Page 205 of Between Despair and Hope

“She’s riding to Nara’s Cove now, but, if all goes well, she’ll return with me.”

“She is very intimidating to the patrons who like to yell. Her presence has made my life far easier.”

He dipped his head, running off to the back office as I sat down at the table with a smile, unfolding Cyran’s translation.

My dear friend Zaph,

This is the only book I could find about what you wanted. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with the prophecy. Didn’t the original seer say it wouldn’t come to pass for another five hundred years? Maybe more? Even with the font, we might be dead before then. At the very least, we’ll be old enough we won’t be able to do much about it.

As for your letter, do not be worried. He is surprisingly kind. I wish you wouldn’t be so difficult about it. And, honestly, what I do with Tannyl is none of your business, is it? You don’t see me asking about the things you do with the novices. I can’t help but wonder if it is jealousy which you harbor toward Tan. You promised nothing would come between us.

Anyway, I wish you luck with this prophecy nonsense. I don’t know what kind of favor you could possibly want, anyway. But please don’t ask me for any more help. The king is nice to me, treats me fairly, and I do not want to ruin things here.

All my love,

L

I read it a few times and compared it to the original on the desk. With the words translated for me, I could catch a few of them. The prince had done a good job. I sat there for a moment, one ankle crossed over my leg as I leaned back. Pondering over what I’d just read, it seemed clear to me this note was from Larke. Did I only think that because she was on my mind after what we’d found the other night? She spoke of the king in this letter, and I assumed she meant my father. She’d clearly stolen the prophecy book from our libraries, if that were the case. But between her letter and my father’s, something had gone sorely wrong. I’d done nothing but think about what could have passed between the two of them since we’d discovered his. He shoved her out of a tower, or so the stories went. In this letter she said he was kind, but clearly spoke of some sort of relationship with Tannyl. Had my father found out and done something to her?

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples before dragging myself to my feet. I knew Em said it wasn’t important right now, but something was driving me to figure it out. The last time I’d ignored my gut instincts, I’d set into motion sixteen years of torment. Grabbing the book and Cyran’s translation, I opened up a rift into my mother’s chambers.

The fire was lit, and the late afternoon sun shone through the windows at the end of the hall.

“Mother?” I called, hearing her doing something in the back of her chamber.

“Rainier? I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, coming out of her bedroom with a comb in one hand and a bottle of oil in the other. Eyeing me and what I carried, she walked back into her room. “Bring a bottle of wine,” she called out.

I chuckled, grabbing a bottle and two glasses from the sideboard within the living area of her suite before following after her. Her room was the same as I remembered it, jewel-toned greens and blues with white, flowing curtains. I remembered being young and watching them blow in the breeze from an open window as Ven and I took a nap on her bed. It was a short memory, not too important, but I’d remembered my little sister curled up between me and my mother, and I had wondered why Shivani never spent more time with us that way. I knew now, I supposed, but it was a bitter sting of a memory.

“Open the curtain for me a bit more, would you, dear?” she asked. The window in her bedchamber faced the west, so it would only get brighter for a while before sunset. After doing as she bid, I sat on the edge of the bed while she returned to her vanity. I watched as she parted her hair, taking a section and twisting it back away from her face.

“So, my serious boy, what is it?”

I frowned at the endearment as I brought the book and Cyran’s translation out, gently placing them beside me on her bed. I’d left the scroll of my father’s in my bedchamber, not willing to damage it. With it being rolled as it was, I knew it wouldn’t stand up well to disturbance.

“I found an old letter from Soren to Larke.”

“You did.” Not a question, but a statement. “When you broke her statue, no doubt?”

“You knew there was a compartment in it?”

“I did. The dead are best left as such, Rainier,” she said, an eyebrow raising as she looked at me through her mirror.

“Did he kill Larke?”

“No.”

“Why does everyone think he did?”

“Because,” she sighed, leaning back as she tied off the twist she worked on. “The assumption was made, and his council didn’t work to prevent the word from spreading. And he didn’t care.”

“How do you know this?” I demanded, suddenly irritated. She sectioned out another piece of hair. Why was I the only one who thought this truth important?

“Your father got very drunk on our wedding night, and he told me I had no reason to fear him throwing me off a balcony. After some prodding, I only found out a bit more, but enough to know he hadn’t done it to her. She jumped.”

“What? Don’t spare me the details.”

She finished the twist and started brushing the rest of her hair back into a bun, decidedly continuing her motions in a weighted manner. Slow and methodical, she seemed in no hurry to tell me anything. “Larke was…torn between two men. Your father and the elf prince.”

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