[This post is from Neve’s point of view.]
Tory stared at her in silence, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for long enough that she thought that she’d erred in telling him. Finally, though, he cleared his throat and croaked, “Me and Lin? Why the hell would anyone be looking for us, Mum?”
How could she put it in a way that wouldn’t result in complete and utter panic? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been raised on all the same stories as the others—none of them had escaped that. He knew enough about her history and his father’s that she hoped, at least, he’d be able to accept at least some of it for what it was, able to take some of it at face value.
But is that an assumption that it’s safe for me to make?
Her eyes slid shut for a moment. She and Cameron had tried to shelter them as best they could without denying reality—and then there was an open question of how much Marin and Thom had known and not talked about. She suspected—had always suspected—that it was much more than they realized.
Lin has all of their journals. I wonder how much is in there that we never knew.
“Mum?”
She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Because there are prophecies, Tory. There are stories and prophecies that center around certain figures and certain bloodlines.”
“Like yours.”
“Like ours,” she corrected gently. “It’s yours, too, Tory.”
He blushed and looked down. “I guess so. I just—I just don’t understand. Lin said to ask you. Why do I get the feeling that you’d love to tell me to ask him?”
Neve laughed. “Because you’re not wrong. I’m starting to wonder how much he’s already come to realize.”
“Knowing Lin? A lot. Should I bug Uncle Phelan?”
“Your uncle’s had a long day,” Neve said, shaking her head with a faint smile. “Let him get some sleep. You’ll meet our visitors tomorrow, I think.”
“Oh, so I’ll be able to ask them for answers.”
She reached over and squeezed his knee. “If that’s what you choose to do, yes. Yes.”
