I stared at Alistair, unable to process his words. "My own blood," I whispered, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "This darkness came from my family."
Alaric paced the room like a caged beast, his footsteps heavy with controlled rage. "Honoria Beaumont. What else do we know about her, Alistair?"
"Very little, Your Grace. She lived in seclusion at a small estate in the northern hills. Rarely attended society functions. There were... rumors."
"What kind of rumors?" I asked, dreading the answer.
Alistair's weathered face looked grim in the candlelight. "That she consorted with strange folk who came only at night. That she knew spells to heal or harm. Some claimed she could speak with spirits."
A chill ran through me. "Why have I never heard of her? My father never mentioned having an aunt."
"The family distanced themselves from her publicly," Alistair explained. "Though your father occasionally visited her in secret, especially in his younger years."
