Chapter 37: The Root That Pointed South

The silver root would not leave Nora's wrist. It looked delicate, almost pretty, a thin line of moonlight curled around her skin like a bracelet. It did not hurt. That made Darius distrust it more. Three healers examined it before breakfast. One priestess. Two Council scholars. None could touch it. Their fingers passed through the light and came away cold. "It is a direction mark," the oldest scholar said. Nora looked at the root pointing south. "I guessed." The scholar cleared his throat. "Not merely direction. Calling." Darius dismissed him before Nora could ask whether scholars were paid by the vague word. Maeve was less polite. "If an old magical seed points at the murder family, perhaps we do not follow it before lunch." "It points to my mother's trail," Nora said. "It points to Thornveil's road." "Those may be the same." That silenced the room. The silver seed had split in Nora's pocket the night the black thorn banner rose. Since then, the root had pulsed whenever anyone mentioned Seraphine. It also pulsed when Nora read her mother's objection. The two histories had braided themselves together before Nora was born. Darius spread a map across the table. "South of Blackridge are three old estates, two abandoned chapels, and the Thornveil winter road." Lina leaned over the table. "There is also the midwife house." Every adult looked at her. The girl swallowed. "Girls from the debt contracts talked about it. Thornveil sent pregnant women there if their blood mattered. No one called it a prison. That means it was one." Nora's hand went to her stomach. The root brightened. Darius's jaw hardened. "Where?" Lina pointed to a blank space on the map between two ridges. "No name. Just smoke in the trees." Nora stared at the blank space. Her mother might have been there. Other women might still be. The baby kicked once, sharp and certain. Maeve closed her eyes. "I know that look. We are all about to hate the plan." Nora looked at Darius. "I have to find it." "Yes," he said. Maeve blinked. "That was easier than expected." Darius did not smile. "Because if I say no, she will go with fewer guards." "True," Nora said. "Do not sound pleased." "I sound understood." They left at dusk in two carriages and six mounted guards, traveling without banners. Darius rode beside Nora's carriage. Maeve stayed inside with Lina and a dagger she kept patting like a pet habit. Snow thickened as they reached the southern ridge. The silver root burned brighter. Then every horse stopped. No command. No stumble. They simply refused to take another step. Darius dismounted, blade drawn. "Stay inside." Nora opened the carriage door. He did not even turn. "I know. But I had to say it." Ahead, the road disappeared under untouched snow. In the center stood a cradle. Old wood. White blanket. Black thorn tied to the handle. Nora stepped down before anyone could stop her. Inside the cradle lay no child. Only a stack of name tags, the kind tied to newborn wrists. The top tag read: Nora Ashford, female, unsuitable for transfer. Under it lay another tag in her mother's handwriting. My daughter lived in defiance.