25

Extra Pastries

My morning habits drew me to greet Cordelia and Ophelia, leaving them with a food tray in my hands. Even though Jerrick was gone, I kept up with the routine, enjoying the added benefit of extra pastries for myself.

I enter the library and almost drop my entire food tray at the sight of Jerrick holding an extra food tray in his hands. A startled huff of air escapes me, and when our eyes meet, we both shine before breaking into a fit of laughter.

His laughter vibrates in my soul, his mood from before he left completely vanished. Jerrick is the first to break through our amusement.

"I thought it could count toward an apology for my surly behavior."

I beam, remembering doing the same for him. "It counts." My love for food is an easy way into my good graces, after all. "And now we each get our own pastries."

Amusement lights up his features, a trace of relief smoothing away the concern from his brows as I join him.

"Did you find anything worthwhile?" he asks as he eases into his seat.

"No." I give him a quick report of what I read while wishing I did not have to see the disappointment on his face.

Jerrick makes a valiant effort to hide his dismay, nodding quickly to move forward with our task. And in his lighter mood and seeing everything we have read has been a bust, I debate whether or not we would find any clues.

Sparing a glance at him, I lift my lips.

He is stretched across the lounge with one hand tucked behind his head, the other holding a book.

I watch him for a few moments, his comfort bringing me an odd sense of peace, before reaching for a cube of cheese and drawing my eyes back to the ancient journals.

Jerrick and I work through the day seamlessly, having built a system of books, ledgers, and paperwork to read, switching topics between glamours, curses, and the Deities. Yet disappointment hangs heavy in the air when Jerrick and I conclude the letters exchanged between our parents would not provide any clues.

And with each new day without any clues or answers, worry grows in the back of my mind. Worry that the curse was unbreakable, worry I would never be able to fix and save Axidoria, and worry of the unknown for Jerrick.

I remain vigilant as I skim through my most recent book, a journal of a past ruler mentioning there was a recorded decree of divorce, one that happened here in Palaena between one of Jerrick's ancestors and his wife. The king had fallen for another and was only granted a divorce by every monarch agreeing and a priest from each kingdom signing the separation.

But in reading section after section of this journal, my guilt festers, and my mood sours. This past King of Palaena, who had ruled maliciously, caused much pain and distrust.

I scoff with disgust as I read his belief in the Makers calling him to cleanse his people.

"What did you find?"

Jerrick's voice startles me.

My eyes meet his, hope faintly shimmering in them, and I gently ease the disappointment. "It's nothing regarding your curse. It's just—" I smack the pages, irritated I read so much of it. "This king was so cruel to his people."

"Many of them are," Jerrick states calmly.

I grumble, not understanding why rulers were uncaring and callous, why they would hurt their own people. "Did coming into abilities mean they no longer held compassion and empathy for others?"

We are all the same, as the only thing separating royalty from citizens was the magic in our bloodline. One would think that being a descendant of the Deities meant following through with what our priests and the Makers themselves taught us, to be a land that strived and lived for peace.

But so many rulers had used their gifts to hurt rather than help people. As my parents had.

As I have…

I toss the book down, folding my arms and hating to see so many falter into taking lives of others. Hating how I, too, found myself falling for this spell and have Niko rallying men behind me.

Jerrick eases up, bracing his arms against his thighs. He places his book on the table, eyeing me carefully.

"You care for your people?" Jerrick asks.

"Of course I care for my people."

I may hate my powers and hate being around people on my dark days, but that doesn't mean I don't care. Their lives lie on my conscious every waking moment.

Some days, I can fight against my demons to help, and some days, I can't.

I am not a perfect queen, but I do care.

"Even though they dislike you and do not even call you by your given title?"

"Even then," I answer. "Even if they hate me, I still have a duty to them. I can be indifferent to them while still negotiating on their behalf with other kingdoms to offer them the help I myself cannot give them."

He scrunches his brows. "They scorn you."

"As they should. I did cause an unrelenting winter in their home. I let them see what they believe because feeding back into the hatred they have will only turn me into a monarch like this." I gesture to the journal.

