The rain caught up with Andor before he reached the city gates, and by the time he was halfway between Valantes and his parents' house, he was wet to the bone.

The thinning autumnal vegetation was not dense enough to keep the torrents from pouring down on him. He usually didn't mind the rain, as it was just another way of nature making sure that everything thrived in the forest, but today he felt irritable and the incessant pattering of the heavy droplets annoyed him. The lingering headache and grumbling stomach didn't help, neither did the recent revelations, nor the meeting with Xanthos that loomed like a storm-cloud on the horizon. He threw the sky an angry glare, as if that would sway the heavens to stop pestering him in his gloomy state.

However, he decided to stay on course towards the edge of the small village where his parents lived, instead of heading home. It lay only at a short distance from his tree-house going further south, close to the Plains of Ardan.

Not only did he need to pick up the arrows, which Olear had hopefully fixed, but he also wanted to see his brother. Tin was most likely still fretting over the mishap at the tournament, even though those happenings paled in light of what was brewing in Elysse.

His hair clung in wet strands to his head, tiny rivulets making their way over his face and into his tunic as he stood in front of his parents' house. This was where he had spent all his life up until the moment when he had acquired his tree-house. As much as he was grateful for the stroke of luck and the fact that it had given him a much desired independence, his childhood home held a special place in his heart. It was modest but cosy with a workshop built into it, where Olear pursued his trade as fletcher. As a child Andor had spent countless hours watching his father as he diligently crafted his arrows. A sense of pride still filled him at the thought that clients would come from all over Ilaros to purchase his father's superior arrows of cedar wood.

He wiped the rain from his face and knocked. It did not take long for soft steps to be heard from inside and then the door was pulled open.

"Andor!" His mother's face lit up in a bright smile at the sight of her son. Her chestnut locks were tied in a messy bun on her head and she was wearing a large honey coloured apron over her flowing terracotta gown.

"What a nice surprise," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "We were not expecting you."

"I wanted to pick up my arrows."

"Of course you do. Olear should have them ready by now." She stepped aside, allowing him to pass through. "Will you be staying for dinner? It's almost ready."

"I wouldn't mind something to eat," he admitted without hopefully appearing all too eager. He didn't want his mother to think that he couldn't take care of himself.

The smile on Meril's face turned into a frown when she took in his appearance. "You are completely soaked."

"It's raining," he said, stating the obvious, "a lot," he added. "It has been pouring all the way from Valantes."

"Valantes?" She turned towards the large closet behind her to search for something. "What did you have to do in the city? Don't tell me Eldoran and Kendra are still going on about the tournament?" She pulled out a towel from the closet and handed it to Andor.

"No, it has nothing to do with that," Andor said evasively, hanging his bow and quiver on a hook by the door before taking the towel. The book had indeed gotten wet and was clinging to his skin under the tunic, but he didn't want to pull it out, as this would only bring questions he'd rather avoid.

The familiar scraping noise from the workshop stopped and moments later Olear stepped into the room, a bundle of arrows clutched under his arm.

"You know how it is with Kendra," he said by way of greeting, placing the arrows on a small shelf along the wall. "It's much ado about nothing. Once she calms down, she will realise that she completely overreacted and if she doesn't, Eldoran will bring her back to her senses. He might be uptight and reserved, but I do trust his judgement."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Kendra wants me gone from my position as tutor rather sooner than later. She probably has just been waiting for something like this to happen." Andor wiped his face dry with the towel.

"I bet it was Gilren who sabotaged the tournament," Olear went on. "I saw him sneaking away with a suspiciously satisfied grin plastered to his face. Am I right?"

Andor nodded reluctantly as he proceeded to work through the lengths of his hair. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture from his father.

"See, I knew it! This is ridiculous." Olear threw his hands in the air. "That brainless brute would do anything to harm you. He's just as mean as his father, the only thing he lacks is Drakon's finesse. He needs to let it go. It's not your fault that his sister died."

"Olear!" Meril said sharply.

Andor paled. The air rushed from his lungs, but his father was in full flow now.

"It's true and you know it. The whole family is prone to violence, has always been, but since Itariel's death they have completely lost it. Gilren keeps pushing it, but one day playing dirty tricks will not be enough anymore." His father's grey eyes pierced him with an intensity that made him feel like a child in his presence, despite Olear being almost a head shorter than he himself.

"You are the one who has been chosen for the task of the sacrifice, not him, and you are now the hero of Elysse, not Gilren," he said, poking a finger at Andor's chest to underline his point. "It's time that you put this spoiled brat in his place. Or are you going to allow him to push you around until he ruins your every chance at having a decent life?"

"Can we please not talk about this now?" Andor fought to keep his voice steady. To rip open old wounds was the last thing he needed now. "I had a rather long day today and have been called to a meeting with the king tomorrow."

"With the king?" Olear drew his brows together in a frown. "Another meeting? Why? And why would he want you to be present? Does this have to do with your task?"

