What did that mean?I grabbed the paper and pen I’d magicked with Lord Briscalar’s guidance and asked the pen to write the poem down. I was grateful I had a way to preserve this riddle, because as soon as my pen stopped scribbling, the words disappeared fromEmber’s Shadow. I flipped through the book again but only found blank pages.
After tucking it and the pad of paper into a box on an upper shelf in my closet, I returned to the bed and leaned back against the headboard, thinking about the riddle.
“A pledge of twin-born hearts was cast,” I whispered. “Weaving a bond too vast to grasp. Could that refer to Lorant and Merrick? Twin-born hearts. They’ve woven a bond too vast to grasp. Maybe.” I frowned. “I wonder if any of the others worked in unison with their other half or if they were at odds, each struggling to take full control. Did they even realize they were once one and split?”
I tapped my chin, thinking about the middle verse, but I couldn’t see how it applied unless I could call Merrick earth and Lorant sky or vice versa. But that didn’t feel right. And what about elder scales? As far as I knew, the elders were all fae.
“With hearts betrayed by fractured trust. What once was whole, now turns to dust.” That could refer to the trust I struggled to find for them both, something I may have given back too easily. But how could I do anything less?
“Turns to dust” seemed clear. They were going to die if we didn’t break the curse.
“And the last?” Frowning, I stared at the wall, not truly seeing it. “The path trulyisunclear. I don’t know what to do or even where to look for the information I need to end this. “Calls to dare suggests bravery, of course.”
Wasn’t that just like the fates? Winning always took sacrifice.
I would sacrifice everything to heal them.
But how? Plunging myself on a sword wasn’t going to fix this. I needed to be strategic. Careful. And quick because time was being sucked away. I’d wasted days already, wallowing in pain in my room, though I doubted I would’ve been much use even if I’d forced myself to rise and look for clues.
“A chosen bond will lead you there.” I held up my arm and let the red-stone bracelet slide down my wrist, revealing the mating mark I kept hidden. Was this the bond the riddle spoke of? If so, it should lead me…there. Wherever “there” was.
My sigh of frustration rang out.
The riddle may not even relate to the curse and my husband. If not them, then what?
Hearing my ladies moving about in the next room, I slid off the bed and joined them. The outer door opened, and Faelith entered with Farris bounding ahead of her, his fur damp but his enthusiasm as bright as ever. He skipped over and dropped his favorite ball at my feet.
“You’d think he’d want something new to play with,” I said, crouching to pick it up and toss it across the room.
Faelith leaned against the wall, her smile warm and easy. “He adores it more than anything. I tried a stick earlier, but he kept sniffing around for his ball like it was the only treasure that mattered.”
We left Farris in the suite and walked toward the throne room in our usual formation. Faelith strode at my side, Calista took the lead with two of my guards, and Moira walked quietly behind me. Surren and the other guards flanked us with sharp gazes and magic coiling around their fingers.
We descended the stairs to the first floor.
“I’d like to visit the kitchen first.” I turned that way.
Inside, the heady scent of roasting meats mixed with the sharper tang of spices. The kitchen was controlled disarray, withpots steaming and knives flashing as staff moved seamlessly between the counters and the stoves. The head chef, dressed in starched white, caught sight of me, and his thick brows shot up.
“My queen,” Dulvade gushed. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“First, I wanted to thank you all for the amazing dishes you prepared not only for the meal after my coronation but for the expansive spread you crafted for the masked ball.”
“It was nothing.” His face blazed with color that didn't only come from the heat of the room, and he dipped forward in a smooth bow. As he rose, his gaze shifted to Moira, whose face suddenly darkened to match his own. “Just a few dishes that I gave my own special touch to.”
“It was wonderful. I don't believe I've ever tasted better, not at Lydel Court or Bledmire.” Since I was a servant at the latter, and we didn't eat with the high lords or ladies, this was certainly true. Lydel was another world altogether, though my friend had only recently gotten her court in order.
Dulvade’s eyes sparkled. “It's always a joy to craft meals and light repasts for those who appreciate the subtle flavors I imbue in each dish.”
“I imagine it is.”
As I spoke with him, a small chall caught my eye, its pure white fur glinting in the warm kitchen light as it darted between the legs of the bustling staff. The creature moved with an almost ethereal grace, weaving its way through the room without so much as a pause. It halted near an extensive spice rack mounted to the wall, its bright gaze fixated on a pot simmering on the stove.
The chall meandered closer to Moira, rubbing against her leg, purring so loudly that it drew Calista's attention. She scowled at the beast and stepped between them.
Moira’s expression flickered with unease, but she forced a smile. “I never liked challs.” A shiver tracked through her. “Notsure why.” Her gaze met her mother's. “Remember that time one attacked me when I was small?” Tugging up her sleeve, she showed the faint white scar etching across her forearm. “It did this to me and it took ages for it to heal.”
“Challs can be unpredictable,” Calista said.
