Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
The door to Wrath’s war room flings open, slamming against the opposite wall with a loud bang. A booming voice fills the space. “Begone. Now.” Wrath’s voice echoes down the hall, stopping me in my tracks.
“Y–your Majesty—” A voice trembles as a man backs out of the room.
“Hold your tongue. I tire of your voice.” Wrath steps out into the hall, homing in on his prey. “She is mine. If you ever bore me with such trivial matters again, you’ll lose your tongue.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The man takes off, brushing past me as he retreats.
Wrath’s jaw flexes, his scar pulling tight. His gaze follows the man down the hall, ensuring he’s left. As his focus lands on me, my spine straightens in apprehension. His magic coils like a serpent from his anger, ready to strike.
His expression softens. “Raelys.”
“Hello…” I reply hesitantly, trying to pretend that I hadn't witnessed the scene that took place.
“Do you need something?” Wrath asks.
I shake my head. “Just on my way to the gardens.”
“Come, then.” He enters the room once more, leaving the door open for me.
I glance at Kieran, who stands guard as I pass by. I step into the room. Wrath sits at the table, his workspace tidy as ever. His pen flows with an elegant script across the page as he writes. I notice a coat of arms hanging on the wall, the shield stamped with his family’s crest.
“I won’t impose if you’re busy,” I say, wondering if he isn’t in the right mood for my antics.
“I figured you’d want to read this.” Wrath gestures to an open book. “Since you keep sneaking into the library.”
“It was one time,” I rebut. Striding over to the table, I study the ancient text. Parts of the ink have faded, leaving me to fill in the gaps. A name sticks out as my fingers trace over the page.
King Ivar Izydor’s reign lasted nearly sixty years, bringing forth the Dawnlight Era.
Ivar was slain by Duke Warrick Wulfstan of Salasyr, who laid siege to the crown.
He was successful, sitting on the throne for eight days before being killed by knight Balthazar Bainbridge.
Isla Izydor was crowned queen at sixteen.
“Who is Ivar Izydor?” I ask.
“Your grandfather.”
“And Balthazar Bainbridge?”
“My grandfather. His actions ascended my house from common-born to high-born. He was given those lands in Myragos by Isla,” Wrath replies, and I glance up from the book to see if there’s any sign of jest, but he’s serious.
“That is what brought on the Age of Blood and Ruin—the previous war of the seven kingdoms.”
If Roderick is Wrath’s father, and Balthazar his grandfather, then who is Casimir?
While my copy of The Warlord Chronicles is battered and worn, the one Wrath gave me did not appear that old.
It must have been written within the last decade, as the writing style is more in line with present-day speech.
I’d had the thought before—could Wrath himself be the author?
Is his real name Casimir? I don’t want to believe that and have been denying the possibility altogether.
He’s playing tricks on me, a well-crafted plot to get in my head.
He wants me to admire him, knowing that I’d spent my whole life studying that book, so that I’ll help him break the curse.
It is a clever ploy, but I won’t fall for it.
“Ivar’s death brought on that much outrage?” I ask.
Wrath nods, standing to join my side. “House Izydor was the most beloved house among the Elvarrans. People did not take kindly to the slaughter of an elderly king.”
“And Isla’s death caused this war?” I continue with my relentless questions, my quest for the truth growing with each new finding.
“It wasn’t her death. It was when Nythara attacked the North,” he replies, eyes scanning the pages.
“The events line up. The curse happened shortly after your mother’s last journal entry.
She said you were about to turn eleven, and the curse has been in place for thirteen years, making you twenty-four years old, correct? ”
“That would be correct,” I reply, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I think Isla sealed the magic off out of revenge… or maybe spite,” he theorizes. “We simply need to figure out how to reverse it.”
Why would my mother do such a thing? What little memories I have of her are all filled with her kindness. She’s not a vengeful woman. There’s something we are missing, a piece to this puzzle that we’re not seeing.
“Is there ever a time when you do not think logically?” I ask, trying to crack that composed mask of his.
His jaw flexes at my insolence. “There are very few times when I do not think logically, Raelys, and every time you seem to be involved.” Wrath closes the ancient text, sliding it over and replacing it with my mother's journal.
My brows raise in surprise. Perhaps I get under his skin more than I think I do, as Wrath certainly gets under mine. We clash like hammer and steel, the two of us constantly trying to outmaneuver each other.
“Not this again…” I mutter, pulling off my glove and pressing it into the cover.
A lot of time has passed since my last training session with Wrath.
I’m wary of using magic like this again—scared that I’ll hit burnout like last time.
Worse, I acted like a drunk idiot around Wrath the last time I saw him.
I still only have a hazy sense of what happened between us.
Nevertheless, he places his hand over mine, causing my mark to ignite.
And if I’m being honest with myself… it ignites me too.
“You’re nervous,” Wrath comments. How he detects the minute shifts in emotion, I’ll never know. I feel as though he has a map to navigate me, while I’m left with a blank page.
I pull my hand away as I turn to face him. “Yes, I’m nervous.”
“The magic won’t work if you’re afraid of it,” he replies, lowering his arm to his side. “I know burnout hurts. You can’t let your fear of pain control you.”
“I’m never going to be able to do this.” My shoulders slump in defeat.
“Yes, you can,” Wrath counters. “You opened the first page.”
“I’m just a half-blood—”
“Halfling,” he corrects me. “You’re a descendant of Seluna. Don’t diminish your flame.”
Wrath told me the tale of Seluna a while ago. To be honest, I didn’t give the story a second thought. If the goddess's power truly runs in my veins, shouldn’t I have already been able to open the journal?
