Rune Mage [Fantasy/Adventure | Book 1 +2 | Complete]

Chapter 69: The Harreds' Fateful Night

"Someone supplied the Hannans with runes. Runes that overcame my mother's anti-climbing runes and breached the Acrise walls. That same someone bound the mouth of the Hannan prisoner we had and sealed her from telling us secrets. Maura said the runes were more advanced than she was capable of, and my understanding is Maura's pretty good at rune magic."

"She's the best in the country in indigo runes," Rowan said, panting. "I think last year she ranked third for rune magic in general amongst the registered mages."

Seiren paused to allow for Rowan to catch up. He didn't have the physique for the military; that much was clear, but even keeping up with her strides in the snow for the past four hours made him out of puff, but she was glad to see her third attempt at chaos magic actually did something. It made her feel less of a failure. She swallowed, her eyes prickling at the memory of little Kori Fernard, dying of a bad heart, and chaos magic didn't come to her; and the memory of Loren gasping and ashen-grey, pouring her chaos magic into Seiren despite her attempts to heal her instead.

"Why did Loren have to die?"

Rowan slowed at the same time as she did.

"What brought this on?" Although he tried to sound carefree, Seiren was not entirely ignorant of the palpable hurt in his words.

"I never found out. Why was she in Benover? She was based in Bicknor. What will happen to those kids who were relying on her chaos magic now?"

"They got taken care of by a healing mage out east. Loren had contingency plans in place before she left."

"So she expected to be gone for a while?"

Rowan was quiet for so long Seiren thought he didn't plan to answer her question.

"Loren went to Finberry."

Seiren froze. She whipped around and stared at Rowan. The bottom half of his face snuggled into his scarf. His hood covered his ears and the top of his head, casting a shadow over his face, but his eyes appeared steel-blue against the white background. He was frowning, as if uncertain how to express the next words.

"Why would she do that?" she said, bewildered.

"It was my idea. Not long after we first met, I got thinking about your mother, Kristen. About the night she died."

"You mean the night I killed her." Seiren's voice was hollow.

Rowan gave her an odd look. Sympathy, perhaps.

"That's the thing, Seiren. I don't think you killed her."

She blinked slowly, the words perfusing her brain at snail pace. The images of that night flashed before her eyes. She was once again back in the living room of their house, the last trace of the dwindling fire smoke drifting away and the sour taste of bile at the back of her throat. The oppressive sensation of death suffocated her. Her father, collapsed in a heap, eyes glassy, and Madeleine, shallow breaths making her little chest bob. Piles of books littered the floor.

"But I drew that rune." Seiren touched the necklace. Madeleine pressed against her consciousness. "I drew both the runes. It could only have been me."

But deep down, the uncertainty grew. She saw the violet rune, drawn in Madeleine's blood activate over her sister's body, fusing with the crimson-stone necklace that had fallen off the table. She saw the last breath exit her sister.

Yes, that was definitely you. Madeleine touched Seiren's mind. The sketch is all you. I can feel it.

"It can't have been anyone else." Seiren sounded less convinced. The second rune, a fusion of red and orange with eight sides and no locking sigils, was something she'd spied in her mother's book only several days prior. She remembered the whole sketch; she never forgot a drawing. She'd drawn it with the chalk fragments she'd dug from beneath a chair and aimed it at the Hannan, who held her mother hostage, before there was an almighty bang that knocked her out.