Jerrick hums thoughtfully. "You are too merciful for your own good."

I roll my eyes. The Snow Queen of Axidoria being merciful feels like a slight. I wave off his comment, releasing a long shaky breath.

"My own parents were cruel. Cursing their citizens—cursing their neighboring kingdoms."

Jerrick bristles and clenches his fists.

Cruelty spans across all kingdoms, even to this day, between Jerrick's father and my family. And bringing up his curse is like calling forth my grief.

A dark burden neither of us wants to linger on longer than necessary.

Memories of my family draw my next question, seeking answers. "How do you know your father was not involved with my father's end?"

The king stares, and I hold his gaze, a rapid fire of emotions swirling behind his eyes. His features turn distraught, exhausted, as if working through his own thoughts and his curse.

But getting proof about what happened to my family takes precedence.

Jerrick breaks eye contact, fracturing this odd sensation of him holding my air supply.

Doubt taunts its suspicious melody in my mind that he used his powers on me just now, even as air fills my lungs, but his magic was nothing like this. When he used his gifts on me, I felt as if I were on fire.

Stealing my breath, however, is something new, and I don't want to believe it was my own natural reaction. I calmly regain control of myself, still watching Jerrick intently.

He rises from his chair, stepping down one of the rows of bookshelves.

It is quiet for a few beats, but the sounds of books stacking against each other have me wondering what he is doing now.

Is he ignoring me again?

I slump back against my chair, hating that the minuscule peace between us has fractured again. I try to remove the unanswered question from my mind, hating I have only dug a deeper hole for myself.

You should have stuck to reading about rulers, Tove.

My gaze falls back to the journal, reluctant to read onward. I grumble under my breath, reaching for it, when footsteps fall.

Jerrick's blue eyes find mine as he returns, resting more books on our never-ending pile to sort through. But he places these ones directly in front of me.

"This is everything of my father's dealings and financial ledgers," Jerrick says.

Confusion furrows my brows as I sit up.

He filters through them, selecting a few and opening them to specific sections. When a flurry of text is spread before us, he gestures to them.

"Here is a record of his dealings with our spy master and his team of assassins." He lifts another book up. "This is the ledger noting what each transaction was near, leading up to and after your father's disappearance." Jerrick lifts a stack of letters. "And these are all the letters exchanged between Axidoria and Palaena."

I scan each text, taking the letters first. I shuffle through a few, my surprise keeping me from reading the contents. Doubt in Jerrick not answering my questions flushes my cheeks.

"Why are you giving me these?"

My question comes out in a breathy whisper.

Jerrick eases into his seat, grabbing the text he was reading earlier, and shrugs. "Because you care. And because Palaena has nothing to hide and was not involved with whatever happened to your father."

I almost ask him again about my mother but refrain, knowing Jerrick could take these texts away if I push.

Jerrick's attention turns back to his book as I scan through each document, each letter, each financial account. But the more I peer deep into King Ivan's life, the more I see no proof of King Ivan killing my father.

No traces of my father are mentioned in these journals. No traces of assassins. No money transactions—no nothing.

The only accusations come from my mother in the letters they exchanged after my father's disappearance.

Even as I trudge up the stairs at the end of another long day of reading, I hate how the questions I sought to have answered here in Palaena feel unsolvable. My gut tells me my answers would be in Axidoria, and I will need to ask Niko for help the next time I see him.

But even as I lie awake deep into the night, waiting for sleep to take me, my beliefs and assumptions of Palaena and their intentions change before my very eyes.

The notion weighs me down, as does the hope of returning to Niko.

I scream for my mother, my father, and for Runa.

But it doesn't stop.

The pain won't stop.

A sharp icicle wedges itself over my heart, preventing me from dying with them—being with them.

I curse and yell, slamming my fists into the lake, desperate for it to melt and swallow me whole.

Mother is… gone. The last member of my family is dead.

I am alone…

I have no one…

And the pain—Sweet Makers, the pain of that knowledge is all-consuming—all-wretched—all-suffering.

