Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
OPHELIA
There’s no time to linger on the awkwardness of waking up with Emyr peering at me. He grants me just enough time to bathe, and we dress quickly before he ushers me out the door.
Apparently, where we’re going next is of the greatest importance to our plans, but I can’t understand why. How much can a book help us, considering how many we’ve already read?
The air in the bookshop is crisp—not a creepy chill up my spine, but an arcane aura of knowledge sweeping me up and pushing me through the room.
Despite being far from his home, Emyr moves with confidence, his head held high as he strides to the book clerk. “I believe I have been in correspondence with you.”
The clerk pushes her glasses up her nose and looks us over. “Prince Emyr of the Sun Palace?”
He nods stiffly.
“At long last. I’ve been holding onto this book for too long.
” She rummages around, huffing and puffing until she appears to find what she’s looking for.
The book she pulls out is thick and worn, with a gigantic arcane lock on the front.
She gives us a key. “You are not to take this book from the shop. You’ve an hour—perhaps less.
We must put it away if anyone else comes inside. ”
“Why?” I ask. “Is it dangerous?”
Her dark gaze moves to me. “Knowledge is power, Moon Fae, which means it’s always a danger to share.”
“Apologies.” I duck my head, not wishing to offend her again.
“We will be quick.” Emyr slides his hand across the countertop—gifting gold to the clerk. “There is only one thing for us to learn from this book.” He holds the large item to his chest.
“Then hurry along,” the shopkeeper says. “The sooner you’re gone, the better.”
I shake off the feeling of being watched as we retire to a corner of the dusty bookshop.
She seems worried about someone else coming inside, but the place looks as though it hasn’t seen another being in weeks, or perhaps in many moons.
Cobwebs hang in the corner of the ceiling, there is no natural light, and the bookshelves are in disarray, with pages revealed rather than spines and plenty of gaps.
It isn’t my place to speak ill of how someone does their job. I know now to keep quiet, and I do, settling into a hard, dusty chair.
“What is truly so special about this book?” I whisper.
“It’s from the Saturn Kingdom.” Emyr looks serious. “They specialize in curses. This book teaches not only how to break them, but…”
My stomach rolls. “How to cast one?”
“We shouldn’t be here,” Tibalt mutters. “I don’t involve myself with curses.”
“I know,” Emyr says, “but it’s not as if we can cast a curse. We’re only here to learn how to break one.”
Tibalt and I leave the reading to Emyr. He spends half an hour hunched over, his lithe fingers moving along the pages, until at last—
“I found it.” Emyr pushes the book to the center of the table. “Here. This is all there is to know, all there is in this great realm.”
I lean closer, my eyes wandering… but none of it sinks in. It is an ancient text, I realize, written in fae, unlike the books in the palace library.
My brows furrow. “I can’t read this.”
“That’s fine.” Emyr rubs his temples, letting out a harsh sigh. “It’s confirmed what we already know. The only way to break a curse is to convince the one who cast it to release it, kill the caster, or follow the prophecy.”
“Then you must marry Minetta,” Tibalt says. “It’s final. Nothing to be done.”
Irritation flickers across Emyr’s features.
I push away the envy that threatens to wrap its claws around my neck. “What about the sorceress? Has anyone tried to find her?”
“We’ve tried for decades,” Tibalt says. “It’s impossible. She doesn’t want to be found. Do you know her tale, Miss Ophelia?”
I shake my head. I’ve heard of the sorceress, of course, and accounts of the prophecy. According to the prophecy, a sorceress is meant to help—whether it is the same one who cast the curse or another is up to interpretation.
“Before he married,” Tibalt says, “the king fell in love with a woman—a mortal. A witch. His parents wouldn’t allow them to marry.”
“But why not?”
“Because she was not royal, nor was she a fae,” Emyr mutters. “The difference in lifespans. There are reasons such courtships are rare. So, he married my mother. Poor thing—both of them, the witch and my mother. If it weren’t for my father being such a rake—”
“The point is,” Tibalt says, “the witch became a sorceress. I assume you know the process.”
I know of the lives a witch must take and the deeds she must do to bind her soul to a devil, giving her eternal life—or something close. There’s a reason most witches don’t become sorcerers. I shudder at the thought. “To live a long, soulless life in favor of great power. Yes, I know of it.”
“Well, with her newfound power, she cursed my father’s land,” Emyr says. “The terms were clear. The fae of our land will grow violent and corrupt, killing one another for sport, until a sun prince is allowed to marry for true love.”
