Page 20 of Winds of Ruin
My father groaned and ran a hand down his face.
I hadn’t meant to sound so excited to leave. The world seemed so much bigger than the courts of Luz and Sahlmsara.
I wanted to see it all.
Before bed, Mama and Papa entered my room. Sitting up against my pillows, I laid my journal face down in my lap. I’d been writing a note to Dritan. He was getting good at sneaking into the gardens to retrieve them. He always left a red, shimmering rose in their place.
My stomach fluttered at the thought of slipping out of the palace to meet him before heading to Lamoreaux. I’d see him there too, where he’d taken a summer job painting.
“We came to say goodnight, love,” Papa sat down at the foot of my bed. He held a large tome in his hands.
Uh oh.This usually only happened when I’d done something wrong—had I forgotten schoolwork? I didn’t remember Aunt Asterie assigning me any reading.
“What did I do?” I blurted out.
Mama chuckled. “No, no… unless you have anything to tell us?”
I planted my hands on my journal.
“We came to talk with you,” Papa said. Mama settled down beside me over the covers and leaned a shoulder into mine. “You aren’t in trouble. We’re so proud of your progress at school—all that you’ve learned.”
Papa offered the tome to me, and I took it, despite my reluctance to let go of my journal.
“This isThe Book of Isolde, the First Reverist,” Mama said. “It’s very old, so be careful with the pages. They’re brittle.”
I admired the foiled text across the rich brown vellum before opening the cover, happy my note lay safe below it, out of their awaiting stares.
She is so young. She’s not ready,Mama thought to herself.
I swallowed hard as I turned the gritty paper. “What’s it about?”
They glanced at one another, waiting for the other to speak. My heart pounded—they never appeared so unsure.
“It is Isolde’s stories of her life, of her children and their demise,” Papa answered. “It’s about the fate of us all, but most importantly, you.”
Chapter 8
Emmerick
Fifteen years into the Sethe curse…
After propping the charmed mirror up on my writing desk, Elsedora sat in an armchair across from it. Her face lit up as she described the celebrations in full swing in the dining hall below. I wished I could have sat next to her at the table—witnessed her joy in person instead of secondhand.
“I didn’tdaretell Sybilla the child loathes the color pink now. The palace was decked in it when I arrived. Down to the color of the flower bouquets in the washrooms!”
The sound of her laughter sent a prickle down my spine. When her face dropped, I leaned closer to the pane, missing the levity in her demeanor.
“They’re telling her tonight,” she added. “About the curse on her father’s bloodline, Isolde’s prophecy, all of it.”
I grimaced. “Heavy news to deliver to a thirteen-year-old, no?”
“It was only a matter of time before she snuck into our heads and figured it all out on her own. The kids at school can’t ward their thoughts yet, and not a single one showed tonight.”
I frowned. “Her mother had similar struggles as a girl. Even though her magic remained a secret, she still felt ostracized.”
Elsedora’s lips pursed for a moment before she sighed out, “I wish she had someone like who you were to Syb growing up. At leastonefriend. The poor thing was subjected to speaking withmeall night.”
“Talking to you isn’t so bad,” I placated, avoiding the comment about Sybilla and the reminder that I’d always longed to be more than just herfriend.
