Chapter 13 #3
Also, her father had not mentioned the murals. Which meant he had not seen them. Had he not fully explored the cavern where the king lay before fleeing? Or had they been obscured somehow?
Xaviel, too, had seemed startled by the torches. And even in her dream, Keldreth had behaved as if they were new. Proof that she was the fated one. And if that were the case, did it mean that whoever or whatever had created this enchantment actually wanted her to see what was painted on the walls?
“Perhaps I’m meant to recognize the cost,” she mused aloud, allowing her feet to carry her deeper into the cavern, her fingers trailing across the wall as she went.
The surface was smooth and bore no traces of actual paint, lending strength to her theory that the murals had been formed by the magic itself.
“The curse is showing its hand, almost as if it wants to scare me off.”
She heard a huff from behind her.
“I’d be happy to inform it that it’s wasting its time.”
“Thank you,” Ryn acknowledged cheerfully, without turning to observe Xaviel’s disgruntled expression. “Whether you meant it that way or not, I consider your words a compliment.”
But yes, no matter how she looked at it, the evidence did point to a desperate attempt to dissuade her from following through with becoming the next bride.
So, did that mean Keldreth and Xaviel were right? That all she had to do was agree and the curse would be broken?
And if that were true—if she could genuinely free them from centuries of captivity—did that make her unimaginably selfish for refusing to try?
It was a question she would have to consider. Even if the attempt came at the cost of her life, was that an exchange she should be willing to make?
But they still did not know for sure what the end of this curse would mean, because its source was not yet certain.
Was the geas a result of backlash from the original magic, as Xaviel and Keldreth believed, or was there some other malevolent outside force involved?
And the answer might change the solution quite drastically, which meant she must take no decisive action without understanding more.
She needed to see for herself.
Turning to her left, Ryn gazed down the length of the chamber, to where—at least in her dream—the sleeping king ought to be.
And indeed, just as in her dream, just as in her father’s journal, at the distant end of the room, a shaft of light fell from above, illuminating a raised platform.
“Yes,” she murmured to herself. “There may be more answers there.”
She turned and strode swiftly in that direction and heard a muttered curse from behind her as Xaviel followed.
It was farther than she’d thought, but eventually she slowed and then stopped entirely as she drew near enough to finally lay eyes on the legend she’d been dreaming of for so many years.
As she’d seen so many times, the king lay atop a block of black marble. His bier rested on a dais, two steps above the floor of the cavern, and the dark stone was bare and smooth but for a single line of words carved in a language Ryn had never seen before.
“Can you read that?”
“When the fated mortal bride appears, the king will awaken,” Xaviel said in an oddly flat tone.
Well, that was delightfully vague.
“Then is this how you knew to search for a bride?”
“No. I cannot remember seeing this before.”
Yet another memory lost to the geas. Perhaps, like the pictures, the words had been written by the magic itself. Perhaps, like the torches, they had appeared only now, and were yet another proof that she might be the one…
But no. She was still not ready to accept that fate, so she turned her gaze to the sleeping king, and just as it did each time she dreamed, her breath caught in her chest.
In stark contrast to the black stone, the king’s hair was pale winter gold, and his skin nearly white.
He ought to have looked fragile, she thought, after so many years asleep, but she could still imagine him proud and commanding.
The lines of his face were noble and masculine, his shoulders broad and strong.
The hands at his sides bore the scars of war, and over the white clothing she’d seen in her dreams he wore a breastplate and pauldrons.
A warrior king at rest. Beautiful, and yet somehow untouchable. Not quite real. At least, not in the way Xaviel was real.
She glanced over at her scowling companion and found herself oddly tempted to smile.
He was, in his way, just as beautiful as the king, but different.
More wild than polished. More gritty than noble.
His silver hair flowed long and slightly tangled by the wind, and together with his pointed ears and overlong canines gave him the look of a wolf.
Fierce and feral. A protector, but one who’d been caged and beaten, prepared to lash out at anyone who came too close.
And in that moment, the smoldering embers of rebellion in her soul burst into flame—a sudden, fierce determination to free not only herself, but both Xaviel and Keldreth as well.
Not by giving up. Not by sacrificing herself, but by outwitting this monstrous curse.
No matter what fate intended for her, this was the only path she would accept.
The only one she was willing to embrace.
“I’ll fix this,” she whispered, and reached out, almost without thinking, to touch the marble-pale hand of the sleeping king.
“No!” she heard Xaviel cry, and felt his hand on her wrist, pulling her back only an instant after her fingertips brushed cool, smooth skin.
He was not fast enough.
All around her, light flared, the moonlight mingling with the torchlight until it became too bright to see. Too bright for anything but slamming her eyes shut.
The floor shook, and a roar surrounded them. Ryn lost her balance, fell back, and instinctively tried to protect her head as she suddenly recalled how deep they were within the mountain. Should this cavern collapse…
She was aware momentarily of a presence surrounding her—of being shielded by warmth.
And then she was aware of nothing, because the entire world went dark and silent.