The corners of his lips turn down in a skeptical frown full of doubt.
“Excuse me?” Meela complains.
I ignore her as I look past Adrian into the dining room.
He must have been exaggerating. Daegan’s attention is solely on Yara, who seems to be telling an animated story.
I spin around and pull Meela’s arm into mine.
“Ready?” I ask with a high-pitched, false cheerfulness.
“What has gotten into you?” she asks with a growl as she falls into step.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chapter 22
I begin my long day of research perusing the section on elven royalty. The shelves are packed with journals, biographies, and anything else involving them, really. Plenty of material to skim through. One of the former elvish kings or queens had to know the whereabouts of the crown. Part of me believes it could be a secret passed down from monarch to monarch, which means I know someone who might hold the secret. I can’t simply ask that person though. It would raise too many suspicions. Too many questions would be asked.
As I set a few carefully selected, dusty old tomes aside, Meela eyes them, pursing her lips. “Is there a reason you’re researching Queen Viola who’s been deceased for hundreds of years?” Queen Viola was the elven queen directly after King Oshenar, who died about one hundred years after the curse was cast. She took over the crown after him and ruled for almost one hundred and fifty years. She never had children, so that family line died with her about seven hundred and fifty years ago, when my great-great grandfather became king.
“What do you think I read in here every day?”
She shrugs with a look of mild disgust. “I don’t know… romance, adventure tales, something a little more interesting…”
“These are interesting. And since when have you ever questioned what I read in here?”
“I did that one time!”
“Yeah. And then you teased me for weeks over reading that romance where an elf fell in love with a syloc.”
Her face falls, and she looks away. “Oh yeah. That one. No one falls in love outside of their species. That would be ridiculous,” she mumbles.
I don’t know why, but my friend looks… sad suddenly. I’m not sure what part of that exchange upset her.
“People do all the time,” I argue. She looks at me with a pained expression that I don’t fully understand. “Just… not the elves so much,” I add.
“That’s because we think we’re better than everyone,” she shoots back with sarcasm.
I raise my eyebrows at her.
“Anyway,” she continues, avoiding my gaze as she grabs one of my books and starts flipping through it. “Quit trying to change the subject. It’s your behavior lately that has me questioning what you’re reading.”
“Oh, wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just… you sounded like my father or something just then,” I jest.
She rolls her eyes. They must hurt from always rolling so hard.
“I’m serious though.” She sets her book down and I feel her watching me. “Okay, maybe I’m not good at this, but what I’m getting at is… are you okay?”
I tilt my head, narrowing my gaze.
“You witnessed a brutal murder, you asked Adrian to train you, and then you disappeared on some random adventure with strangers and didn’t even tell me?” she questions.
I sigh, glancing down at the journal that I’ve barely read a word of. “Am I okay… no.” I shift my gaze to the wall, focusing on a warm orange orb that flickers on the inside. “But there are a lot of people out there who are way less okay than me.”
