Page 10

Rows and rows of ledgers had accompanied the shelves Areanel searched through, but she couldn’t find the one she wanted. She had been sure that the tome was there! It had been for years, hidden in plain sight. But as the golden buttery light began to dim and the quiet bustle of scholars behind the closed wooden door slowed, Areanel realised that her hours-long search had been for nothing.

She hadn’t found anything relating to the Mortas or Lexx clans of The Deadlands far in the North. So, she started to search for a different name, one she hadn’t heard muttered in years: Tar-Angulócë.

Areanel’s gaze flittered up to the portrait hanging by the far wall. The scales from the bronze-gilded frame—fashioned into the shape of a dragon devouring its own tail—caught the gentle flickering light of the almost-burnt candle Areanel had placed on the desk beside her. The flame illuminated the image in a bloody red, and Areanel’s eyes roamed the portrait of her family—the stern, cold glare of her mother almost an identical replica of her father’s, who sat proud in his throne beside her. Edre’s statue loomed behind them, and Areanel could have sworn the God of Life scowled down at her through the painting.

What had she done to deserve such disapproval?

The flame flickered again on a phantom wind, and this time the red light highlighted the others in the portrait: Elmrynn, Keanduil and Nymlaris, no older than she was now, stood off to one side at the base of their mother’s throne. Each of her brothers stood with their tense shoulders tightly pushed back, and Areanel could see the clear divide between the princes in the portrait.

The eldest of her brothers stood tall and proud at their father’s side. Ivan, with a look of cold death and pure ruthlessness, laid his left hand on the back of the king’s throne. A clear message: he was the king’s heir. The light from the candle made Ivan’s features more menacing, yet also ethereal. It was a look she was used to—one that made him seem invincible. His other hand gripped the sword hanging by his side, as though ready to attack at any moment.

Beside Ivan stood his opposite; Silas. In the painting, Areanel’s older brother leaned heavily on the crutch grasped in his right hand. Even his likeness made Silas appear like he was knocking on Death’s door. How could Andas be so cruel to deny him peace for so long? Areanel was relieved to know her brother did not have to suffer anymore; at least that much she could be grateful for. Silas’s long, raven hair fell in a curtain, covering most of his face—but Areanel remembered the striking blue of his eyes, so similar to her own. Silas, like herself, had taken after their mother—their appearance beautiful but deadly. It was why Silas, despite his weakness, had been Queen Vada’s favourite. Whereas Ivan, their father’s twin in likeness, opposite to their mother in every way, had been the king’s.

Neither Areanel nor Percival were in this portrait. It must have been commissioned long before she was born. True enough, there—stood lower on the stairs leading to her father’s throne—was a face Areanel had not seen since she was a child. Micah—her half-brother and Aerileas’s first concubine-born son—had his hands folded before him as he clutched a journal, his silver hair neatly tucked beneath a white hood. The people had believed Micah was a Seer—just like the concubine who had birthed him, much to Areanel’s mother’s dismay.

Queen Vada had been the only Seer, a gift from the Elvadora themselves, until the king took Micah’s mother as his first concubine. Many believed the king had favoured her over his own mate and Queen, but would he have really killed the woman he loved and exiled their child?

After all these years, Areanel doubted Micah was still alive… but what if he was? Squinting at the portrait, Areanel searched the fine grain of fading paint like it might offer all the answers she sought.

She had been troubled by the thoughts of both the living and the dead ever since the young nymph, Nemelda, gave her that cloth. Fear, confusion, grief and rage battled like a tempest within her core when she had laid eyes upon it now.

The sudden creak of rusted hinges to her left startled her.

Turning, Areanel closed the ledger, holding her place with her finger as Percival slipped into the small room and carefully made his way through the mess of tomes.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you have terrible organisation skills?’ Percival sent her a smug, toothy grin. She didn’t know why, but his positive attitude suddenly irked her, grating on her already anxious nerves. ‘You have been down here for hours. Find anything important yet, or had the incessant searching finally driven you to madness?’ he chuckled, making Areanel roll her eyes at his foolish attempt at a joke.

