He looked at Ryaenara's grand figure as the last of her ancient appendages faded, and he shook his head again. He didn't like this business of Inheritance, no matter how prettily she dressed it. Weavings from the beginning of time, channels waiting to claim him, a lineage he had never chosen. She could call it nature all she wanted. Anything he made would be his, and anything handed to him would be examined for hooks.
But there was a more useful question than arguing philosophy with something older than the argument.
"Set aside the Inheritance," Noah said. "Set aside the Existential Lineages. Answer me this instead. What is this IT that even THE Sealed One is after? And why hand the path to another?" His eyes sharpened on her.
