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“Yes, it bothers me. It’s a reminder of many failures.” Which is the truth, just not the entire truth.
“And that’s all?”
Too perceptive for my liking. “What else should there be?”
Esme crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts together. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, knee-length dress today. I don’t see those on her much, but it suits her. Floating, silky fabric in a terracotta color that highlights her golden complexion wraps her body in an embrace, dipping lower down her cleavage than I’m used to with her, which makes it all that much harder to force my gaze not to drift downward.
“I’m trying here, but you and Mei are my only sources of information, and I don’t know how you expect me to make progress if you withhold things from me. I feel like I’m rowing against the tide.”
Her gaze shifts to the keys she’s holding, and her shoulders slope with the breath she exhales. “I don’t want to be the thirtieth key. I don’t want to think about what morbid symbol the curse will pick for my death…”
She shivers and shakes her head, as to push away the thought. The moment of vulnerability is an arrow straight to my gangrenous heart, and I fight against my body’s pull to inch closer and wrap her in my arms.
I hate to admit she may be right, but it would seem she does have a point. Discovering her nature has pushed me to keep information closer to my chest — for good reason, I would argue, but if my caution causes her to fail for lack of necessary knowledge, I’m doing myself a disservice.
I clench the fabric of my slacks in both fists. “It bothers me to be reminded of twenty-nine lives I’ve taken for a quest that has felt impossible to complete. I wouldn’t care so much if I still felt like I could beat the curse, but most of those deaths have felt pointless at best, avoidable at worst. But I can’t stop. Even if I wanted to, even if I’d given up on breaking this curse, I’m forced to keep playing. Every few years, I’m forced to rope into an unthinkable bargain another soul I’ll end up carrying on my conscience.”
It feels like my skin has been peeled away from my body as Esme stares at me, and the feeling is entirely unpleasant.
“You carry their deaths on your conscience. You literally carry their deaths with you. They’re physically on your conscience.”
She reaches for the egg and holds that in her free hand. “A symbol of your birth.”
Next, she jingles the keys. “A symbol of your regrets.”
She fishes the other trinkets from the box, laying them on the bedsheet. “The rest of this box may still prove me wrong, but I think… you are the common denominator of the objects. Your history, maybe? And the missing trinket could be… a piece of your history that’s not shown here?”
I shift in my seat, letting her words sink in. The trinkets displace with my movement, and Esme readjusts them. “I could be off on that last part. I don’t think we’ll know for sure until we decode the last three items.”
Reaching forward, I hover my fingers above the silver ring. I can’t touch it, let alone pick it up — part of the bloody curse, I can’t access the trinkets on my own. But knowing what the object represents, it certainly feels like Esme is on the right track. Each trinket is a piece of my history. It would be logical to assume some piece of it to be missing.
I’ve been staring at these objects for centuries, and it took a witch coming along for the dots to finally connect. It feels like yet another cruel twist of events that solving the puzzle may only be possible if I share myself with her, the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do. If I keep my distance, we could both be doomed.
But sharing myself doesn’t mean Esme needs to know anything about her own nature. That card, I plan to keep close to my chest.
“Remember I told you how in my world, families get to pick a newly hatched youngling to take home?” I ask, my fingers still hovering over the silver ring.
Esme nods.
“I was the first of my brethren to be picked.”
She brings a hand to her face, pulling her lower lip between her thumb and index, as she mulls it over. “Does that make you some kind of… royal?”
She was paying close attention to my last lesson on the Beyond. “Crown prince, in a way. The man who chose me is King.” A thought strikes me, souring my mood. “Or was, at least. I haven’t been back in centuries.”
I never gave much weight to the possibility that Razul may not be King anymore. A ruler can only remain so as long as they are the most powerful person in the kingdom. Razul was able to fend off challengers for centuries, waiting for me to be ready to step up, but he’s not meant to hold the throne forever. At some point, the Void will demand renewal, and send another powerful enough to shake the order of things. My only hope is that such a time hasn’t come yet, but the longer I’m away, the higher the chance.
“Wait a second,” Esme says, pulling me from my thoughts. Her hand flashes quickly as she reaches for the ring and brings it close to her face, inspecting it. At first glance, it looks unassuming. Just a silver filigree, drawing a rather gothic pattern of circles and spires. Even I spent years looking at it without drawing the connection. Esme puts the ring on her thumb, which is still far too small to fit properly, first in one direction, then the other. Her eyes widen. “This is a miniature crown.”
Not a question — I’m certain by now, she knows I couldn’t answer it even if I wanted to. But I can’t help the grin tugging at the corners of my lips. A giddy feeling bubbles in my chest at the thought that this could really be it, the time I finally make it home.
“I spent my whole life preparing to take the crown.” I huff a hint of a laugh. “The King didn’t technically choose me himself. His bride did. I wasn’t the largest of my litter, the most impressive looking. It took me a while to grow into all those things. Back when I was born, at least I’m told, I was… average.” The word tastes bitter on my lips. It’s a story my mother has told me countless of times — of how Razul wasn’t so certain of the choice, but he couldn’t deny his wife. She likes to tell it, I think, as a cautionary tale to her own husband to never doubt her judgment. “I came into my power slowly, but when other younglings stopped growing, when they found the limit of their magic, I just kept going. And going. And going. By the time I reached adolescence, it was clear my power would be unmatched. With that, the King found himself an heir under his own roof, and I… well, I got my purpose, I guess.”
“That must’ve hurt.”
I give her a questioning mumble, because I’m not sure what she’s referring to. Growing pains are a part of coming into one’s power, but all things considered, I wouldn’t say mine were that bad.
“Your father… I don’t know, it feels so opportunistic. Your value is dictated by what you can do for him. Isn’t a parent meant to love you unconditionally?”