"You can't take them all away from me!" I scream to the Makers above.

Frost slams outwards from my clamped fists while my own tears freeze on top of the already frozen lake.

I slump, face down against the ice, hopeful it will spread onto me and take me, too.

"Take me!" I beg to the clouds above, completely alone in this world. "Take me to my family!"

A frigid burst of wind blasts through me as I sob the words again, slamming my fists on the ground in agony.

I shriek in pain from the cold ice continuously spreading.

"Take me to them!" I toss my arms out, desperately seeking to end this torture. "Kill me and let me reunite with them!" I scream louder into the lake as darkness descends over me.

"Tove!" a feminine voice calls.

I pray it is Mother or Runa coming to reunite with me. I close my eyes in gratitude, thankful the Makers are letting me go.

"Tove!"

The voice is frantic and worried.

The surrounding void shakes me profusely.

A tightness squeezes my body, and I hiss, flinching from it, needing to see my family again.

I am going to be with them.

"Tove!"

Dorit's voice fills my consciousness, and my eyes jolt open. Her long brown hair is undone, waves a mess as she looks upon me with worry.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my brow as I take in my surroundings, recognizing my rooms in Palaena. My heart hammers as Dorit's arms remain tight on my shoulders, my dream crashing against the forefront of my mind, bringing tears to the surface.

A choked gasp comes out instead of words, and Dorit's face wrinkles, pulling me to her as the thick and torturous wave of grief drowns me.

Her stuffy floral scent is the only thing grounding me.

I snake my arms around her, squeezing her as I weep into the crook of her neck. Tremors rock through my body as she holds me tight, her hand running in my hair and whispering the same words over and over.

"You're alright. You're okay."

"I-I'm so sorry," I whisper, shaking my head at my shortcomings unfolding around another person.

Dorit breaks away from our embrace. "You have nothing to apologize for."

I keep my eyes downcast, my tears cold against my heated cheeks. "No one should ever see me like this."

Niko's words from the past surface, reminding me of the very few who have seen me in such a vulnerable state.

A pinching nerve surrounds my heart at his words, hating how true they really were.

Dorit tilts my chin up. "Do you want to talk about it?"

My lips quiver at her compassion, my heart unable to keep up with her kindness and awareness of me.

She reminds me so much of Runa and Betina, and I cannot stop myself from confiding in her.

"The deaths of my family follow me in my dreams."

"It is never fun to relive that," Dorit says carefully, squeezing my upper arm.

I wipe my eyes and look away, biting my lip before confessing more she should know. "Most are nightmares I can work through, but others can lead to sleepwalking."

"I am sorry you experienced one of these tonight, and thank you for letting me know it could be worse," Dorit says, voice tender, wobbling through her choked words.

I nod to myself quietly, tears still fighting to escape.

"I will ensure to check on you more often."

My shoulders cave in, feeling unworthy of her kindness. "Y-You don't have to do that." I rub my sides with regret, wishing to not burden another person with my problems.

"Pfft," she remarks.

But my gaze averts from her, peering out to the window, trying to solve everything on my own.

Dorit takes my hand, the cold and brittle touch soothing my heated skin. I stare at our hands as she pats mine gently.

"Grief is a part of you, Tove, as is your trauma, your past, your everything."

I remain quiet. They aren't just a part of me. They're all I know about me.

But it catches me off guard when Dorit speaks again.

"But healing, learning, and growing will also be a part of you." I meet her gaze, and she smiles sweetly. "And I am honored to witness it all."

Remorse mixed with grief flows around me, my eyes tearing up again at her compassion. I do not know what I did to deserve this, but I cast my regret aside and pull her back into my arms.

I send my thanks to the Makers, grateful and honored that my time here is not a prison. It's been pleasant and completely different from what I thought.

The space in my heart that used to be for my family expanded for Niko and Betina. But during my time here, I have carved out more for Dorit, Jonas, Cordelia, and Ophelia.

I squeeze Dorit tighter when her arms wrap around me again, her kindness soothing my aching heart.