Chapter 4: Daughter rejects, mother steps in

The Rushing Stag was already bustling despite the early hour. The tavern’s main room glowed with warm light from the hearth fire and hanging lanterns, casting dancing shadows across the wooden tables and the diverse patrons who occupied them. Farmers shared benches with merchants, village elders huddled over steaming mugs, and travellers rested their weary feet after journeys through the mountain passes.

As I stepped inside, the warmth enveloped me, a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. I shook the snow from my cloak and ran a hand through my dark hair, scanning the room with practiced casualness.

And there she was.

Rena.

Rena sat at a corner table, her copper hair falling in waves around her heart-shaped face. She was leaning forward, laughing at something the man across from her had said.

Not just any man—Daken, one of the newly appointed Knights of the Coven.

The Knights were a special breed of men, handpicked to serve and protect the most powerful witches in the realm. They were among the few males granted respect approaching that given to women, though everyone understood they were tools rather than equals.

Selected for their physical prowess, unwavering loyalty, and, if I were being honest, their handsome faces, knights were trained from a young age to sacrifice themselves without hesitation for their witch.

And I heard they would whore themselves to the witches too.

Daken had returned to Riverfall only three days ago, resplendent in the silver-trimmed black uniform of the Knights, a polished sword at his hip and a new confidence in his stance. The village hadn’t stopped talking about it since—one of their own, elevated to such a position.

Apparently, neither had Rena.

My jaw tightened as I watched her place her hand on Daken’s forearm, her fingers lingering longer than necessary.

Just months ago, those same fingers had intertwined with mine as we’d walked along the riverbank, her whispered promises carried away by the rushing water.

How quickly things changed when a man with status appeared.

“Jaenor! Over here!”

The voice pulled me from my darkening thoughts.

Taeryn was waving from a table near the bar, his familiar freckled face breaking into a grin.

He was my friend.

I made my way toward him, deliberately taking a path that would put me in Rena’s line of sight. As I passed her table, I felt rather than saw her eyes lift to follow me.

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze.

“You look like you’ve been dragged through the forest backwards,” Taeryn laughed as I dropped onto the bench across from him.

“Late night?”

“Something like that,” I replied with a half-smile, remembering Mother’s morning visit to my room. “Not all of us need beauty sleep as desperately as you do.”

Taeryn clutched his chest in mock offence. “And here I thought I was looking particularly dashing today.”

“Where is Baren? I don’t see him anywhere.” Baren was one of our buddies, and he was a blacksmith, always busy. He doesn’t have parents, so he works hard to earn his living.

“Where do ya think, ofcourse in his small smitty.”

I nod.

A serving girl approached with two mugs of the tavern’s morning brew—a strong tea mixed with herbs that helped ward off winter chills.

I nodded my thanks as she placed them on the table, noticing how she lingered a moment longer than necessary, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she turned away with a slight blush.

That was happening more frequently since my eighteenth birthday.

Whether it was the confidence from my secret abilities or simply my natural appearance maturing, women in the village had begun to take notice.

“Oh!” I suddenly remembered.

“I ran into your mother on my way here. She wants you home soon—something about helping with the north fence before midday.” This was a lie, but I knew Taeryn’s mother well enough to make it believable.

“Gods below,” Taeryn groaned, taking a long swig of his tea. “That fence has more holes than Old Man Gerrit’s memory. Every time we fix one section, another collapses.” He made no move to leave, however, instead leaning closer across the table.

“Have you seen who’s back in the village?”

“Hard to miss,” I replied dryly, tilting my head subtly toward Rena and Daken.

“Not just him,” Taeryn whispered.

“Rumour has it that a Witch Morgana to Frostvale next week. An actual Coven Witch, Jaenor. No one that powerful has visited since before we were born.”

That caught my interest.

A Coven Witch would possess mana reserves far beyond any woman in Frostvale.

If I could somehow arrange an encounter with her…

“What business would a Coven Witch have in our little village?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

Taeryn shrugged. “Some say it’s about the ice caves in the northern peaks. Others think she’s searching for something—or someone.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Maybe she needs a strapping young man to warm her bed during these cold nights.”

I laughed along with him, though my mind was already calculating possibilities. “You offering your services, then?”

“And face the wrath of my mother? No, thank you,” Taeryn chuckled.

“Besides, I’ve set my sights on more attainable goals.” His eyes flickered toward a pretty brunette serving drinks at the far end of the room.

“Maera? Bold choice. Her father would skin you alive.”

“Only if he catches me,” Taeryn winked.

Our banter continued, touching on the upcoming Winter Solstice festival, Aldein’s daughter’s recent betrothal, and the rumours of wolf packs growing bolder in the forests.

All the while, I was acutely aware of Rena’s presence across the room, her laughter occasionally rising above the tavern’s ambient noise.

