Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,73
counts down the days until the curse claims your life, why do you say it could also allow the curse to break?”
His tone is deep and somber. “When the sacrifice is ready to be made, the one making it must pluck the rose and state aloud that they willingly and of their own volition sacrifice their greatest treasure. If there were more roses left, it could have been any of them. But now,” he glances again at the rose, “this one is my final hope. And my final doom.”
My stomach feels heavy, weighed down with dread. “Why did you bring me here?”
His eyes flick to mine, a frown tugging his features. “You shared something painful with me, so I figured I’d return the favor.”
That brings a sad smile to my lips. “That’s kind of you.”
With slow steps, he approaches the stone bench. Then, after bending down to brush a layer of snow off the surface, he takes a seat to one side. “I come every day to find my fallen petal, and each day I take my petal with me and keep it in a glass in my room.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I take a seat next to him. “Why? Isn’t it painful to watch the days count down like that? To collect them?”
“It is,” he says. “And yet every day I return, hoping that the countdown will slow and give me more time to break the curse. By some magic, however, the daily petal always seems to know when I’m here and is sure to fall right before my eyes, taunting me.”
“That must be very difficult for you.”
“Not as difficult as being in this body.”
Once again, a bitter ache floods my chest. “Why do you hate humans so much?”
He looks at me with a smirk. “You mean, aside from the obvious reasons you’d agree with?”
I give him a pointed look. “Yes, Elliot. Aside from those things. Why do you have such a strong prejudice against my kind? I’m sure humans have given you ample reason, but I want to hear what exactly those reasons are.”
His eyes fall back on his rose, then grow unfocused, his lips turning down at the corners. “I was but a pup when humans first came to the isle,” he says. “Back then, humans were visitors on our land, and they acted accordingly. They respected my kind. Revered us, even. But as time went on, more and more humans came, and they shifted from awed visitors to determined settlers. They built homes, claimed lands that were never theirs. Tensions grew more dangerous until they resulted in the first war.”
The first war. That was over a thousand years ago, from what I’ve heard. And to think Elliot was alive back then! This youthful man sitting at my side—but no. Despite how human he looks in his seelie form, he isn’t a man at all, but a separate species. As much as I know the reminder should unsettle me…it doesn’t. It amazes me.
Elliot continues. “I was what you’d call a teen back then. Somewhere between a pup and full-grown. My parents fought in the war, which spanned—” He pauses, blinking a few times.
“What’s wrong?”
“It seems that’s one of the memories that has been taken from me by the curse. I can no longer recall how long it lasted nor how it ended. And yet, right in the middle lies a memory as clear as yesterday.”
“Are all the memories the curse has taken like that? In random order?”
“As far as I can tell. Of course, I only realize what I’ve forgotten when I try to summon the memory. I can’t even imagine how many things have fled my mind without notice.” He shudders.
“Go on,” I whisper, more to distract him from his chilling train of thought than anything.
“The thing I do remember that happened in the middle of the war solidified my opinion of humans for good. I already considered them my enemy, but I respected them, recognizing their drive for survival and proliferation of their species. That, at least, I could understand.” His hands, propped on his thighs, balled into tight fists.
“What happened?”
“Iron,” he mutters like a curse. “Humans discovered the fae weakness for iron and began using it against my kind in the battles.”
So, the stories are true. Fae are vulnerable to iron. I know pure iron is forbidden in Faerwyvae, but until now I hadn’t known if it was due to superstition or truth.
“My parents were killed in one of those early battles with iron