloodline?”

Matilda turned slowly, walking with deliberate steps toward the outer edge of the circle where her book still hovered in the air. “You are descended from an ancient line of mages. The kind of blood that once ruled, protected, and—yes—sometimes destroyed.”

“Me?” I stepped back, unsure whether to laugh or scream. “There must be a mistake. I—I wasn’t born in a palace. I was raised in alleys and forgotten villages.”

She didn’t smile this time. “Magic doesn’t care where you sleep, child. It only cares who you come from.”

I swallowed thickly. “But how do you know? Why are you so sure?”

Matilda turned the heavy book toward me. The page shimmered faintly in the light. Symbols moved on it—moved, as if ink was alive. At the center of the page was a sigil I didn’t recognize, but somehow… I felt it. A spiral entwined with roots, a circle broken by flame.

“This belongs to your line,” Matilda said. “Your aura matched when the old tongue called it forward.”

I didn’t know what to say. My thoughts were too full—flashes of fire from when I first used magic, the voice in my veins screaming when Ares was hurt, the salt circle holding me hostage moments ago.

“But,” Matilda continued, “you’re not the first of royal mage blood in Mistefell.”

She turned her head toward Queen Arabella, who stood quietly at the edge of the room, arms crossed and expression unreadable.

“One of the former kings,” Matilda explained, “was a mage. A powerful one. And Queen Arabella is his daughter.”

That surprised me. My eyes flicked toward Arabella, who didn’t deny it.

“But,” Matilda added, “she did not inherit his gifts.”

I hesitated, then asked what had been sitting in my throat since the moment the word bloodline was spoken.

“What about Queen Aeris?”

The question dropped like a pebble into still water.

Arabella’s gaze turned to me. Something in her posture stiffened.

Matilda raised her brows. “Why do you ask?”

I hesitated. “A baroness told me… when I was traveling with Ares. She said Queen Aeris was powerful. And kind. She seemed to care for her.”

Matilda’s face softened. “Then the baroness spoke true. Aeris was gifted. She carried the strength of the mage’s blood, but not his madness. I… I miss her dearly.”

Arabella was quiet. Her voice finally emerged, but it was lower. More controlled.

“She’s my sister,” she said. “The only person who ever made me question what kind of woman I was becoming.”

I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear that. But then Arabella stepped forward.

“I was raised believing one man was my father,” she said carefully. “But the truth came later—painfully. My mother’s husband was king, but not my true sire.” She lifted her gaze to me. “My biological father was a mage… a powerful one who used magic to take the king’s form. He fooled everyone. Even my mother. But eventually, he revealed himself.”

My breath caught. “What happened?”

Arabella’s voice didn’t waver. “He tried to burn everything down. People. Lands. Families. All for power. He wanted to make me his weapon. Mold me. And for a time, I… wanted that too.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Then what changed?” I asked.

Arabella didn’t answer right away. Her expression cracked, just for a second—enough for a flicker of something real to shine through. Guilt. Regret. Fear.

“Everything,” she said softly. “Aeris. The war. The lives we lost. The price I paid.”

Silence stretched between us again.

She stepped closer, now barely a few feet from me.

“I won’t let you become what I nearly did,” she said. “You will have a choice, Tessa. That’s what I didn’t have. That’s what I want for you.”

My throat burned. “And if I choose not to follow this path?”

Her eyes didn’t blink. “Then I’ll watch you fall. And I will catch you when you do.”

That hit harder than I expected. Because for a moment, it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a promise.

Matilda closed the book with a heavy thud. “You will train. You will resist. And you will either master this gift or destroy yourself with it.”

Arabella nodded. “And you must stay away from Ares until you do.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“He is awakening too,” she said. “His own path will be darker. More painful. If you’re not strong enough to face your truth, you’ll only bring him down with you.”

I shook my head, backing away. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Then don’t be weak.” Arabella’s voice cut through me like a blade.

Matilda laid a hand on the queen’s shoulder. “Enough for today.”

I turned toward the tall windows, suddenly feeling the weight of sunlight pressing against my skin like judgment. My chest ached. My fingers trembled.

“Who am I?” I whispered aloud—not to Arabella. Not to Matilda. But to the wind.

Neither of them answered.

Because I wasn’t ready to know.