I open my eyes, breaking the focus and returning to square one. Wrath is right. I am too eager, trying to grasp too much. That is what’s causing me to overcharge. Clearing my throatand adjusting myself, I try again. Searching through the shadows, I let the magic come to me before shaping it.
Wrath’s fingers lace between mine, holding my hand. I relax into Wrath, and much to my surprise, he wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His thumb makes slow circles on my hip, and I nearly combust from the touch. Wrath’s chin lowers, and I feel his breath hot against my skin. A soft sigh leaves my lips, one of pleasure mixed with contentment as I completely lose track of where I am. Wrath’s power caresses every nerve in my body. For a fleeting moment, I surrender to the sensation, utterlyhis.
The book unlocks.
My eyes fly open as I gasp, startling out of Wrath’s grip. The journal cover flies open with a thunk, and the pages flutter like a ghost flipping rapidly through them. I stare at it, stunned by the spectacle as the journal moves on its own.
Then, it suddenly stops on a specific page.
Wrath and I both lean over the table slowly to read the journal entry.
10th of the Month of Sunbloom
Today is the happiest day of my life. My daughter was born, Raelys, and she is my light, the very breath in my lungs. Holding her in my arms feels unreal after trying for so long, but Seluna has blessed me with her grace. Raelys is now the reason my heart beats with purpose, and all of my magic flows within her now.
Gottfried is covering for me in Rykaris. Mycourt is furious with my absence, and I am unsure of how much longer I can stay. There is not a day that passes that I do not want to be parted from Raelys and Ulrik.
Tears well in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. “Fuck,” I swear under my breath, stepping away from the table as I try to control my emotions. Sniffing, I shake my head and refuse to let any tears fall.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
Not in front of Wrath.
“Sorry, I?—”
“My mother died giving birth to Barnham,” Wrath says distantly. “I never knew her.” He plucks a stack of letters from the table. “I have to drop these off. Stay here and read the journal. I’ll… return in a few hours.”
And then he leaves.
Stunned by his empathy, I wipe the stray tears away with my fingertips. I never knew Wrath’s mother was gone. Their father raised them on his own. I pick up the journal and flip through a few more pages.
3rd of the Month of Harvestcall
Raelys is six years old today. She has all the fire of an Izydor—intelligent, curious, and bright. I see the strength of Seluna in her, and one day, she will be the most beloved queen. I want to bring her back to Rykaris, as I know she’ll fall in lovewith the kingdom.
My heart aches. She never got to take me. I keep going. I flip to the very end of the journal, searching for clues about her death. When I finally find where the entries stop, I read.
25th of the Month of Springsong
My daughter is nearly eleven. The older she gets, the more she begs me to stay or wails to have me take her with me. It’s raising too much suspicion around the courts, and people are beginning to whisper. I can only travel to Cathros so many times under the guise of the peace treaty now that the war is over.
I have two loves in life, both of whom are in Cathros. Sometimes, I wonder if my crown is worth the cost of the time lost with them. I asked the guild to grant me passage to Elderaneth in search of answers.
That is her last entry. I set the journal down, bury my face in my hands, and cry. The Eldertree granted my wish, giving me enough magic to open the journal and get the closure I so desperately craved. My thoughts and emotions clash within me, tangled in a battle I can’t seem to win, leaving me with more questions than answers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I’ve never seenThe Whispering Willow this busy. A full band plays lively music as people dance and sway in the aisles. Every table is brimming with people, the majority of them playing Mystic Runes. Whenever someone loses a round, they have to finish their drink, leaving many patrons devastatingly drunk.
I weave between the busy rows as I slide ale to different tables, dodging flying fists every time a fight breaks out. Some men pull off their tunics and wrestle, a sight I’m not unpleased to witness. When someone loses, they start slinging magic at one another, occasionally singeing the corners of the furniture or the walls with fire.
A strange man is sitting at a table in the corner. His hooded cloak casts a shadow over his eyes, and a scarf wraps tightly around his nose and mouth, concealing his identity. Hints of brunette hair poke out from under the hood, a stark contrast to his deep brown eyes that pierce through the shadow.
“Anything to drink?” I ask, my words catching slightly in my throat.
“No, thanks.” His voice is raspy, worn down.
