24. An earth-shattering truth
AN EARTH-SHATTERING TRUTH
ENORA
Jasper and I spent three entire days pouring fifteen years of unspoken resentment into beating the ever-loving shit out of each other in the stadium just outside the Keep proper.
I’d torn calluses off my palms, lost full range of motion in my shoulder, and stopped bothering to count the number of bruises I’d gained when I’d topple into bed.
Thank the goddess for Eilir, who was always waiting for me with a warm washcloth and the consideration to pry off my boots after I’d collapsed—apologizing profusely to them for my behavior earlier in the week had proven to have bountiful returns.
For the first time in ages, I was pushing my body well beyond the limits it begged me not to exceed and then some, and I was sleeping better than I had in months.
If only the same could be said about my tolerance of my oldest friend’s presence.
No matter how fiercely I poured my fury into sparring with him, the betrayal and resentment I felt just wouldn’t fucking ease.
If anything, I felt even more volatile, and my old, traitorous friend had a black eye, bruised ribs, and two broken fingers to show for it.
The mornings were easy enough when I was too damned tired to think about much other than putting one foot in front of the other and blocking Jasper’s assaults. But as the minutes turned into an hour and then two, my anger would bubble.
Sometimes, it was when he goaded me or put me on my ass, or when I’d stumble entirely on my own. Other times, I’d suddenly find myself unable to think about anything other than how he’d looked at me on the very last night I saw him before he left Odessa.
A memory I’d suppressed for so many damned years, suddenly as vivid as if it had only just happened the night before.
I was consumed with wondering if he had known then that he was about to break my heart, and that was why he’d gone along with our heated moment in the fortress gardens.
Had he already spent weeks, or even months, planning his departure?
Or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision to abandon everything?
The simplest course, given that we spent entire days together, would be to ask Jasper, but I had no faith in two things: his ability to be honest with me, and my ability to muster up the resolve to ask.
Who knew what damage the weight of the truth would do to my increasingly capricious mental state? Even my soon-to-be husband made himself incredibly scarce after I’d ripped him a new asshole when he’d shown up midday on my second day of training and thought he had an open invitation to critique.
Well, it was that, or the ride we’d shared the day before that had rattled him so much, he made one attempt at engaging with me before accepting he found my physical presence truly revolting.
Needless to say, when Jasper suggested we give our bodies a morsel of rest and spend some time focusing on the intellectual side of my preparation for the Agōn Ferr, I begrudgingly accepted.
The dressing-down I got from Eilir about taking care of my mortal flesh when I had to ask for help to tie the laces on my vest was not one I wanted to go through again.
“I still think you should have stayed in your bed all day, princess,” they prattled on behind me as I shut my quarters’ door behind us. “Or spent at least half the day in a hot, steaming bath! I could have brought you salted oils from the woods!”
“I’m going to be fine, Eilir, I promise.” I flashed them the most reassuring smile I could and tried to ignore how that somehow caused a twinge in my shoulder. “As long as I spend a couple of days anywhere but the arena, I’ll be back to normal in no time.”
The sprite came to a stop, hovering in front of my face, hands planted on its hips. “You’re still bleeding. That’s not very proper for a visit to the archives. The archivists will not be happy that you’re there if you bleed your strange red blood all over their ancient texts.”
As if I needed a reminder of that—the ever-growing burgundy spot on the bandages I had just wrapped around my hand only an hour earlier served well enough.
Just in case, I had grabbed another bundle of bandages and stuffed them into a small waist bag I’d found in my wardrobe.
“My blood is not strange, thank you,” I snipped back, “and I won’t be getting it on anything, so you can stop worrying. Please.”
The sprite huffed and spun around, fluttering away from me down the hall. I had to pick up a brisk pace to keep up with them—so much for the rest they thought I so ardently needed.
“Is there anything else pertinent I should know about these archives?” I asked. “Besides some ornery scribes, of course. We had plenty of those in Odessa, trust me. I’ll make sure I don’t cough or sneeze or touch anything that looks like it might be priceless.”
“These archives,” Eilir scoffed. “You say it as if they are something so boring.”
Oh, goddess, help me.
Maybe I should’ve taken another round of beating in the stadium or risked getting lost in the Keep trying to find the archives on my own.