She knew about the rumours whispered in quiet corners and behind fake smiles—the kingdom believed that the king’s children were cursed. Her older brother, Silas, had suffered from a terribly painful illness. In his final days, they say he had been seen blindly arguing with ghosts, driven to the edge of sanity before he died during the war.

Areanel knew the truth, though. His grief after Ivan was killed was what had pushed him over the edge. It was no secret that Ivan and Silas had been as thick as thieves; for Silas, losing Ivan was tantamount to losing a part of himself. Areanel sympathised. She did not blame him; if anything happened to Percival, Areanel didn’t know what she would do. Percival was more than her twin—he was her confidant. Her best friend. They hadn’t just grown up together, Percival had been by her side through everything. He was a part of her, just like she was a part of him—two sides of the same coin. She loved him, even when he annoyed her, and nothing would ever change that.

‘I am glad you find this amusing, Percy.’ Shaking her head, Areanel stretched her neck, trying to work the tight knot that had formed at its base. Rotating it from side to side, Areanel caught a glimpse of the dwindling number of scholars as they flitted about the ever-quiet library, now visible beyond the slightly-ajar door. From the looks of it, there weren’t many left. Had it really gotten so late?

Areanel rolled her shoulders, calling on her power—a low humming buzzed beneath the surface of her skin, sending a strike like lightning down through her arm until it reached her fingertips. There was a quick flash of blue—there one moment and gone the next—as she used her power to slam the door shut. She did not need any prying eyes or perked ears reporting back to her father. There were some things that the king did not need to know.

Areanel had to hide her smug smirk as Percival jumped at the sudden sound. ‘Maybe your ceaseless joking and positive attitude could be of actual help?’ she reprimanded, waving the book in her hand to emphasise her point.

‘Oh no, dear sissy—this is a task you opened yourself up to, which means you must finish it by yourself,’ Percival teased.

Areanel paused, disarmed. Did he really mean… ‘The fire?’ Slowly, she tilted her head to one side and arched a brow in question.

‘What? No!’ Percival laughed, lightly kicking at the base of her boot that she had stretched out in an attempt to lessen the sensation of pins pricking at her leg. ‘I meant this—’ A muscle pulled Areanel’s neck as she leaned back to avoid being hit by Percival’s dramatic gesture as he pointed to the books scattering the floor. ‘Because I still don’t know why you’re doing this.’

‘Really?’ Areanel grabbed an old, beaten book and threw it at Percival, who caught it with ease. ‘I thought you enjoyed reading?’

Boisterous laughter filled the area, and Areanel hissed at him. The last thing they needed was to be found in Ivan’s old study by the last few scholars.

‘I like reading about romance and arduous adventures,’ Percival said around a chuckle. He waved the book in Areanel’s face, making her stretch and lean away from him once again. ‘Not this! It’s dry, dull and far too tedious for me. My tastes are more refined. I’m afraid you’re on your own, sister.’

A too-sweet smile forced its way onto her lips, stretching her cheeks and showing her pearly teeth. Her tone dripped with the tart taste of sarcasm. ‘How fun.’

She returned to the brown leather book she had been hunched over before she was bombarded with thoughts of the past and ignored the loud screech of a chair being pulled along the floorboards, then over the rug, until it stopped beside her. Percival nudged her shoulder as he kicked up his feet to rest on the desk she was leaning against, but he said nothing as she went back to pouring over the book, her eyes drooping more and more by the second.

She would never admit it, but Percival was right; this was tedious.

After about twenty minutes of reading, Percival’s groan of boredom jolted Areanel out of her racing thoughts. Exasperatedly, he slammed down the palm-sized portrait he had plucked from Ivan’s desk, and while Areanel did not comment, she had seen the melancholic gleam in his eyes as he examined the image of their brothers. Ivan’s bright smile lit up the small portrait, and the image captured his joy as he played with a much younger Areanel and Percival. They must have been toddlers then, and seemed so young and free. Micah sat in the shade of a large sycamore tree, engrossed in a book. It even captured Silas, weak and frail as he was, his smile crooked but soft as he watched with his legs outstretched and cane resting across his thighs.

A knot worked its way into her throat, clogging and suffocating her airways. They would never share their older brothers’ joy like that again. What had happened? Areanel could not pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong. She had done everything right. Hadn’t she?