I examine the stone closely. It’s lightweight and carved from a smooth material. Each side has a different emblem, one with a phoenix, a crashing wave, a shooting star, a feather, a mountain, and… the last one is hard to distinguish. Bringing it closer to my face, it looks like an eclipse over the moon.
“What is it?” I ask, flipping it over to study each side. The shape on the left lights up, casting a very weak glow. Turning it over, I look down at the phoenix shape. It’s beautiful and free, wisps of flame emitting from its wings as it flies.
“Fire,” he says plainly. “Isla was a fire user.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a Sorstone.” Wrath holds out his hand. I place the stone into his palm, and the eclipse lights up with a brilliant, blinding glow. “It tells you what magic the one who holds it specializes in.”
“I’m a Verthari?” I ask in awe, recalling the few details Barnham shared with me about magic while traveling.
“Do you believe me now when I say you are half-Elvarran?”
Wrath puts the stone back in my palm, and the phoenix sparks to life. It’s not nearly as bright as the light it gave off when Wrath held it, but it’s there. It is a sign that faint traces of magic flow through me—proof that something more lingers in my blood.
“Partially…” I reply hesitantly, staring at it for a moment longer.
“Suit yourself.” He plucks the stone and turns away, settingit back on the table. “I need you to open something.” Wrath holds up a thin leather book for me to see.
“What is it?” I ask, walking over to the table to stand beside him.
“Isla’s journal.”
Disbelief fills me. “Where did you get that?”
“I stole it from Rykaris.” He sets it down on the table in front of me.
Grabbing the journal, I attempt to open it, but an invisible force fuses the pages shut. I pick it up, trying to pry the covers apart with all my strength. When that doesn’t work, I resort to shaking it.
“You can’t open it by hand.” Wrath watches me struggle. “She used her magic to seal it.”
“Why would I help you take my mother’s secrets?”
“Don’t you wish to know the details of your mother’s death?” His tone is severe. “She did not die of natural causes. She should still be alive.”
“Are you implying my mother was murdered?” I set the journal back on the table, giving up on trying to pry it open.
“You’re the one who said she stopped visiting,” he reminds me. “Don’t you find it strange that she wed Gottfried and died without any heirs?”
He is right. It is a reality I don’t want to face. My father brushed everything under the rug so quickly, rendering my mother as a distant memory. Isla was a queen from one of the oldest houses. She wouldn’t have gone down without a fight—her throne was taken from her.
“Yes, that’s oddly suspicious.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But I’m not helping you.”
“Try it once,” he insists.
“No.”
“If I don’t find a way to break this curse, there will be no magic in Dratheria,” Wrath says harshly.
“That sounds like ayouproblem.” I won’t allow him to pressure me into helping him.
“Goddess above, you’re stubborn,” Wrath comments under his breath.
My scowl deepens. I stand my ground and refuse to give in. I won’t break the curse, not while he’s imprisoning me here. It may be a different kingdom, but the walls remain the same.
“Are you done taking your revenge out on me?” he asks.
“Not necessarily.”