“Well, Eilir, I don’t know anything about them, so, yes, they sound rather boring right now.”
They tutted.
“These archives were built by the late Queen Lenora, Max’s great-great-great-grandmother, and it has been the duty of Grimmoria’s royal ladies ever since to see that they were well maintained. Except for, well…” Eilir frowned but didn’t let that deter them long.
“Never mind that. These archives have the largest collection of dark fae antiquities in the entire kingdom, and someday, they will be your responsibility as well, seeing as Max clearly has not told you about that yet.”
“No,” I sighed. “He definitely never mentioned that.”
Someday was months away at the very most, not the immeasurable time Eilir made it sound like.
We were only weeks out from the tournament and, as long as I wasn’t a casualty, I’d be marrying Eilir’s precious Maksym shortly after it ended.
“Well, that’s no matter for now.” Eilir phased through a door at the end of the hall and left me to nearly collide with it in my fatigue. I yanked it open with a curse and took the spiral stairs behind Eilir quickly.
“Since Max returned and brought Jasper along, the two of them have seen much of the neglect restored and have done a rather impressive job.” There the sprite went, sounding like a proud parent of the two men who had done little other than aggravate me endlessly.
“They both spend plenty of time there, so I’m sure one of them will give you everything you need to know when the time comes.
But you’ve got plenty else to worry about for the time being. ”
“Thank you for reminding me.” I huffed a dry laugh before hesitating on a step.
We were still going down. I was certain we should have already been on the ground floor a dozen or more steps ago, easily.
“Eilir, how much farther is it?”
Their quiet hum echoed up the stone stairwell, which smelled a bit too much like my damp jail cell had.
“Only another six or seven more dozen steps for you, I think.”
“Only?” I whined. I should have stayed in bed.
Grimmoria really was the antithesis of Odessa.
Down in the archives, a cavernous space that sprawled out in front of Eilir and me, there were no markers of what I’d grown up associating with such a place of learning.
There were no grand, vaulted ceilings or glass-domed reading rooms—only the pale-blue glow of countless dozens of nytefire lanterns strung about rafters and metal catwalks.
There were books aplenty, of course—probably tens of thousands of volumes tucked on dark wood shelves in the upper and lower levels. Between them all, in glass cabinets and on top of gilded pedestals, were Grimmorian artifacts in the dozens.
Ceremonial-looking weaponry, carved stone tablets and obelisks, even pieces of jewelry that made my brows climb.
Nothing of the sort was ever left on display like that at our archives in Odessa.
But mixed into all the grandeur was unmistakable disrepair—collapsed shelves and piles of tomes left in tatters, broken glass and displays too.
Devastating that in the seventy or so years since Maksym’s mother was executed, only the last few years had seen the space given a measure of care.
As much as I didn’t love reading about history or being lectured about it by my tutors, one thing they always said was how kingdoms went to exceptional lengths to protect their history, their artifacts, and their knowledge.
That was why there were always records, to some extent, of civilizations that had come and gone in the past.
Clearly, old King Callum hadn’t held interest in such.
Amidst the stark contrast of orderly archives and historical ruins, quiet chatter echoed from two voices whose owners I didn’t need to see to recognize.
I didn’t know if I particularly felt like seeing either of them, but the sprite had taken my hand, as if sensing the precipice of bolting I was on, and was tugging me into the space.
“I would’ve preferred to be the one to give you a proper tour,” Eilir said.
“But I was given explicit instructions to deliver you straight to your lesson and nothing more.” They lowered their squeaky voice to a whisper and added, “But I’ll bring you back soon again, I promise.
Just you and me. I know more about the inside of these walls than Max or Jasper could ever dream of, trust me. ”
Oh, Eilir. I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll trust you.”
They looked so damn pleased before they let go of my hand and zipped on ahead.
The insufferable king and his infuriating mage were at a work table halfway across the space—Jasper lowered into a chair, hoodless and as pensive-looking as ever. Maksym was leaning against the table, talking rather animatedly with his hands.
How they hadn’t noticed the humming buzz of Eilir’s wings, I did not know, but in a blink, the sprite vanished and appeared right beside Maksym.
The king went stiff, letting out a yelped profanity, and the sprite started cackling. Jasper looked pretty fucking amused too, but I didn’t feel like looking at his face, still sporting a rather visible black eye.