Chapter 8
I know the items that were used to cast the curse. And I know where one of them has to be. I think. I just don’t yet know how to actually break it. I have an inkling that I need to find and reunite those same items, but I have yet to find anything written that confirms that. It’s just a guess.
When I was fourteen years of age, I stumbled upon an old journal in the stacks. It was dusty, the pages were browning, but for some reason, it called to me. So I grabbed it, and I began to read. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I had stumbled upon something arcane.
When the curse was first cast, scholars used to study it endlessly.
They feared what it would do to the land, to the people, to all life.
But eventually, when the elves realized it favored them greatly over everyone else, they stopped trying to make sense of it.
Stopped trying to stop it. And that’s when we started to get arrogant and comfortable.
Now, no documents are supposed to exist regarding the curse.
All research was destroyed or lost to time.
It’s not a set law, but an unspoken one. One has never been seen.
The curse was created specifically to work in the elves’ favor so they could rule over the kingdom forever. No one would ever be strong enough to challenge them again.
What I still need to do is find all of the items and hope that reuniting them with a blazing fire will clear our skies for the first time in a thousand years. Easy.
The text said that the items, along with Ethmarel, the witch who cast the curse, disappeared. I don’t believe they were destroyed in Torrynth on that forsaken day, though. I think the witch fled, taking the items with her and hiding them across the world.
But again, this is all careful speculation and six years of contemplating and nearly spiraling many times. I could be completely wrong.
I really hope I’m not.
After skimming several more ancient texts—hours after the dinner bell rang through the halls—I decide to call it a night.
I place a few old books in my brown satchel, then lock up the library behind me. Sadia had an extra key made just for me years ago.
Just as I’m turning the corner of the first long hall, I hear a scream. And then a maid with hair almost as white as frost runs past me, crying and squeezing her arms around herself.
I halt, looking back at her, then back at the direction she came from. A grunting sound echoes from the room she ran out of.
My mind swims with confusion. I have no choice but to follow the noise.
When I reach the open door where the sound came from, and where the maid ran from in terror, I gasp.
Daegan stands inside the room that’s adorned with couches, easels, a few musical instruments, and more. It’s a common room meant to entertain.
He’s standing over the body of a male with a knife sticking out of his back. Blood pools on the floor around him, and his head, twisted to the side against the ground, is turned toward me. A sickness falls over me as I take in the blank stare of his dead eyes.
“I—” I stop, unable to get the words out. My mouth feels dry and heavy.
He sighs, like this is but a mere inconvenience for him, and rubs his hand on his forehead. “It’s not what it looks like.” His voice is dripping with malice, maybe even annoyance.
As if I’d believe him.
“I gave you a chance,” I stammer, unable to move, ice filling my veins.
I’ve never seen a dead body before, let alone one that was murdered so brutally.
I can’t keep my eyes from returning to the face of the guard on the floor.
An image I’m certain will haunt me for the rest of my days.
His open, lifeless eyes, his pointed ears. He was one of my own…
I turn, take a few steps, and vomit into the hall. I’ve never been able to handle minuscule amounts of blood or cuts. This is beyond anything I’ve ever seen.
It takes me a few more heaves before I realize I’ve turned my back to the murderous dragon shifter behind me, so I quickly wipe my mouth with my sleeve, suck in a breath, and spin around, making sure he’s kept his distance.
He’s stepping closer.
“Don’t,” I warn. But he continues his approach at a slow, tentative pace.
“Let me explain,” he says, his eyes and voice as cold as my blood feels.
“No!” I cry.
I spin around and run.