“The Warlord would silence their doubts long before the enemy ever could. Right?” Wrath reminds me with yet another word-for-word quote.
“Yes…”
“Nothing is scarier than being an Evokari,” he says coldly. “Trust me.”
“Why?”
“Most Evokari try to siphon magic from others to gain more power, but end up hearing voices and having surges of uncontrollable emotions,” Wrath explains.
“Too much manipulation of others can cause mental loops, where the user hears certain phrases or words repeatedly. It causes psychosis and insanity.”
“You’ve experienced that?” I ask softly.
He nods. “The majority don’t live past the age of eighteen. It’s too grueling to master; they end up taking their own lives.”
His sudden admission shocks me—a small glimpse of vulnerability that few could see.
It is a testament to his mental fortitude.
Do people fear Wrath for his command of this erratic power?
They are subservient but always wary, never getting too close to the one who could turn them inside out on a whim.
“Do you feel as if Remedari are more beloved?”
“Remedari have it worse. They take on the pain they heal, many shortening their lifespans on accident if they give too much of themselves trying to heal someone.” He sighs. “They often get phantom pains, even though no physical harm is present.”
“That’s so awful…” I have long viewed magic as mystical and fantastic, but now I see its equally complex dangers.
“You are lucky that you are a Verthari,” Wrath says, his voice distant. “Try again.”
I return my attention to the journal and press my hand to the leather. Wrath’s hand covers mine, now a strange comfort I’ve grown accustomed to. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to focus.
“Attune yourself to the earth first, power second,” he guides me. “Find the source.”
By source, I assume he speaks of Elderaneth, the well of all magic.
I sift through the noise and try to find the spring.
My palm erupts, and the magic pushes me back.
I go completely rigid as I anticipate hitting the ground.
Arms wrap quickly around me as I slam into Wrath’s chest. He caught me.
I look up at him, our faces close as I search his features for the incoming reprimand or anger.
It’s not there.
“It’s okay,” he reassures me. “You can try again.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Walking back to my spot, I try again, letting the magic flow through me as it did last time. My fingertips tingle as energy pulses beneath my skin, seeking connection. A deep hum of energy vibrates through the air as I focus on the journal beneath me.
“You’re going to overcharge.” Wrath’s words snap me out of my trance. “Relax.”
I open my eyes, breaking the focus and returning to square one. Wrath is right. I am too eager, trying to grasp too much. That is what’s causing me to overcharge. Clearing my throat and adjusting myself, I try again. Searching through the shadows, I let the magic come to me before shaping it.
Wrath’s fingers lace between mine, holding my hand.
I relax into Wrath, and much to my surprise, he wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
His thumb makes slow circles on my hip, and I nearly combust from the touch.
Wrath’s chin lowers, and I feel his breath hot against my skin.
A soft sigh leaves my lips, one of pleasure mixed with contentment as I completely lose track of where I am.
Wrath’s power caresses every nerve in my body.
For a fleeting moment, I surrender to the sensation, utterly his.
The book unlocks.
My eyes fly open as I gasp, startling out of Wrath’s grip. The journal cover flies open with a thunk, and the pages flutter like a ghost flipping rapidly through them. I stare at it, stunned by the spectacle as the journal moves on its own.
Then, it suddenly stops on a specific page.
Wrath and I both lean over the table slowly to read the journal entry.
10th of the Month of Sunbloom
Today is the happiest day of my life. My daughter was born, Raelys, and she is my light, the very breath in my lungs.
Holding her in my arms feels unreal after trying for so long, but Seluna has blessed me with her grace.
Raelys is now the reason my heart beats with purpose, and all of my magic flows within her now.
Gottfried is covering for me in Rykaris. My court is furious with my absence, and I am unsure of how much longer I can stay. There is not a day that passes that I do not want to be parted from Raelys and Ulrik.
Tears well in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. “Fuck,” I swear under my breath, stepping away from the table as I try to control my emotions. Sniffing, I shake my head and refuse to let any tears fall.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
Not in front of Wrath.
“Sorry, I—”
“My mother died giving birth to Barnham,” Wrath says distantly. “I never knew her.” He plucks a stack of letters from the table. “I have to drop these off. Stay here and read the journal. I’ll… return in a few hours.”
And then he leaves.
Stunned by his empathy, I wipe the stray tears away with my fingertips. I never knew Wrath’s mother was gone. Their father raised them on his own. I pick up the journal and flip through a few more pages.
3rd of the Month of Harvestcall
Raelys is six years old today. She has all the fire of an Izydor—intelligent, curious, and bright. I see the strength of Seluna in her, and one day, she will be the most beloved queen. I want to bring her back to Rykaris, as I know she’ll fall in love with the kingdom.
My heart aches. She never got to take me. I keep going. I flip to the very end of the journal, searching for clues about her death. When I finally find where the entries stop, I read.
25th of the Month of Springsong
My daughter is nearly eleven. The older she gets, the more she begs me to stay or wails to have me take her with me.
It’s raising too much suspicion around the courts, and people are beginning to whisper.
I can only travel to Cathros so many times under the guise of the peace treaty now that the war is over.
I have two loves in life, both of whom are in Cathros. Sometimes, I wonder if my crown is worth the cost of the time lost with them. I asked the guild to grant me passage to Elderaneth in search of answers.
That is her last entry. I set the journal down, bury my face in my hands, and cry.
The Eldertree granted my wish, giving me enough magic to open the journal and get the closure I so desperately craved.
My thoughts and emotions clash within me, tangled in a battle I can’t seem to win, leaving me with more questions than answers.