Thyra
My heart feels raw. Stripped of all shields. Vulnerable and exposed.
I lost control of my grief. I lashed out with a ferocity I didn’t think I was capable of.
Stellen baited me into it, taunting me, only to take every scream and strike I aimed at him without defending himself.
I can’t regret the brutality of my sorrow. For the first time since I picked up the Dragonstone Blade, the hollow in my heart is gone.
Completely gone.
As if the more I had held on to my grief, the more my sadness had emptied me out.
Now I can accept that losing my father, and losing Antony, has changed me. It hurts, but it’s okay to feel this hurt because this grief has not broken me.
Stellen works quietly in the other room while I make my way to the bookshelf on the far side of this library and contemplate all of the scrolls.
I have no idea where to start until I spy labels along eachshelf, each one etched into a silver plate surrounded by the protective ice Stellen warned me about.
The set of shelves I’m currently standing in front of appears to deal with the kingdom’s flora, including frost-resistant varieties of plants, while the next set of shelves deals with other wildlife.
I reach the maps. A small section, which will make choosing easy. Taking note of their location, I move on, seeking anything to do with the curse or the Dragonstone Blade, not that I expect the shelves to be labeled as such, but I find sections dealing with historical accounts.
The final bookshelf sits behind a wooden desk that has cracks in its surface.
There are no labels on the shelves of this final bookcase. Rather, they house multiple ornate chests, each one flat and rectangular, their contents fully concealed.
Stellen appears in the adjoining doorway. For a second, I discern tension in his shoulders and jaw before it vanishes.
“Are you ready to choose?” he asks.
“All of the historical maps,” I say, pointing to them. “Everything in the historical section about the curse, the False Queen, or the Dragonstone Blade.” I pause. “Likewise for the contents of these boxes.”
Stellen retrieves a large satchel from the bottom shelf of the bookshelf I’m standing in front of and within minutes, he’s deposited into it three of the maps and ten scrolls he chooses from the other bookshelves, including one he retrieves from the papers scattered across the floor.
Finally, he reaches for one of the ornate chests, placing it within the satchel.
“What about the rest of these?” I ask, pointing to the other boxes, curious about their contents.
“You don’twant those.”
I tilt my head slightly. “Why not?”
His jaw clenches. “Because they contain the spoils of death.”
My forehead crinkles more deeply. “I don’t understand.”
“Trophies.” His face is blank and his voice is tight. “Mementos taken from every royal sibling killed across generations.”
I back away from the shelves, my stomach turning, and gesture at the satchel he’s holding, which now contains one of the ornate chests. “Then I don’t want that box, either.”
He closes his hand over mine before I can get too far. “This box belongs to me. It doesn’t contain trophies. In fact, the scroll within it is one of the most important documents in the entire collection. I want you to see it.”
“Okay, then.” But I don’t miss the surprising tremble in his hand before he lets me go and hands me the satchel.
“When we get back up top, we can attach this bag to the straps of the satchel Nara’s already carrying,” he says. “For now, get to the stairs. I need to use my power to create a smooth path for the coffin to travel through this room and up the staircase.”
I take his warning seriously. I felt the immense cold when I was in the other room, the kind of ice that would strip the flesh off my bones if I touched it. Even if I were to pull on my Alak-Teahan cloak with its thick mittens, I wouldn’t be safe.
