“It’s the source of all of our magic,” he replies. “It’s very sacred to the Elvarrans.”
“That seems like important information for you to be sharing with the enemy.” I get slightly suspicious of how open he’s being with me.
Wrath shrugs. “I don’t think you understand how important the Izydor’s are.”
He is right. I don’t understand anything about my mother’s side of the family. After she disappeared, my father forced me never to speak of her. If Wrath speaks truth, what does that mean for me?
“You believe it’s connected to the curse?”
“Not the spring,” Wrath corrects me. “But your mother.”
“Why would I be willing to help you?” Irritation frays my nerves.
“I need you to tell me the details of your mother's death.” Wrath walks between two towering shelves of ancient tomes.
“I was a child. Maybe ten?” I follow him closely. The aisle is dimly lit and far too narrow for my liking, making me slightly uneasy.
“How often did you see her?” Wrath scans the shelves, fingertips brushing along the spines.
“Only in the summer, for a few weeks.” I am not sure why I’m speaking so openly. Maybe it is because I know if I don’t, he’ll only force my words out with his magic. I don’t want to feel that pain again. Beyond that, though, I think a part of me wants to seek to learn the truth about my mother’s fate, even if I have to share pieces of it with Wrath to get it.
“Do you know where or how she passed?”
“No.” I shake my head. “One summer, the time had come to visit with her, but she never came. I was then bound to the castle walls and forbidden to speak of it.”
“No one else knows?” Wrath plucks a thick leather-bound book off the shelf. He holds it out for me to take.
“Just you and my father,” I reply, taking the book from him.
It’s unbelievable that they have a copy in such pristine condition. Mine has missing pages, tattered edges, and a broken spine. Wear has erased the letters from the cover and spine, keeping me from knowing the author’s name.
“Raelys, I strongly suggest you continue to hide your lineage,” he urges.
Our bodies are nearly touching in the narrow aisle, close enough that I can feel his breath brush against my skin. The air thickens with tension, neither of us daring to look away. Unspoken words stretch between us, fragile as a bridge suspended over a canyon.
“You think I would trust anyone enough to share that with them? You should know, as you were the one who ripped the secret from me,” I remind him.
Ire ripples across his features. I pushed him too far, and now I will face the consequences. I need him to provide me with more information about the Elvarrans, so that I caninform Valentin—that is, as soon as I discover how to reach him.
“This could end the war,” Wrath says, voice deadly serious.
“A war that you started!”
“A war I see no issue in continuing.”
We face each other in a silent battle of wills. Neither of us yields, both too stubborn to give into the other’s demands. For the first time, I feel the weight of someone else’s resolve pressing back against mine.
Wrath and I will surely be the end of each other.
“Thank you for the book.” I turn on my heel, exiting the narrow corridor.
Anger thrums in my veins. A faint trickle of magic runs up my arm, setting my nerves ablaze. The air hums between us, tight and trembling, ready to snap. I press forward without looking back, exiting the library and putting as much space between us as possible. I glance down at the new copy of the Warlord Chronicles. Twisting the book to glance at the spine, I read the author's name for the first time.
C. V. Bainbridge.
I read it again.
Bainbridge—the King’s house name. Did his father write the book? Or maybe an uncle or grandfather? My mind races over every possibility as I take the book to my room. I set it down and scour every page to ensure I don’t miss a single detail.