"Olear, would you give the boy a break, please! Can't you see that he is all drenched? This is not the time for your questioning."

Olear muttered something under his breath, which Meril deliberately ignored. She resolutely shoved a stack of plates into his hands and gestured towards the table.

Turning towards Andor she said, "Why don't you warm yourself up by the fireplace while I finish up dinner? I made pumpkin pastries for dessert." She raised her eyebrows and looked at him expectantly.

Andor's face froze. While he was grateful for his mother stirring the conversation away from this dreaded subject, she was unwillingly leading his thoughts towards the horrible secret buried within the vault.

"Is something the matter? Aren't you hungry?" There was concern in her voice.

"It's nothing," he lied, walking over to the fireplace to soak in the warmth of the flickering flames. He draped the towel over the backrest of the chair beside him.

"You know your father means well, even if his words come out harsh." The reprimanding glance she shot her husband did not escape Andor's notice.

Olear busied himself silently setting the table, while his mother stirred the large brass pot on the hearth. Whatever was being cooked in there smelled delicious and only intensified the grumbling in his stomach.

He looked around the familiar room that had changed very little during the years since he had left. Bundles of dried herbs, which hung from rafters spanning across the ceiling, filled the entire house with the scents of late summer. The large table made up the centre of the room, while an open fireplace as well as a kitchen area with a small hearth took up most of the remaining space. Thick woven rugs warmed his bare feet. Different models of arrows and several of his own drawings were displayed along the walls. A small shelf held wooden toys that belonged to his little brother, mainly horses and dragons painted in bright colours.

Suddenly Andor was aware of the unusual silence. "Where is Tin?" His little brother was always the first one to greet him with his slightly overenthusiastic way.

His mother turned around from the hearth, a conspiratorial smile on her face. "Nella's parents invited him to stay with them after the tournament."

"They did?" Andor raised an eyebrow. "And he agreed to it?" This was so very unlike his little brother, who up until yesterday would have done anything to avoid being in the girl's close proximity longer than absolutely necessary.

"Yes, he did, as a matter of fact he seemed to be quite pleased about it." Meril lifted the pot from the hearth and placed it on a metal tray in the middle of the table.

At first Andor didn't know what to make of it, but perhaps Tin had finally taken his advice to heart. It was obvious that Nella liked Tin and even if his little brother had been blind to it, Andor hadn't.

"That's good to hear," he said, feeling glad for his brother's newfound friendship.

"As long as she doesn't distract him from his progress with the bow," Olear said while he poured them three cups of mead.

"She won't. Nella is a smart girl and she might even teach him a few tricks." Andor couldn't hold back a small grin, the crackling fire behind him swiftly drying his tunic and trousers.

"If you say so." Olear wagged his head and took a seat at the table. "Come and sit down." He pointed at a chair opposite him. "Your mother made rabbit stew. I've been smelling it for hours already and barely been able to concentrate on fixing those arrows." He winked at Meril who was now serving them and herself generous amounts of stew.

"That's because you have been coming out of your workshop every half an hour to ask me when it will be ready." She gave her husband a peck on the cheek and then sat down beside him.

Andor inhaled the hot vapour coming from the plate in front of him and then he dug in. The steaming rabbit stew not only warmed him up, but also filled the gaping hole in his stomach.

"This is delicious," he said between bites.

"Thank you. It's the rosemary and thyme from our garden," said Meril, tucking a stray lock into her bun. "I have found that their aroma increases if you let them soak in a few drops of nut oil and add a sprinkle of lemons, the ones from the coastal regions of the Emerald Sea."

Andor only nodded silently, his mouth full, and his tastebuds exploding with the subtle flavours.

"The lemons are kind of hard to come by though, so I have to be sure to use them sparsely," Meril continued as she unfolded her napkin. "The fruit vendor in our village rarely ever has them and the ones in Valantes are completely overpriced. They know that they are selling a specialty and use it to their advantage."

Andor swallowed down a bite. "I could ask Bergil to get some for you. He turned up with several bottles of wine from Trevalis yesterday, so I imagine that from whichever merchant he got those, he might be able to purchase lemons too."

"Bergil got his hands on wine from Trevalis?" Olear looked up from his plate, clearly impressed.

"Mmh," Andor said, savouring the tender meat in his mouth. "But it's completely overrated. It has given me nothing but a headache."

"Really?" Olear raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't surprise me. I always have had my doubts about those foreign wines. There's nothing wrong with the ones they grow in Ilaros and Ardan," he said, bringing his attention back to the stew in front of him.

"You may say what you want about the wine, but those lemons are clearly the best in all Elysse," Meril stated firmly and to Andor she said, "so you think Bergil could get some for me? That would be very nice of him. I will pay him for his expenses of course."

"Don't worry about that. I'm sure he will be glad to get them for you. Just save him one of your pumpkin pastries. I know he likes those."

"He does?" Meril pulled her plate closer and stirred the contents, the wafting steam curling in front of her face.

"Yes, everyone knows that they are the best."

