“With respect,” I said finally, “prophecies are generally nonsense. Tales spun by self-proclaimed seers to make some coin.”
“Perhaps. But Dru was different. Her prophecies were told to her followers some two thousand years ago from her home on the Gray Isles in the Coral Sea. And they were known to come true. Some of them are in that book.” He motioned to his desk. “Some are in others. I have spent many years researching, seeking clues, eliminating false or corrupted accounts, finding lost ones. So let me assure you that I do not come by my conclusions lightly.”
My foot tapped a rhythm on the stone floor. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What did you find out?”
“You know of the god Eurus?”
“The sly and clever god of the east wind who was jealous of Fors and Sud for creating Frostbloods and Firebloods, and angry that his sister Cirrus sealed his Minax under the earth.”
Brother Thistle nodded. “The book says that Eurus took his revenge with a kind of curse, and only a powerful Fireblood will someday rid the kingdom of it.”
“What’s the curse?” I asked. Although I didn’t believe in the book or the legends, I enjoyed the details the way I enjoyed hearing a good story.
“If you’ve read that book, perhaps you know about the thrones of Tempesia and Sudesia.”
“Yes, one was created by Fors, a ‘throne of jagged ice that conferred great power.’ And Sud created a throne of cooled molten rock. Let me think…‘still glowing with veins of lava.’” I had read that part several times, fascinated by the idea of the fire throne.
“It’s not just a story, Ruby. Many people in Tempesia still believe the Frost King’s throne was created by Fors to help win wars. They believe it gives him immense power, amplifying what his strong bloodline already has.”
“You’re talking about myths.”
“To me and my order, these so-called myths are as real as you sitting before me. Regardless, some of the accounts I have read say that Eurus corrupted both thrones, cursing the families who have sat on them since the ancient wars between Firebloods and Frostbloods.”
“Ruling in an unbroken line doesn’t sound like a curse to me.”
“Until you consider that every ruler died tragically and often after a short reign.”
I shrugged. “Tragic deaths are common whether you’re a king or a peasant.”
“Not only that. The rulers often went mad, hearing voices, carrying out terrible acts. King Ulrik drowned his first grandchild. Queen Ecklin killed her husband in a fit of temper. King Askabar wiped out an entire province because a baron insulted his mistress, and that led to a civil war. There are far more stories of madness and strange deaths. Too many to relate.”
“Horrible stories,” I said, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.
“I think some rulers were strong enough to fight the influence of the curse, and Tempesians and Sudesians enjoyed relative peace during those reigns. But they were only able to do so because the curse was not fully woken.”
“And you think the curse woke?”
“Yes. After generations of calm, King Akur began showing signs of being overtaken by the darkness. The even-tempered king who had cared for his people suddenly sent troops to his southern border and started wiping out Firebloods. When Akur died, his elder son took the throne and tried to restore peace, but he only ruled for a year before he was assassinated. And now Akur’s second son, Rasmus, rules with such open hatred for peace and fairness that the whole kingdom trembles.”
I sat in silence for a minute, thinking. “It doesn’t have to be a curse. People do terrible things. They make decisions that make no sense to anyone but them.”
Brother Thistle pointed back to the book on his desk. “The text says that a fierce east wind will blow when the child of darkness is born, a child who will open the Gate of Light. When I was a young man, a terrible storm blew over Sudesia and Tempesia, a monstrous hurricane that wiped out towns and cities along the coasts. Very soon after, King Akur began showing signs of madness.”
It took me a second to understand his meaning. “You think the child of darkness was born and that woke the curse?”
“I do. And roughly seventeen years ago, a similarly violent storm hit, but from the west. As you read, the book says that a west wind will blow when the child of light is born, a powerful Fireblood who will fight the darkness and destroy it forever.”
The air in the room pulsed with a strange energy. “Well, shouldn’t you be looking for this child of light if you believe the prophecies?”
He put his hands on his knees and sat back in his chair. “I have spent my life doing so. And I think I have found her.”
It took me a moment to find my voice. “I’ve become quite fond of you, Brother Thistle. But if you’re implying I’m the child of light, I must tell you frankly that I think you’re touched in the head.”
He smiled gently. “I know it will be very hard to accept—”
“Impossible.”