Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
BEFORE
“How did I know I would find you here?” Krysta asked as she entered the library.
Helaina lay on a thick fur rug with her fists smashed against her cheeks, face deep in a book.
Her feet twiddled back and forth in the air.
She had a stack of texts to her right that varied in size and color.
She had at least five assigned readings today; she would start them after she finished the current book between her elbows.
“Well, there’s only so many places to look, really. Stables, kitchen, or here.” She sighed. “It’s not that hard to guess.”
Krysta furrowed her brow as she approached. “It’s a castle, Helaina, not a jail.”
“Says the princess who has no rules, and can come and go as she pleases.”
Krysta didn’t know what to do with that. Helaina’s words had no bite to them. She wasn’t angry, she looked defeated.
Krysta thumbed through the stack of books at her sister’s side. Modern medicine and biology texts sat in a neatly gathered pile. The Oakmire library was vast—the room itself rivaled the great hall and was lined with vibrant colors, all categorized by subject.
“You’ve read these already,” Krysta commented, walking over to the sofa and sinking into a position of comfort.
“I know. Madge says I’m old enough to help in the south wing. These are the texts her apprentices read. Father gave me permission as long as it doesn’t interfere with lessons.”
Krysta’s lips curled in disgust. “Why would you want to help there? Bloody bandages and vomit . . . doesn’t sound that thrilling.”
Helaina shrugged. “It’s not about the thrill. People come to the healers when they’re in pain and scared. They leave whole again and happy. I like watching that happen.”
“What about the ones that don’t get to leave?” Krysta asked hesitantly.
Helaina’s face shifted, as if in deep thought. “That’s not so bad either, I guess, they go to the ether. Their suffering ends.”
Krysta sighed. “You’re odd, you know that? Who wants to read the same books over and over?”
“You’re right,” Helaina replied, a taunting tone spreading through her words. “That’s why I picked this. It’s brand new, at least this page is.”
Krysta stretched her neck forward, eyes growing wide with irritation as she recognized the book spread out before her little sister. The spine was ruby red, the handwriting her own.
“I told you not to read my diary!” Krysta shouted.
Helaina scooped it up as she rose from the ground.
“Oh, but your thoughts on the new blacksmith in town are so romantic.” She snorted while rereading the current passage to herself.
“Maybe tell Father to stop parading you around and ask if you can marry . . . what was his name . . . ah yes. Finneus.” Another snort rattled through her throat.
Krysta yanked the book from Helaina’s fingers. “What else did you get into while I was gone?” Krysta was fuming. She stormed out down the corridors, Helaina close behind, a low snicker still escaping her every few steps.
Krysta burst into their shared bedroom and immediately started counting the fragrances on her vanity, then she moved to her dresses, ensuring her property remained untouched.
The girls had just begun to enter adolescence and had driven each other mad on more than one occasion. Their father had even offered to split them up, to give them their own separate quarters. They had hurriedly declined. Together, even at each other’s throats, they would stay together.
“My diary? My clothes? What else? Hm?” Krysta’s face had formed into a picture of perfect grace. She had barely grown into her womanly figure, and already, she was a prize. Krysta was well known in the public eye, just like their brother.
Even in these troubling times, marriages and courting continued. In fact, it was considered even more necessary to ensure no senseless rivalries. The mortal kingdoms needed to stay united now more than ever.
Nevertheless, Helaina remained tucked away at home, with no suitors to speak of. Not that she cared about that. At the moment, all that concerned her was getting under her perfect sister’s skin. She couldn’t stop laughing as Krysta squeezed the book tight until her fingers blanched.
“I swear, Laina, if you don’t stay out of my things, I’m going to personally deliver you to Ash Cliff and see to it that a den of syren hounds devours you whole!”
Helaina’s laugh turned from joyful to nervous.
“You don’t . . . believe those things still exist, right?
The hounds, the night bears . . . the undead?
They can’t possibly be the things hurting people .
. . right?” She shuddered at the thought of those mythological books.
The gruesomely detailed pictures depicting creatures inspired by some sort of deranged nightmare.
She’d read that syren hounds could get as big as a stallion.
The same text said that if encountering a night bear, you might as well lie down and accept your fate.
They couldn’t be outrun or fought off. They were like living ghosts, their white fur speckled with slate and elongated horns that could spear through flesh.
As for the undead, she usually closed the pages of those books altogether.
Those ghoulish images were fuel for sleepless nights.
Krysta instantly regretted bringing the beasts into conversation.
Many still wanted to believe that whatever lay beyond Ash Cliff was a myth.
That the years of random bloodshed and abductions were caused by hungry wolves or psychotic men.
That was absolute delusion at this point.
No person or common wolf was capable of overtaking full caravans of soldiers and hauling their bodies off the trail.
Krysta contemplated her response carefully. She didn’t want to frighten her younger sister.
Helaina could sense Krysta’s thoughts. Her desire not to answer was palpable. She fidgeted, her hands pretending to massage out a crease on her gown.
Her sister sat beside her and grasped both hands, cradling them in her lap.
“We have one of the largest armies, and we have the fae to call upon if we are ever in danger. Our people are stronger than anything in the eastlands.” She squeezed her sister’s dainty hands. “We are safe,” she emphasized confidently.
Helaina’s breath finally left her body as she closed her eyes and savored the words. She sat on her bed and reached to her nightstand. She picked up one of her most treasured books, one of myths and legends, then began searching.
“These ones are definitely real, though, right?” She held her favorite page up to her sister, displaying a portrait of a horse as black as night with a mane to match.
The Alogo Mortis. The paper was worn but the eyes were depicted to glow like fireflies.
A pair of wings made of midnight feathers stretched atop its back.
Most would be fearful if they encountered such a beast, but not Helaina.
She wanted to see one more than anything.
Krysta sat down next to her, taking in Helaina’s awestruck expression. The begging and wanting for something bigger than her, bigger than this castle.
“Oh, Laina, those are very real. Adonna herself rode them into battle.”
“But that was so long ago, do you think they still exist?” Helaina asked.
“They absolutely still roam this world. Many still speak of their beauty and bravery.”
“Do you think one day we might see one? Here in Keles?” Those hopeful moonlit eyes beamed back at Krysta.
Krysta smirked, she loved this about her sister. Everything was so new and wonderful because of Helaina’s view of the world. “I think one day you will ride one.” She pulled Helaina in for an embrace.
Krysta’s smirk vanished when she felt something familiar perched upon her sister’s neck.
“Laina . . . is that my pearl necklace?” Her words turned from comforting to pure aggravation.
Helaina fiddled with a pearl between her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe.” She barked out a laugh as Krysta launched a giant feather pillow toward her face.