Curses.
The writing was cramped and far messier than anywhere else in the book. Water stains marked the page and made the ink run. Most of the writing described remembered bits of lore from her homeland. Four words were underlined so roughly that the paper had nearly torn. Death, Desire, and True Name.
Which wasn’t particularly helpful. The death – King Alexis’s – made enough sense. And she obviously knew his name. But desire? Was it his desire for her? Or her desire for the trolls to be cursed? Something else? Anushka wrote nothing about specific incantations required to make the curse take effect, or about how long it would last, as she had with the other spells. And there was nothing about breaking a mountain. Instead of answers, all I had were more questions.
“Are you feeling unwell, my lady?” élise called through the door.
“I’m fine!” I answered back. Shoving the grimoire into a set of drawers, I exited the garderobe. I’d need to find a better hiding place for it later.
“Blue or red?” élise asked, holding up two gowns.
“Blue,” I said. It was Tristan’s favorite color. Not that he was likely to attend dinner. And not that it mattered if he liked what I was wearing.
Our argument in the library today hadn’t been a fake one. He did not want the curse broken. I understood his argument – he was afraid the trolls would wreak havoc on the world and enslave humanity all over again. I was just surprised to hear it coming from him, because it meant he was putting humanity ahead of his own people. But what surprised me more was that I didn’t agree with him. When I had first arrived, the trolls had seemed dangerous and evil – and a few still did – but I’d come to realize that such was not the nature of the majority. The half-bloods were clearly against oppression, and I knew there had to be more full-bloods like the Miners’ Guild member who were of a similar mind. Keeping everyone captive forever because of a few seemed… unfair. Especially once the King was dead and unable to harm anyone. But Tristan was no fool, and he clearly saw things differently. What did he know that made him so sure history would repeat itself? And was I an overly optimistic idiot to think otherwise? Surely there had to be a solution.
Like a binding promise.
My fingers twitched as a glimmer of an idea came to mind. Trolls were bound to keep their word. Wouldn’t it be possible to make every one of them promise not to do violence against humans in exchange for their freedom? It seemed like a fair enough exchange to me. It would have to be a carefully worded oath, but surely something could be crafted that would serve?
“Ready,” élise said, stepping back and interrupting my thoughts.
I got to my feet, and impulsively, I wrapped my arms around my maid and hugged her tightly. “I’m trying,” I whispered into her ear.
“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing me back. “I have faith in you.”
At least someone did, I thought, as I rushed through the palace to the King’s private dining room.
“Your Majesties,” I said, dropping into a deep curtsey. “Your Grace.”
Only the three of them, plus a dozen servants, were in the room. Lessa stood behind the King with a wine pitcher, her face expressionless. Tristan, as I had suspected, was absent.
“You’re late,” the King snapped around a mouthful of food.
“My apologies,” I replied, sitting down in my usual seat. “Thank you for waiting for me to arrive before you began.”
The Duchesse cackled merrily, the wine in her glass sloshing over the rim. “The glutton’s gut eats all day and lechers all night. Such a thoroughfare of vice has no time to waste waiting on manners.”
The King paused mid-chew and gave a baleful glare. “Where is Tristan?”
“How should I know?” I said, motioning for the servant to give me an extra portion of chicken. “He does not keep me appraised of his comings and goings.” I was feeling somewhat bold – having read Anushka’s spells, the trolls no longer seemed quite so invincible.
The King set down his fork and pushed his plate away, even though it was still laden with food. I felt my hands grow cold and it took a great deal of willpower to swallow my mouthful of chicken.
“I’ve had about enough of the way you two carry on,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back. “Quarreling in public with no regard for how your behavior reflects on this household. How it reflects on me.”
I forced myself to chew and swallow before answering. “I am not the one instigating our quarrels, Your Majesty. Forgive me, but perhaps your criticism would be better directed towards your son.”
The Duchesse shot me a dark look from over the Queen’s shoulder. She clearly did not appreciate me passing the blame to her nephew.