But Emyr is not marrying for true love, is he? He doesn’t say it aloud, but I recall our past conversations, and they all lead in the same direction…
If he marries Princess Minetta without falling in love with her, the Sun Palace will never be free. Helena will always live in darkness, and the common fae will continue succumbing to the shadow. My heart falls as if it were dropped from the highest tower.
“That’s horrible,” I utter.
What else is there to say?
It’s hard to say who makes me sicker—the sorceress or the king. If he had been gentler with the heart of a mortal, she wouldn’t have turned so sour. Then again, if the sorceress had reacted to heartbreak in another way, we wouldn’t be here at all.
Beneath it all, I am to blame. I must tell Emyr the truth. He must know who Minetta is—and who she is not.
“We don’t know why she made it so”—Emyr runs his fingers through his hair—“so easy to break the curse. Or perhaps she didn’t. None of this feels particularly easy.”
Tibalt scoffs. “Can’t be easy to find true love when we aren’t sure it exists.”
“A valuable point,” I say.
For Tibalt is right. I know with great confidence that Emyr doesn’t love Minetta, but perhaps he couldn’t love at all. I believed I was in love once, and she cast me from Far Water, like anyone else.
Perhaps the curse is impossible to break.
“Either way,” Emyr says, “the message is clear. She wishes to teach my father a lesson, but has done the opposite. He’s learned nothing.”
“Mhm,” Tibalt says.
I lean in, gripping the wooden table. “What do you mean?”
“The scorned sorceress tried to teach my father that true love conquers all, and that marriage shouldn’t be rushed.” Emyr lifts a shoulder. “But that has only caused him to rush me to marry.”
Emyr’s marriage to Minetta will not save him. He and I almost kissed last night. He doesn’t run to Minetta for comfort. He runs to me, or to Tibalt.
More than anything, Princess Minetta has lied to him—and I have a feeling Emyr is keeping secrets from her, too. Does she know about our friendship? Our nights in taverns? Will she learn that we nearly kissed?
What this prince and princess share isn’t true love, and the burden of knowing crushes my spirit.
“Ah…” I peer into a dusty bookshelf, contemplating what may come next. “I suppose we can return the book now. Come. The shopkeeper appears antsy.”
I must tell Emyr the truth about the ball and my attendance, but what good will it do for us, for his palace? I’m still a ruinous halfling.
“I would like to see the prophecy once we return to the palace.” The carriage jostles me about, and I remain pressed to the door, seeking comfort during the long ride.
We spend the entire day on the road, and after a night of rest, we make our way home. I’m not sure I have the best opinion of the Mercury Palace. It may lack the curse that has ruined the Sun Palace, but the only places I saw were the palace itself and the book shop.
Perhaps someday I can return and give it a proper try. If only I knew how to make portals, like Isa. That would be an easier way to travel than being tossed about for half a day.
Emyr looks uneasy. “My father keeps the prophecies under lock and key, but perhaps…”
Tibalt sighs—he’s done that often since we left the book shop—but he says nothing more. Nightfall grows near, putting Tibalt on alert, his golden eyes sweeping over the roads we travel.
I’ve done my best to help Emyr, but it is still not enough to earn his trust. Even if he has faith in me, his father does not.
“That’s fine,” I say, though his answer disheartens me.
“I’ll do my best.” Emyr peers at me earnestly. “Anything that may help.”
I press my lips together. “Why do you hate the thought of being married so horribly? Princess Minetta seems like a favorable bride.”
“She… is.” He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve always found it hard to swallow the idea of true love and marriage, and while that is changing of late—”
“Is it?” Tibalt lifts a brow. It’s the first time I have seen him genuinely interested, even teasing, since our initial meeting.
Emyr glares. “As I was saying…” He clears his throat. “Or perhaps I wasn’t saying anything of great importance. Please, forget what I said.”
“Hm.” I look away. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question, but—”
The carriage halts. The horses let out dreadful sounds of fear. The noise that comes from me is no prettier, a loud gasp that has me clutching my throat.
This is more than a horse being spooked. Before we can see it, I feel it—and Emyr must know. He watches me with such certainty that I wonder if he knows more than I do.
“What is it?” Emyr asks.
“It is…” I shake my head, my brows furrowed. “I think it’s the curse.”
“That can’t be,” Tibalt says. “It’s only sunset. We should have an hour still.”
Tibalt climbs down from the carriage and goes to the front, his hand already on his sword as he goes. Emyr follows him, and I touch his arms, my eyes widening.
“Emyr.” I gasp. “Please. You are unarmed.”