A blush crept onto his mother's cheeks. "Oh, well I wouldn't say they are the best, but I'm glad he likes them."

"He does. He always asks me for them when he knows I've been visiting you." Andor took the piece of bread Olear offered him and began ripping it into small pieces to dunk them in the stew.

His mother nodded, smiling quietly to herself. "But I am going to stop rambling now, so you can eat," she said, taking a spoonful of rabbit stew herself.

For a while they sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of their eating filling up the room. Olear was the first to finish, pushing back his plate after a second helping. He reached for his cup and leaned back in his chair.

"So, I keep wondering about what is the purpose of this meeting the king is having," he said, swirling the contents in his cup.

"I don't know anything about it, except that he has supposedly ordered the council members to remain in Valantes. Apparently they are not pleased about having to stay." Andor washed down the last of the stew with a long swig from his cup. The mead was as sweet as the stew was spicy.

His father narrowed his eyes. "Why would he do that? It's not like we are at war. We are safe from any threat coming from the humans for another forty years and that's thanks to you." Olear drummed his middle finger on the table. "He has to be planning something."

A sudden shadow of fear flickered over his mother's face. "Planning something? Like what?"

It cost Andor all his willpower not to spill the dark secret he had unveiled about Xanthos in the vault.

"Is there anything I should know about Xanthos that you haven't told me?" This was as far as he allowed himself to go without breaking his promise of silence to both Antelisse and Serande.

His parents exchanged a tense glance that said more than any words might have told him.

"The only thing you have to remember is that Xanthos rules with an iron fist and when someone gets in his way, he does not take prisoners."

Andor swallowed and placed his cup back on the table. "Has someone ever gotten in his way?"

His mother nodded, her voice hollow as a grave. "Yes, but they did not live to tell the tale."

His eyes darted between Meril and Olear, both their faces ashen. It was now or never. Andor decided to throw all caution to the wind. "Have you ever heard the name Blackthorn?"

His mother's eyes widened and his father stiffened in his seat, as if someone had submerged him in a bucket full of icy water.

"We do not say that name," his mother whispered.

"But you have heard it?" Andor persisted.

"Son, there are things that better remain unsaid and unknown," said Olear, when he had finally recovered his voice again. He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. "But where have you come across this name?"

"It doesn't matter. I heard it and I was curious." This was an outright lie, but he wouldn't risk that his plans of rescuing Rose would be floundered by him talking too much. As a matter of fact, he already regretted his question. He should have kept his mouth shut and just waited for Serande to provide him with an explanation.

His father gave him a look that meant he clearly didn't believe a word Andor was saying. Still, he did not push further and only said, "I hope you know what you are doing."

Suddenly Meril rose from her seat and walked over to the window. She stood for a while unmoving, looking out into the sky, the tension in her body making her appear like a statue.

"It seems that the rain has stopped," she said with her eyes still fixed on the forest outside, as if she couldn't bear to look neither at her husband nor her son.

"I should be going now." Andor realised that he had lingered far longer than what was appropriate. The sky was beginning to darken and dusk would now approach swiftly. The book hidden under his tunic began to feel increasingly bothersome, but at least he would be able to make it home dry.

"But you haven't even tried the pumpkin pastries," his mother objected, turning away from the window, as if she had just reemerged from wherever her thoughts had taken her.

"It is really getting late, maybe next time."

"I will wrap some for you, so you can eat them when you're at home." Meril gave him a warm smile.

"Thank you. I won't say no to that offer." Andor mirrored his mother's smile as he rose from his seat.

"Promise me that you will be careful," Meril said warily while she packed the pastries for him in a box.

"I will, don't worry." He walked towards the door and reached for his bow and quiver.

Meril followed him, holding the box close to her chest. A few strands of her chestnut locks had escaped her bun.

"I sense there is unrest in you, and doubts, doubts about where you belong."

Andor was going to object, but one glance from his mother made him swallow his answer. "Don't try to deny it. I know you well enough to read you. I might not be the one who gave birth to you, but I have raised you as my own flesh and blood." Her dark green eyes rested on his face as if she could read his every thought.

Olear had come to stand behind her, the bundle of arrows in his hands. He wasn't usually one of many words. Today though was different. He appeared to show a level of concern Andor had not seen in his father ever before.

"Remember that every single one of your deeds could have an impact far bigger than what you might anticipate." He pushed his chin forward, assessing him sharply. "Whatever you do, don't forget that you are one of us."

He wasn't quite sure what to make of Olear's words. Was he referring to him as a member of their family, or was he alluding to the fact that Andor might be meddling in affairs that were dangerous for himself and perhaps everyone else in Elysse? His conscience suddenly stirred. Had his desire to free himself of the guilt over having taken Rose's life blinded him for what really mattered? All he had wanted was to ensure the safety of his family and friends, and now it seemed that he was betraying his own people by his daring pact with Serande.

"I won't forget it." He took the small box from his mother's hands as well as the bundle of arrows from his father and turned towards the door. "Tell Tin I'm sorry that I missed him."