“No longerLore?”
“The nickname doesn’t feel right any longer.”
His gruff laugh echoed around us. “How ironic.”
“Why?”
“I have no problem confirming your statement. I’m Lorant, but…” He tapped the skin beside one of his eyes and blinked.
“Then you can answersomequestions.”
“Yes, some, and quite easily.”
“And others?”
He flicked his hand to the floor where he’d only recently laid, not breathing.
“If you try to answer questions about you and Merrick, and thecurse, something cuts off your air to keep you from speaking?” I asked.
His sigh hollowed him out, and he closed his eyes and opened them once more.
“Interesting.”
“I prefer to use the word agonizing.”
“Why did you try to tell me if it hurts you that bad?” I held up my hand. “Allow me to rephrase that. You wanted to tell me. I suspect you wish you could tell me everything.”
His face tightening, he blinked hard. Over and over until I placed my hand on his cheek.
“Stop!”
None of this could be true.
Could it?
“A few of the staff have blurted out odd things,” I said, trying to think of the better way to phrase my questions. “A curse. All the Evergorne kings dying on their thirtieth birthday. When I question them further, they stare forward blankly. They eventually come back to themselves, but it’s like they never said anything. I’m going to assume, a big guess on my part, that everything is related to the curse.”
He blinked.
I hooted, and my grin pinched my face. But when his joined in, my smile fell.
“Don’t think you’re getting off easy,” I said. “If I’m going to forgive you, I need groveling, Lorant. Solid, heartrending groveling. You two kept this from me, and I feel betrayed.”
So. Bitterly. Betrayed.
“I’m sorry.” Big words coming from Lorant, a man I suspected was stingy with his apologies.
“Everyone’s bound by the curse as well,” I said.
“Wildfire,” he breathed, blinking fast.
To think I was actually starting to believe this.
Somewhere, deep inside them, everyone working at Evergorne must know, but the curse kept them from remembering except for brief moments. This must be why they were compelled to remain here, each generation repeating what the last endured along with the king.
“Please ask all your questions,” he said gravely. “I’ll answer them if I’m able. Death is a cunning thing. It stalks a person and attacks when they least expect it. You’ve drawn your weapon. You’ve braced yourself for the attack. But like all the others, and despite every desperate thing you might do, you also succumb.”
There was a hidden meaning in his statement. “You meandie. All the past Evergorne kings died on their thirtieth birthday, and you have no way of stopping it from happening.”