The tavern door swung open with a gust of cold air, and the atmosphere in the room shifted immediately. Conversations quieted, postures straightened, and several men rose from their seats in deference.

Valara had entered The Rushing Stag.

Rena’s mother, the Chieftess of Frostvale, commanded attention without effort. Tall and statuesque, with the same copper hair as her daughter now streaked with elegant silver at the temples, she moved through the room with the confidence of a predator among prey. Her dark green cloak, trimmed with silver fur, swirled around her leather-clad legs as she approached the table where the village elders sat.

Unlike other villages that appointed their leaders through councils or inheritance, Frostvale’s chieftaincy was determined by magical strength.

Valara had held the position for nearly two decades, her command of elemental magic unrivalled in the region. She was fair but firm, protective of her people but unforgiving of dissent.

She was also, if rumours were to be believed, a widow who hadn’t taken a man to her bed since her husband’s death five years ago.

A fact that several widowers in the village lamented regularly.

As she conversed with the elders, her keen eyes surveyed the room, eventually landing on me.

I held her gaze without flinching—a small act of defiance that no other man my age would dare. Something flickered in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or curiosity.

“She’s looking at you,” Taeryn whispered, his eyes wide.

“What did you do to anger the Chieftess?”

“Nothing,” I replied smoothly.

“Perhaps she’s admiring my handsome face.”

Taeryn snorted into his mug.

“Yes, I’m sure the most powerful woman in Frostvale has nothing better to do than admire a farm boy.”

I simply smiled in response, watching as Valara concluded her conversation with the elders and, to my satisfaction, began making her way toward our table.

Taeryn nearly choked on his tea.

“Taeryn,” she acknowledged with a nod. “Your mother mentioned you’d be here. She expects you home shortly.”

“Y-yes, Chieftess,” Taeryn stammered, rising quickly.

“I was just leaving.” He shot me a look that clearly said, “What did you do?” before hurrying out of the tavern, nearly tripping over a chair in his haste.

Valara watched him go with faint amusement before turning her full attention to me. “Jaenor,” she said, her voice rich and commanding.

“You’ve grown since I last saw you up close. Eighteen now, are you not?”

“Yes, Chieftess,” I replied, deliberately allowing my gaze to linger on her face.

“My birthday was last week.”

“A significant milestone,” she observed, and then, to my surprise, she seated herself in the chair Taeryn had vacated.

“A fully adult now, eh?”

The tavern’s patrons, who had been watching our interaction with poorly disguised interest, gradually returned to their conversations, though many continued to cast curious glances our way.

“I hear you’re considering joining the river traders come spring,” Valara continued. “Your father mentioned it at the council meeting.”

“I’m considering many options,” I replied, leaning forward slightly. “Our village is a beautiful home, but there’s much of the world I haven’t seen.”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Ambition in a young man can be…intriguing when properly directed.”

She studied me openly now, her eyes—a startling amber colour—taking in my features with an intensity that would have made most men uncomfortable. “You have an unusual quality about you, Young Jaenor. Something I can’t quite place.”

Was it possible she could sense the mana building within me? The goddess had said my abilities would be unique, but I hadn’t considered they might be detectable by someone sensitive enough.

“Perhaps it’s my charming personality,” I suggested with a hint of boldness that bordered on inappropriate when addressing the Chieftess.

To my delight, she laughed—a genuine sound that turned heads throughout the tavern.

Even Rena looked over, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion as she observed her mother’s apparent enjoyment of my company.

“Charming indeed,” Valara agreed, her voice dropping slightly. “And refreshingly direct. Most men your age can barely look me in the eye when I address them.”

“Then most men are fools,” I replied simply.

Something changed in her expression then—a hunger, quickly masked but unmistakable. I recognized it from my previous life; the look of a powerful woman intrigued by someone who didn’t immediately bow to her authority.

“I have some maps of the southern territories that might interest someone with your… ambitions,” she said, rising from her seat. “If you’d care to see them, I could show you at my home.”

It wasn’t subtle, but it didn’t need to be. She was the Chieftess—she didn’t have to be subtle.

“I would be honoured,” I replied, standing as well.

As we moved toward the door, I felt Rena’s eyes boring into my back.

Let her watch, I thought.

Let her see that while she chased a knight, her own mother found me worthy of her attention.

Valara placed her hand lightly on my arm as we exited the tavern, a proprietary gesture visible to everyone inside.

The winter air felt less cold somehow as we walked side by side through the village square, heading toward the largest house in Riverfall—the Chieftess’s residence.

I could already feel the faint pulse of her mana, stronger than any I’d encountered so far.

By the day’s end, that power would flow into me, strengthening the abilities the goddess had promised.

And perhaps, if I played my role well, I would gain not just magical strength but also an influential connection in the village hierarchy.

The pathbreaker, the goddess said, but not the ones she thought.

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