My mind, my soul, my capacity have changed so much. This time, would I feel the truth with a child in my womb? That I, a fragile mortal, overcame the odds and created life? That I wasn’t just close to divinity, I would be divinity in that act.
Remember who it is you would be having a child with, my mind-companion interjects.
She’s right. Anger floods through me. This wouldn’t be with some respectful troll. Not with a cautious, yet resourceful human dedicated to me. It wouldn’t be with…
Him.
It would be with a cold, cruel king who already had three women killed before you,Cursed One finishes.
“Do not spy on me,” I grit out, even though she is right. I don’t need her ruining this moment, the first time I’ve felt hopeful since arriving.
“My dear, I will be watching you closely every day for the rest of your life. It’s high time that you give up the notion I am spying on you,” Thorne says, bitter almost.
He doesn’t know about Cursed One, and I do not wish him to.
Not at all, so I cover my careless comment.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I misspoke.”
Holding up the box again, I look at him. “How am I meant to take this?”
He frowns. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand his motives, but still, I don’t doubt the validity of the gesture.
“One spoonful, well mixed, with your tea. Finish what they’ve prepared for you now, then prepare a new cup with that. You must eat the contents as well—no tea leaf readings in this room.”
If that was an attempt at a joke, I ignore it. Instead, I finish my tea, finding it at a pleasing temperature after letting it sit. Then I pour another glass with a measured spoonful and wait for it to steep while I return to my plate.
While I drink, my mind continues to churn with questions. One comes forward more often than any of the others.
“Thorne,” I say suddenly.
“Yes, my dear?” he says, looking up from picking his fingernails.
“Who was the wife before me?”
His face goes carefully blank. “I don’t know,” he says sharply.
“But you know everything. They say she wasn’t human. When you were with Mrath, I know you—” I protest, but Thorne takes the box, effectively cutting me off.
“She was a half-blood,” he spits. “More elf than human, everyone said. As if that made a difference. She was still aPeredhel, and he killed her within six months, then waited four decades before setting his sights on you.”
He sounds furious and bitter. I don’t understand why, and don’t have a chance to ask questions anymore because he brushes out of the room, only pausing at the door to say over his shoulder, “I will see you again tomorrow.”
I still don’t trust him, Cursed One says.
I am not sure if I do.
Chapter 17
VANN
The journey on foot after leaving Seraph takes three days—far longer than I expected. Shvathemar is bathed in a fading orange glow, and I realized dusk is kind to liars. It blurs the edges of faces and softens the bright betrayal of sunlight.
Just what a troll needs in enemy territory.
The outskirts of the city are filled with elven refugees, seeking entrance from other villages that have been torn apart by giant skirmishes and ogre raids.
It reminds me of the wars before the eruption. Enduares seeking asylum in all the major cities. I would see them, from individuals to families, in fresh clothes, still weeping for the loss of their livelihoods and homes. I hate the mass displacement that comes after battle.