Page 32 of Jeweler to the Blessed
My stomach should be plummeting at the discovery that stealing fear to wield nightmares was real. Instead, my entire body was alight with it.
This was … different. It felt good. What was happening? I’d been so scared when my guard lunged for me, believing he touched my skin. I knew it wasn’t his intent, but our bodies shuffled as he moved to defend me. For the first time in my life, the guard touching my skin was not the worst thing to happen.
I looked down at him. His knee was bent, his hands were at his temples, and his face pinched like he was in pain. He didn’t scream like the others. It was a testament to my guard’s mental strength that even as his nightmares caged him, he didn’t break.
Nightmare was wielded by collecting fear, a power history claimed could only be used by the Cursed King, a figure, up until this moment, I thought was as much fiction as fact.
The Cursed King was real.
He was here.
He was in Kavios? If Themis’s Champion was here, shouldn’t he be on the throne?
Finally, I came to my senses and dropped to my knees in case anyone else was unaffected. Standing out was the worst thing I could do. Assessing the scene before me, I didn’t see a purple glow anywhere in the darkness. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. This attack supported the Feared.
They named themselves after the Cursed King’s ability to take fear. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if he were real, he’dhelp them. But I was still adjusting to the fact that the magic was real instead of being hypothetical text on a page.
The Feared’s plan seemed simple enough: take me.
I swallowed. Kill me.
No more adamas for the Blessed.
I hated that it was a good plan.
Scanning the scene on the street again, no one else appeared unaffected. The wielder had to be close. I needed to get out of here before the Cursed King showed his face and finished what his followers had been unable to do.
My guard still knelt next to where I crouched. I couldn’t do anything for him. He came after me, even after I’d kicked him. Even when the fight was erupting, he’d tried to shield me. I shook my head. He also told me to get out of there. Well, that might have been a warning for the Feared too. Either way, this must be his job, assigned by Vaddon and the prince. He’d want me to get to safety.
I kept low, crawling on hands and knees off the side street and onto Cross Street.
My mouth hung open. From my previous vantage point, I could tell some on the main street had been impacted. Now, I could see it was the entire festival. Pulse racing, I crawled through the bodies, still not wanting to give myself away. Most were fully curled up on the ground. Few were on their knees. Screams turned into sobs as their minds trapped them, replaying their worst nightmares.
I glanced at the castle balcony, where, sometimes, a blue glow emanated over the city, calming the masses. It was dark. With a power display like this, proving incontrovertibly that the Cursed King was real and not a figure of legend, King Rodric needed to watch his back.
Limbs shaking, I crawled closer to my parents. Mentally, Ibegan cataloging everything I knew about the hero of Mother’s favorite book.
The Cursed King was … cursed by a goddess.Champions of Kaviosclaimed he was Themis’s—Order’s—Champion, cursed by Chaos. History didn’t detail what curse he carried.
He stole fear, turning it into nightmares. I looked around and had to cover a laugh as I crawled. It was wholly inappropriate, but that piece of information was now uncontested. There was no other explanation for the curled up and screaming masses on the street. No one else at the festival was standing or moving. This attack’s reach would be impressive if it weren’t so terrifying.
I searched for Mother’s chair. It should have been visible now that most people were below its height.
My eyes locked on it, and I crept forward. I was almost there when the twitching body next to Mother’s chair stopped moving. Another woman’s eyes opened next to her.
The magic was releasing.
They were awakening, and I needed to blend in. I slowed my crawl—almost there.
As the festivalgoers woke, the terror spread. The fear present in their minds permeated this reality. The careful balance between frenzy and excitement had slammed down on the scales, tipping toward panic. Citizens got to their feet and no longer wanted to be anywhere near this place. Some started racing to leave the festival. Some were still crying. The Selection hadn’t occurred yet, but the party was over.
As more found their bearings, more raced toward paths that took them away from Cross Street. The wide street wasn’t big enough to facilitate a mass exit soaked in nightmare-fueled hysteria. People turned on each other in their newly ignited fear, in their desire to get away from whatever they had confronted in their minds.
I was at Mother’s side. Father was getting to his feet. “Emberline.” He squeezed my shoulder as the sea of people around us rose and shifted. A mass of alarm turned to a mob of anger as they realized they couldn’t get away fast enough.
“We have to go,” I said.
Father was still shaky on his feet. I moved to his position behind Mother’s chair, gripping the handles to push her. He was almost steady when jostled by another festival goer, dropping one knee on the ground again for support.
