CHAPTER 63: CHAPTER 63 - A FATHER’S WORDS

Morning light crept across the walls of the estate by the time Morena finally decided to head to her father’s chambers. She’d told herself for days now that she would, but every time there had been another excuse—plans, training, and so on.

Excuses were easy. But after last night’s gathering, she knew she couldn’t keep putting it off.

The servants bowed when she passed, whispering faintly after she was gone. She didn’t care to pay attention to them anymore; they would never stop after all, the only difference was the topic.

Her father’s door was open when she arrived. The smell of herbs and smoke hung in the air. Inside, the fire was kept high to chase away the chill, and near the window, in a chair rather than the bed, her father sat.

A blanket was drawn across his legs, a half-empty cup of tea at his side. His hair had grown streaked with white, but his eyes were the same sharp steel she remembered.

He didn’t even turn when she had entered; he heard her coming before she even entered the hall.

"Morena."

His voice was rough but steady.

"Father."

She crossed the room, bowed her head just slightly, and sat opposite him. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just letting the fire fill the silence. It was an interesting feeling, the connection between family.

Finally, he broke it.

"Adolf tells me you’ve been busy."

Morena lifted her brow.

"Busy? Is that the word he used?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"He said you’ve been stepping into things again. That’s busier than you’ve been in a long while. I am glad you have been doing well. You already have what it takes to lead."

She let out a breath, not quite a laugh.

"Then yes, I’ve been quite busy. Lead though? I’m not sure about that. The church called a meeting with the nobles last night. They wanted answers about this heretic they’re chasing."

His brow creased.

"A meeting, Adolf told me about it. What do you think?"

"They summoned all of us like children, asked a handful of questions, then let us go. Hardly more than theater. But..."

She hesitated.

"They brought someone else. A cloaked figure. They didn’t speak much, but the priest deferred to them. Whoever they were, the church treated them like more than just a priest."

Her father leaned back, considering.

"The church loves its masks. Sometimes the mask matters more than the face. Did they unsettle you?"

Morena thought back to that strange, echoing voice, the pressure that lingered in the air when they spoke.

"More than I’d like to admit. They asked me where my loyalty lies—blood or church. I told them the house comes first."

At that, his lips curved faintly.

"Good. Never forget that. Everything else changes—alliances, faith, crowns. But blood and name remain."

She didn’t answer right away. The fire popped, filling the silence again.

"I believe this is just the start; they’ve already shown signs of moving, and all this is just part of a bigger plan. They’ll keep pressing, they’re not going to let this end here."

"They never do. That’s how most of their wars start, then they drag everyone else into it."

He adjusted the blanket on his lap with a slow hand.

"That’s their way. Keep this in mind, Morena: never trust the church, never lower your guard around them. They don’t need proof, Morena; they only need suspicion. And if they don’t find it, they’ll make it."

Morena nodded her head, figuring something like that would be the case.

"I know that, Father, I’ll make sure they don’t have the chance to do that to us."

He studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze cutting through her composure.

"I know you will try. You’ve changed much; every time I see you, you look different."

He spoke with an odd expression on his face; she couldn’t quite tell what it was, what emotion the man felt. But his words were soft, touching to her heart.

"Not long ago, you wouldn’t have been sitting here talking about making sure of anything. You’d have been drinking yourself blind with Edric or arguing with your sister. Now you’re carrying yourself like..."

He trailed off, then chuckled softly.

"Like someone I used to know."

She tilted her head.

"You?"

"Maybe."

His smile was small, tired, but real.

"I see the same look in your eyes. Too stubborn to back down, too proud to ask for help. You want strength because you know weakness isn’t forgiven. I lived like that for years. It gave me victories... and scars I’ll carry to my grave."

Morena leaned back slightly.

"Then maybe it’s not such a bad thing to walk the same way. Victories and scars are better than being useless."

He barked out a laugh, coughing halfway through, and shook his head.

"Spoken like a true Ravenscroft."

He caught his breath, then said quietly,

"Just be careful. Power is never free. Every piece you grab weighs you down. Don’t let it hollow you out, Morena."

She looked at him for a moment; the words she wanted to speak were stuck in her throat. She couldn’t agree to him, couldn’t promise him that she understood what he was saying.

Couldn’t agree that she wouldn’t allow that.

All she could do was lie, a half-truth, knowing that her greed, her own self-indulging desire, wouldn’t allow her to stop chasing that power.

"I know."

They sat together for a while after that, the conversation shifting to smaller things—the estate, the servants, little issues with supply routes that Adolf had already smoothed over.

It was normal talk, the kind she hadn’t shared with him in too long. And yet, as they spoke, she felt the weight of guilt pressing down. She had avoided him, telling herself it was because she was busy, but really it was because facing him meant facing what she hadn’t done.

When she finally rose to leave, he lifted his gaze and caught hers.

"Morena."

"Yes?"

He held her eyes, his own still sharp despite the frailty in his body.

"Whatever it is you’re planning, whatever game you’re stepping into—don’t hesitate. The church won’t forgive it. The other houses won’t forgive it. Only strength buys you space to breathe."

Morena nodded once, her face unreadable.

"I know."

"No."

He replied almost instantly, not giving her the chance to brush it aside. Instead, he spoke again.

"I am telling you to do whatever it is you need to do. What you believe is right, the house will stand behind you. No matter what. I will stand behind you, no matter what."

His eyes were stern, locked onto her with a gaze that went beyond flesh and bone, staring firmly at her soul.