Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
There is a soft knock on my door, so faint I almost miss it. Moving across the room, I open it to find Aurelia. Like the other kitchen staff, she wears a soft cream dress, an apron, and a bandana around her hair.
“Aurelia!” My heart leaps. “Come in.”
Widening the entrance, she slips past me.
Shutting the door, I glance back at the young girl.
She struggles to hold herself together, her hands tightly wound in front of her, and the edges of her eyes water slightly.
Underneath her right eye is a large purple bruise that is beginning to fade.
I wondered how many times he’d struck her over the years.
“I-I wanted t’say thank you.” Her voice wobbles, emotion flooding to the surface.
“Are they paying you enough to find another place to stay?” I ask.
She nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her apron. Aurelia’s eyes shift around the room, unable to hold eye contact for long.
“You’re safe here now,” I reply calmly, reaching out and placing a hand over hers. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Really?” Aurelia finally meets my gaze.
“Yes.” I smile reassuringly. “He won’t find you here.”
She shakes her head, tears threatening to fall. “I don’t want to go back…”
I feel her agony in every fiber of my being.
Margaret’s voice echoes in the back of my mind, tormenting me in my dreams. You are as untrained as an alley cat, she would say as I balanced a stack of books on my head and walked to fix my posture.
If the books fell, she would make me start over.
Fortunately, you have beauty; that wit of yours will get you nowhere.
She often degraded me like this, leaving a permanent mark on my soul.
Your handwriting is worse than your pianoforte; it is as if you strive to be inadequate, she scolded.
Every cruel word is still engraved into my marrow.
Margaret tore me down so many times over the years that I lost sight of who I am.
“I won’t let him.” I strengthen my resolve to keep the sisters safe.
“Thank you.” Aurelia inhales a shaky breath, her lashes slick with tears.
“I need your help, Aurelia.” I lower my voice, ensuring that no one can hear us in the hall.
“With what?”
“I’m new here at the castle,” I explain. “If you hear any gossip or anything suspicious floating around, please tell me. And before you do, I want you to use this phrase: ‘The birds are lovely today, Princess.’”
Aurelia’s eyes widen. “Why?”
“It’s so we can ensure no one is eavesdropping on us.”
Women are often overlooked by men of high status, disregarded.
I know this from firsthand experience growing up in a castle full of lords and captains who spoke boldly, as if they had no regard for the privacy of information.
Aurelia will be helpful for such a task.
No one will hold their tongue around a simple kitchen girl.
If I were more informed back home, I might have known of my father's plans to marry me off.
I may have avoided it by speaking with him before his rash announcement.
I will not make the same mistake twice.
“I understand.” Aurelia nods.
“Very good.” I move towards the door. “Come find me if you need anything.”
Waving goodbye, Aurelia departs from my room.
I will check up on her in a few days to ensure she is settling in and can find a safe place to keep Violet off the streets.
I exit shortly after her, retracing my steps to the library.
I do my best to slip by the guards unnoticed, cracking open the door and slinking inside.
The dim glow of candlelight from within welcomes me, and the familiar scent of old leather fills the air. I scan the space for others, but the library is so vast that it’s difficult to tell if it’s empty. Hoping the shadows will hide me long enough, I search for the history section.
My footsteps echo all too loudly, causing me to curse under my breath.
I pull off my slippers and hold them as I walk barefoot.
I pluck a book at random off the shelf, opening it to a detailed drawing of pox.
Stifling a gag, I quickly close the book and return it to its place.
This section is about medicine and disease.
Turning the corner, I pick a different row to browse.
I pluck a smaller book and open it. As I read, I notice a variety of Elvarran herbs and their uses.
Not what I need. I slide the book back into place and continue my search at the back of the library.
A lone text on a stone dais catches my attention.
The pages are half-filled with ink, the story seemingly incomplete, so I flip to the front of the book.
There is an image of a woman clad in armor.
Her long, pale blonde hair flows behind her as she rides a horse into battle.
Hundreds of arrows darken the sky, but the woman charges forward, flames erupting from her palms and devouring everything in her path.
Underneath the depiction, it reads: ‘Queen Isla Azur Izydor of Rykaris, the battle for Grimhold Crossing.’ My eyes widen, lips parting in silent shock as I reread the words once… then again… and again.
My mother.
I read on immediately, drinking in the words about my mother like holy water.
After suffering heavy casualties, Queen Isla Izydor rode into battle with a remaining fleet of 300 Elvarrans.
The kingdom of Erynthe, which marched on the border, outnumbered the Elvarrans four to one.
Isla’s magic reached unexplainable heights of fury, leading to the surrender and peace treaty offered by King Ulrik Roderick Valantis of Cathros to end the war.
Due to her bravery, fifteen years of prosperity passed between the North and South.
Tears well at the edges of my eyes. Here is the truth of my mother’s past I was forbidden to learn. She was a queen who went to great lengths to protect her kingdom, even if it meant fighting until her last breath. I ache to know more, to hear the tales I was robbed of.
I cast so much suspicion on Wrath when he told me I was half-Elvarran, but it is true.
Proof bleeds from the pages like an open wound.
I must choose to patch it up or leave it to scar my already broken heart.
This is a part of me that Ulrik hid, not Wrath.
While I don’t trust him, I want to know more about Isla, so I need his help for now.
Returning the book to the dais, I continue my search on the shelves lining the library’s back wall. Rows upon rows of ancient tomes fill each shelf, my fingers trailing along the spines as I search for one name in particular: C. V. Bainbridge.
