CH374 · Rewrite
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Chapter 374: Returning Home

Having separated from the family, returning to the Eltek estate sat uneasily with Ferlin. But this was not about his own doubts. It was about his father.

At that particular banquet—he could still see the candlelight, the half-empty glass—Sir Eltek had spoken about the woman in the portrait. Not just mentioned her; had grown emotional. He had said that the Eltek line existed only because of her generosity, and that this generosity had been repaid with betrayal. Ferlin had not understood the speech at the time. What he had understood was the expression on his father’s face: not anger, not pride, but something closer to inherited shame.

Since remorse has been shown, is there a chance to remedy it?

Perhaps the woman in the market was a descendant of the family’s founder. It seemed the most reasonable explanation.

And Ferlin had no grievance against his family beyond the single point that had driven him out—he had refused to leave Irene. As the eldest son, marrying a commoner had been unacceptable to them. That was a difference of choice, nothing more. After their marriage, his father had never visited, but his mother had sent a servant with supplies and a short letter: his father had forgiven him.

For all these reasons, Ferlin decided to go back and tell his family what he had seen.

The Months of Demons had thinned river traffic to almost nothing. He waited three days for a merchant ship out of the Stronghold, and including the time to unload its cargo, the journey would put him in Longsong Stronghold in a week.

When he arrived and stepped off the gangway, the city received him in silence. Snow lay to his ankles, undisturbed in most of the streets—only a few lanes showed the varying depths of footprints that meant people still moved through them. Compared with Border Town’s noise and crowding, it was difficult to believe this was the largest city in the Western Region.

The Eltek estate lay north of the Stronghold: nearly two thousand acres, a village of its own. If even the city was this empty, the village beyond it would be emptier still. His coach followed the road toward the family mansion, and along the way he saw bodies. They lay at the roadside and in doorways—people who had run short of food and firewood and had not survived the cold. It happened every winter when autumn came early, and still he could not harden himself to the sight. Perhaps half of those caught unprepared would not see spring.

After the last scattered huts, the mansion appeared.

The iron gate was locked. The yard was buried in snow, but the walkway slabs had been cleared—someone maintained this place. He knocked hard on the gate. Two guards came out, and one of them recognized him immediately.

“You are—Eldest Master.”

“I want to see Sir Eltek.”

The guards could not presume to decide for themselves in a matter among the noble family. One of them led Ferlin into the lobby to wait; the other went for the butler.

The first person to appear was his younger brother, Miso Eltek.

“You don’t belong here anymore. Why are you back?” Miso looked him over. “You walked here? Where’s your squire?”

“I’m not a knight anymore.” Ferlin kept his tone even. “Naturally, no squire accompanies me.”

“Ah—I’d almost forgotten. You were defeated by the Border Town prince and taken prisoner.” Miso snorted. “Has he released you? Or are you here because winter has emptied your purse? I can give you a little, but then you’ll need to leave.”

His brother’s manner was not surprising. Miso was now the family’s heir apparent; the last thing he wanted was the eldest son reappearing to complicate that position.

“I’m not here for money, and I have no intention of contesting the inheritance.” Morning Light kept his voice low. “His Highness appointed me as a teacher. My life is exactly what I want it to be.”

“Teacher?” Miso’s astonishment was genuine. “I wasn’t aware your learning ran deep enough to instruct members of the nobility.”

“I don’t instruct nobles. I teach commoners to read and write.”

“Teach commoners to—” Miso started to sneer. “The lie you’re building is getting more interesting. Did that commoner wife of yours—”

“Enough.” The voice came from the doorway, quiet and final. Miso went still. Ferlin looked up.

His father, Sir Eltek, stood in the hall.

“Ms. Irene is not inferior to any noble-born woman.” Sir Eltek’s voice was flat with authority. “She lacks only a title. It is rude to continue.” He did not look at his younger son again. “The guard said you had information for me.”

“Yes.” Ferlin bowed.

“Come to the study.”


They climbed to the second floor. Passing through the hall, Ferlin let his eyes move to the portrait wall.

There she was again. Blue hair, unmistakable—the same shade he had seen in the market. Even in paint, the portrait conveyed something distinct: the mole at the corner of her eye, the particular quality of attention in her face. Whoever had made this portrait had known her well enough to record that kind of detail.

His father closed the study door and spoke first. “During a theatre performance in autumn, I had occasion to see your wife. She looked well. Her acting was not inferior to Miss May’s. It seems the two of you are managing.”

Ferlin had not expected this. Something pressed against the back of his eyes. He nodded and had to wait a moment before he trusted his voice. “We have our own house in Border Town. We plan to have a child after the Months of Demons.”

“Good.” Sir Eltek took a sip of tea. “It must have been difficult to come from Border Town in this season. What’s the information?”

Morning Light gathered himself. “I saw a woman in the market. She looked exactly like the person in the portrait in the hall.”

His father’s hands went still. The teacup tilted, nearly overturned; he caught it and set it down and looked up, eyes wide. “Say that again.”

“Blue hair, rarely seen. Her features were unmistakable. I am certain I didn’t mistake it.” Ferlin met his father’s gaze. “Could she be a descendant of the woman in the portrait?”

“Impossible. That person was—” He stopped. Shook his head. “She cannot have descendants.”

“Is that so.” Ferlin looked down. “Then perhaps I was wrong.”

“You came all the way here for this?”

“Yes. Because I remember that you once expressed remorse toward her.”

Sir Eltek lowered his head. The silence stretched long enough to hold a decision inside it.

“Did she truly resemble the portrait?”

“Apart from the hair length—” Ferlin thought of the market, the blue flash at the edge of his vision. “Everything else was identical. I’ve only ever seen that color of hair in that portrait. It caught my attention the moment I saw it.”

“She cannot be a descendant.” Sir Eltek looked up. His voice, when it came, was careful. “But she could be the woman in the portrait herself.”

Ferlin felt the room tip slightly. The statement was more impossible than anything he’d imagined on his own. “Herself? You mean she has lived more than four hundred years?”

“I didn’t want to tell you this.” His father rose. “She is a witch, after all. For witches, anything is possible. Follow me.”

“Where?”

“The basement. There are things you need to see.” A long pause. “Our ancestors left behind a relic that she left with them.”

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