“You’ve seen one with your own eyes,” he whispered back to her, “in Iseldis. Which was that?”
Isa thought back to the ball, remembering the terror of the moment when the room had dimmed, and the orb of light pulsating in the attacker’s hands. “Chaos.”
“And what is the one thing that can disassemble chaos?” he whispered. His eyes were completely focused on her now.
“Harmony.”
He leaned back in his chair. “There you have it. C-U-R-E-S.”
Isa had the violent urge to reach across the table and shake the old man. “What are you saying?!” she cried. “I don’t have a jar of salve filled with the essence of harmony to go slapping around on people’s curse wounds!”
“Quiet, child,” he snapped in a sharp whisper. “The walls have ears. I do not know these answers. Even I, as old as I am, have never seen these things firsthand the way that you have. I have studied and read, the same as you, and we seem to have come to similar conclusions. The only way to treat chaos is to soothe it with harmony. I know not how.”
Isa slumped over the table. They were so close. “Thank you,” she said.
Curse. Cures.
“I need to return home and relieve my mother. I will speak to my father about housing the mountain library here as soon as is possible.”
“Child,” he called after her as she left the study. “The only thing I do know is you are asking the right questions.”
She nodded in response. As she left the villa turned monastery, she heard the monks chanting their prayers. Despite the frustration and uncertainty in her heart, the bass melody soothed her mind.
Chapter 29
The next four days passed in a blur. Isa slept while the sun was up so she could remain awake by her father’s side at night. Her mother did the opposite so that Lord Bielsa would always have a family member by his side. Even Livia took her turn, though she was too restless to remain in one room for longer than a few hours.
Isa kept a stack of books in the sickroom so she could search for any other remnant of the harmony magic from ancient times. When the occasional feeling of guilt pricked her mind, she told herself that she was not practicing magic, just researching it. Besides, if the Council’s examiners had discovered as little as Aden claimed in their two hundred and fifty years of research, then she had little hope of learning something new in the space of a few days.
But she had to try.
Aden had sacrificed himself for his brother. He had left his family and all that he loved. He had accepted his fate. But she was not ready to lethimgo that easily. She wanted so much more than a bittersweet hero’s legend. She wanted the love she had dreamed about. She wanted the companionship her parents had found in each other. She wanted to argue with Aden for the rest of their days.
On the fourth night, her mind was too tired to parse the dense passages and ancient spellings of the old texts, so she pulled out her old favorite. She had not readThe Queen of Silverreignsince Aden had spoiled the final volume. It was too hard to read of Andrew and Amelya’s love when she knew how the story ended.
But, missing the familiar comfort of her beloved friends, she opened her well-worn book and skimmed through the pages, landing on the scene where Andrew broke Amelya’s curse.
The chapter was unbearably sad. Amelya had been cursed with an illness by an evil enchanter and was slowly dying. Andrew rushed back to her side, fighting through spies and enemies who had infiltrated their castle. When he reached her side, she rebuked him for leaving his post. Hurt by her angry words, he yelled back at her, promising her that his love would weather all storms and that, if she became well again, he would sacrifice his own desires in the future for the sake of bearing her responsibilities as Princess alongside her. Eventually, he kissed her. Her sickness did not leave immediately, but she slowly recovered.
Reading the story—especially now that she knew Andrew had fulfilled his promise in the end, fighting on the opposite end of the battlefield to protect their people while Amelya was killed—tore Isa’s heart. It didn’t feel like harmony. There was far too much chaos involved. The two lovers had spent their reunion at her deathbed yelling at each other!
She closed the book.
Perhaps they had it all wrong. Perhaps the story was merely a myth with no truth behind it.
As the sun rose, her mother entered the room and Isa took her leave, bringing a few of the books with her to return to the library.
When she entered the library, however, she nearly collided with a strange man carrying a stack of books.
“Could you grab the door for me?” he asked, his arms full.
She held the door for him and watched him leave. Turning back into the library herself, she saw Macklin counting out a handful of coins. She looked back at the closed door, confused. Her eyes saw the change in the room before her mind could fully grasp the situation.
The library was in complete disarray. Stacks had turned into piles, and shelves were mixed.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
“Miss Isa.” Macklin stood, walking toward her. “Your mother gave me permission to rearrange the library.”