I spot an encyclopedia, its leather cover cracked with age. Dust clings to my fingertips as I pull the heavy volume free. The book slides out halfway and comes to a stop. I yank on it again, but it doesn’t release. The bookshelf beside me rumbles, and a passageway opens.
I gasp.
Cold air rushes from the tunnel, blowing the stray hairs away from my face.
A deep, musky scent invades my senses, the smell slightly foul.
My curiosity gets the best of me… I take a hesitant step forward and lean in to get a better look.
Below my feet lies a small stone staircase leading down into a tunnel.
The bottom steps disappear into the darkness below.
The deeper I peer, the more my nerves twist up in fear, as if the tunnel is trying to swallow me whole.
Not today.
Stepping out of the entryway, I return to the encyclopedia and pull it again, hoping the passage will close. The mechanism grinds together, and the tunnel closes with a thunk. Breathing a sigh of relief, I allow my shoulders to relax as I step away.
That’s when I hear the faint echo of a voice.
“We have received word that human troops have attacked the border near Ashvarin several times. Stanik intercepted a pigeon stating that the humans expect to attack again before the first snowfall.” Gilead fires off the information in rapid succession, their voice growing louder.
My breath catches in my throat as I slip into the next corridor, pressing my back against the towering bookshelf. Footsteps echo against the marble floors, and my heart pounds with suspense. Every muscle tenses as I pray the shadows will hide me from view.
“Let Sebastian defend his border.” Wrath’s voice echoes throughout the library. “We’re not leaving with this so-called resistance running amok.” The word resistance is laced with venom. “Rykaris can send troops.”
I press myself tighter against the shelves, wishing I could merge into the books and disappear. Holding my breath, I try to silence myself completely as they stop in the aisle beside mine. Wrath’s magic bristles against my skin, causing me to tremble from the sensation.
“They're after Raelys,” Gilead says. “Just give the human princess back.”
“I will not.” Wrath refuses. “I would rather burn Dratheria to the ground than give her back.”
Shock coils in my chest at his words. Wrath has no intention of letting me go. The King sees me as a key to breaking the curse. If I fail—if I prove useless—what then? Will he cast me aside, discard me like a broken tool no longer worth keeping?
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Gilead replies. “What of the plans to cut off trade to Oderris before winter?”
“We’re moving forward with it.”
“Anything else?” Gilead asks.
“Write to Duke Nikolas Sterling of Thalvar,” Wrath commands. “Tell him I’ve got a deal for him.”
The echo of Gilead’s footsteps fades in the distance. Every nerve in my body fires at once, yet I stay frozen. I don’t move, don’t breathe—not until the library door creaks open.
“How long are you going to stay like that?”
I let out a yelp in shock.
Whirling, I see Wrath behind me. He eyes me with intrigue as he crosses his arms over his chest. I watch his corded muscles flex beneath his tunic. It is the kind of strength gained only from years of relentless combat. It infuriates me that I allow his physique to catch my eye.
“You scared the shit out of me!” I say in dismay, keeping my voice low.
Wrath laughs. Actually laughs. His lips part, the scar on his jaw pulled tight. It’s the first time I’ve seen him truly smile. It catches me off guard, my anger waning. I didn’t know Wrath was capable of any emotion behind his cold, stoic exterior.
“Why are you barefoot, Raelys?”
“No reason.” I toss my slippers down and slide my feet into them.
“Snooping around, are we?” Wrath says in amusement, knowing he’s caught me.
“No.” I huff, paying him no heed. I turn down the previous aisle. “I was reading this book about my mother.” I pluck the text from the dais, holding it up and pointing at the page.
“The battle for Grimhold Crossing,” Wrath says. “A classic.”
“Were you there?”
“That battle was nearly thirty years ago. How old do you think I am?” His lips press into a thin line.
My words must have struck a nerve. I keep the conversation lighthearted to distract him. “I don’t know. Don’t Elvarrans live forever… or something?”
“We have slightly longer lifespans than humans, but we are not immortal. About two to three hundred years,” he explains, not elaborating further.
“So… how old are you?” I ask curiously.
“Thirty-four,” Wrath replies. “I think you reading ancient Elvarran texts counts as snooping, Princess.”
“What are you going to do? Lock me in the dungeon?” I taunt, returning the book to the dais.
“I’m considering it.” Wrath’s eyes glint with amusement.
I continue to mock him, making a sweeping gesture. “I hereby sentence you to the crime of reading! Head on a pike, immediately!”
“That’s a great idea,” he says smugly.
Wrath takes a step closer to me. The space between us closes. I feel the brush of his magic against my skin once more, my mark tingling in response. Something shifts as the air charges with a surge of magnetism. When I’m around him, every breath feels sharper—as if the world is amplified tenfold.
“I can only read one book so many times before growing bored,” I reply sweetly, tilting my head to look up at him.
“How many times have you read The Warlord Chronicles?” Wrath asks curiously.
I shrug. “Hundreds?”
“Hundreds?” Wrath repeats, his interest piqued. “What’s your favorite part?”
“Understand yourself. Understand your foe. For the enemy of my enemy may become my ally.” I quote the book perfectly.
“Trust in this truth, and you may find unexpected strength in unlikely places,” we say in unison. “The sharpest blade is wielded not by a steady hand, but with cunning, patience, and wisdom.”