15. Flossing Threads #2
I already knew that, but I’d never imagined that setting out to find the assassin on my own put our entire relationship at risk. What was he not telling me? The words he’d spoken before we left for the Temple came back in a sudden rush.
‘I’m beginning to worry you don’t actually want to marry me.’
I’d thought he was only teasing, even if there had been some apprehension there. Surely, he knew I cared for him; I’d told him as much. But there were other things that required my attention.
Finding out why my mother was dead was my highest priority, followed by discovering why a dragon prince was weakening my hold on my own powers. I couldn’t fathom trying to plan a royal wedding on top of all that. Based on our conversation that day, I thought he’d understood—assumed he agreed.
Apparently, I’d been wrong.
What do I do? My breathing quickened, and pressure mounted behind my eyes.
Asvoria… The Shadow’s low voice sounded sad, but she went quiet.
There was so much—so much weighing down on me. Going north meant potentially finding the information I needed about my mother’s assassin. It also possibly meant losing the only man I’d ever loved. How could I make this choice? I needed more information from Anja.
I drew in a ragged breath. The Shadow was doing her best to help calm me, rolling in soothing waves against my mind.
I reached for my goblet of wine, throat suddenly dry.
Anja shifted in her seat and picked off a chunk of bread from the trencher between us.
The silence was stifling, but I couldn’t bear the uncertainty any longer.
“And if I do break that thread, Freya Anja,” I croaked, “what will happen?” I couldn’t believe I was even considering the possibility. But I had to know.
The sadness in her eyes struck like the blow of a hammer. “Most threads tied to the Heart Core are irreparable once broken. It is very difficult for the relationship to recover. I am sorry, but I don’t See any other details.”
“What can I do?” The Shadow could not even answer that question; I doubted Anja could.
“The choice is yours, Your Majesty.” She reached up to grasp the amulet at her neck. It showed the red deer that was Clan Kjaer’s sigil. If only I had some trinket to offer me comfort now, superficial though it may have been.
“So it is,” I muttered, looking back at the bread between us. My appetite had fled, replaced with the sinking weight of the paths laid before me.
Anja’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help. As I said, it is a delicate art, and an imperfect one. I beg you to take what I say with your own conscience in mind.”
“I will,” I said. But my mind was already racing.
Just then, the door from the corridor opened and a few servants walked in, bearing platters of food for the main course. I watched as they set the roast chicken and winter vegetables before us, waiting for them to leave before continuing. “Was there anything else I should be concerned about?”
“The threads from your Talons did not tell me much,” she said.
“It’s harder to read the Shifters. While I sense no immediate threat from them, you should continue to be cautious.
Arlbright, his thread is smooth and bright.
But the prince”—she shrugged lightly—“his is a little more frayed. I sense conflict there. It is not… danger, per se, but he does seem to have some ulterior motive for being here.”
The Shadow rumbled, making the darkthread vibrate.
“Yes, I had suspected as much,” I told Anja, my fist balling on the table.
But that didn’t make any sense. Trygg was a danger to me, simply because his very being affected the means of controlling my power. The proximity his position allowed him was most inconvenient, and put me, and others, at risk. Why wouldn’t she see something like that?
Without the details, it may not be possible, the Shadow offered.
Right, an ‘imperfect art’... But the intent should still be apparent.
Further proof that the prince is unaware of his effect on the darkthread. He does not think himself to be dangerous to you, therefore Anja cannot see it. She fluttered softly as she theorized.
It certainly made sense when she put it that way.
But my instincts told me there was something else going on with him.
The way he’d seemed so reserved upon our first meeting, but quickly allowed his arrogance to take over the moment we’d left the rest of the delegation behind.
All the snide remarks on the way to the Temple, and then his empathy upon my rude awakening from the nightmare. None of it was adding up.
I focused back on Freya Anja as she began eating the meal set before us.
I joined her, hoping to distract myself from the swirling mess of thoughts and emotions.
They settled sourly in my stomach, banishing my appetite.
Placing my fork beside my plate, I pressed into the back of my chair with a scowl.
Anja dropped her fork. “Your Majesty, what is it? Have I offended you in some way? I didn’t?—”
“No, no, Anja,” I said, waving a hand towards her, “it’s nothing like that. I just… There’s so much resting on my shoulders right now. Sometimes the weight is more than I can bear.” My voice guttered out on the last word, tears burning my eyes.
She reached over, offering her hand. I gladly took it. More than anything, I missed my mother, and the simple comfort of her embrace. Anja squeezed lightly, dragging a stuttering exhale from my chest.
“It’s to be expected,” she said, “but you are not alone, Your Majesty. There are those in this castle who love you, and will always have your best interests at heart. You have my word on that.”
I drew my hand away, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
Crying seemed to be all I could do these days.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it at least made me feel better.
But everything was stacking on top of me, adding to the weight I already bore in my chest. Something had to give, lest I be crushed under the burden.
Stupid, weak little girl.
“Thank you,” I replied, placing my hands in my lap and staring down at them. “I know I’m not alone, Anja. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness. But you will have to excuse me. I have much to think about.” I rose up out of my seat on shaky legs.
She stood gracefully from her chair, her full lips turning up in a sad smile.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said, placing her right hand across her chest in the traditional sign of respect.
“Please do not hesitate to let me know if I can be of further assistance. Or if you simply need a listening ear.”
No more words would come, blockaded by the lump in my throat.
I nodded and smiled as amiably as I could before retreating to the meager sanctuary of my room.
Once I was safely beyond the closed door, the lump gave way to a shuddering gasp.
Grief washed over me in a wave so strong it sapped the remaining strength in my legs, sending me to my knees.