Page 120 of Frost and Death
I enter the library and almost drop my entire food tray at the sight of Jerrick holding an extra food tray in his hands. A startled huff of air escapes me, and when our eyes meet, we both shine before breaking into a fit of laughter.
His laughter vibrates in my soul, his mood from before he left completely vanished. Jerrick is the first to break through our amusement.
“I thought it could count toward an apology for my surly behavior.”
I beam, remembering doing the same for him. “It counts.” My love for food is an easy way into my good graces, after all. “And now weeachget our own pastries.”
Amusement lights up his features, a trace of relief smoothing away the concern from his brows as I join him.
“Did you find anything worthwhile?” he asks as he eases into his seat.
“No.” I give him a quick report of what I read while wishing I did not have to see the disappointment on his face.
Jerrick makes a valiant effort to hide his dismay, nodding quickly to move forward with our task. And in his lighter mood and seeing everything we have read has been a bust, I debate whether or not we would find any clues.
Sparing a glance at him, I lift my lips.
He is stretched across the lounge with one hand tucked behind his head, the other holding a book.
I watch him for a few moments, his comfort bringing me an odd sense of peace, before reaching for a cube of cheese and drawing my eyes back to the ancient journals.
Jerrick and I work through the day seamlessly, having built a system of books, ledgers, and paperwork to read, switching topics between glamours, curses, and the Deities. Yet disappointment hangs heavy in the air when Jerrick and I conclude the letters exchanged between our parents would not provide any clues.
And with each new day without any clues or answers, worry grows in the back of my mind. Worry that the curse was unbreakable, worry I would never be able to fix and save Axidoria, and worry of the unknown for Jerrick.
I remain vigilant as I skim through my most recent book, a journal of a past ruler mentioning there was a recorded decree of divorce, one that happened here in Palaena between one of Jerrick’s ancestors and his wife. The king had fallen for anotherand was only granted a divorce by every monarch agreeing and a priest from each kingdom signing the separation.
But in reading section after section of this journal, my guilt festers, and my mood sours. This past King of Palaena, who had ruled maliciously, caused much pain and distrust.
I scoff with disgust as I read his belief in the Makerscallinghim to cleanse his people.
“What did you find?”
Jerrick’s voice startles me.
My eyes meet his, hope faintly shimmering in them, and I gently ease the disappointment. “It’s nothing regarding your curse. It’s just—” I smack the pages, irritated I read so much of it. “This king was so cruel to his people.”
“Many of them are,” Jerrick states calmly.
I grumble, not understanding why rulers were uncaring and callous, why they would hurt their own people. “Did coming into abilities mean they no longer held compassion and empathy for others?”
We are all the same, as the only thing separating royalty from citizens was the magic in our bloodline. One would think that being a descendant of the Deities meant following through with what our priests and the Makers themselves taught us, to be a land that strived and lived for peace.
But so many rulers had used their gifts to hurt rather than help people. As my parents had.
As I have…
I toss the book down, folding my arms and hating to see so many falter into taking lives of others. Hating how I, too, found myself falling for this spell and have Niko rallying men behind me.
Jerrick eases up, bracing his arms against his thighs. He places his book on the table, eyeing me carefully.
“You care for your people?” Jerrick asks.
“Of course I care for my people.”
I may hate my powers and hate being around people on my dark days, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Their lives lie on my conscious every waking moment.
Some days, I can fight against my demons to help, and some days, I can’t.
