Chapter 27
Elsedora
He lay too still.
Averting my gaze from Emmerick, I took to dusting the small wooden figures on the mantel. Leo had carved them when Emmerick was a boy—a wolf, a bear, a hunter, a rabbit. The fire roared, warming my toes and drying my socks. I’d placed my wet boots by the flame.
Lark’s voice sweetened the air; it helped to have her here with me when I visited.
“‘Once upon a time, in the Kingdom of Phynx, a Princess loved a Prince. When her beloved arrived at the castle gates, he wore a proposal on his tongue and the armor of her enemies,’” she read before flipping a page.
I hadn’t heard this one before; she must have found a new volume. The romances were her favorite. Emmerick’s bleeding heart would likely enjoy them, too, if he could hear her.
After lining up the figurines, I moved on to the windowsill, gazing out into the Luz courtyard. Carts rolled in with wood and grain.
“‘They continued their courtship and spoke through an enchanted mirror, concealing their love from the realms that wished them apart.’”
The story piqued my attention.
A mirror?
“‘The Princess cast a curse upon herself—to sleep so soundly that even the healers would think her dead. All curses required a bargain; this one demanded a timeline. She would need to be roused within a fortnight or risk eternal sleep.’”
Every muscle in my body tensed. Sensing it, Lark glanced up over the book.
“What story is this?” I asked her.
She turned back to the start. “It is just called, The Curse of a Phynnic Princess. Most of these fables don’t have titles—they’re too old.”
My hand covered my trembling lip.
Lark’s eyes widened in realization. “The mirror…” she mused. “And a sleep curse.”
“Keep going,” I demanded with an impatient wave of my hand, moving to her side to look over her shoulder.
Lark took a deep breath, continuing to read, pace quickening.
“‘Only the Prince knew how to wake her. A kiss to the stone, then to the lips from her truest of heart would break the spell.’”
Flipping the page quickly, Lark read, “‘But the Princess’ choice of confidant was a mistake. Needing money to feed her family, the maid stole the valuable stone and left a counterfeit in the tomb.’” My hand shook, and I stared at the rise and fall of Emmerick’s chest.
A mirror, a tomb, a stone. A memory of Fen’s voice echoing through a cave. “It seems to be about a sleeping Princess.”
“There’s a drawing of the stone.” Lark gasped and lifted the book up to me. “And Sources! Aunt El, I know where I’ve seen this before.”