nodding to himself. “Renove is green and healthy, and Draegan is all dead and haunted.”
The book was written before my uncle discovered the narrow point in the Chasm. At that time, the author assumed Renove had been cursed the same as us.
What does it mean that we were sent to ruin but Renove was not? Did the fae side with Renove? Did they purposely deceive Draegan?
The question unsettles me.
“I’ve finished this page,” Calvert says a few minutes later. “May I please go outside?”
“That’s fine,” I say absently. “But find Harry right away and begin your archery lessons. Don’t dawdle, and do not wander.”
He slams the book shut with so much force, the table trembles. Before I have a chance to utter a single word, he’s out the door.
“Don’t run!” I yell after him, knowing it’s a lost cause.
When I no longer hear the echo of his footsteps, I glance back at the book. I press a finger on the cover and slide it toward me. Slowly, I open it like I’m going to find some great secret within its pages.
Skimming over the familiar chapters, I frown. “After Renove greatly slighted Draegan, there was war,” I read, frowning. “What does that even mean?”
What was the slight? And why are the details not recorded?
I sit back, eyeing the book.
I’ve always taken it for granted that Renove did some great evil, but why would Draegan be punished for their wrongdoing?
Why were they left untouched when we have suffered so much?
Maybe Calvert is right—perhaps the fairies did hold some grudge against Draegan.
What else could it be?
With questions swirling in my mind, I push through the tapestry. Braeton sits in a chair by the hearth, reading. His face brightens when I step into the room—making me think he was eagerly awaiting my arrival.
“I thought you might not be coming tonight,” he says, setting the book aside. “You’re late.”
“Edwin stopped me in the hall, and I had to pretend I was walking to the kitchen.” I take the seat in the soft chair next to him. “I have a question for you.”
The prince frowns. “You seem very solemn.”
“What do you know of the war?”
The lines along his forehead crease with thought, and he clasps his hands in his lap. “What do you want to know?”
“Our history says Renove ‘greatly slighted’ us, and then there was war. What was the slight?”
“We didn’t start the war,” he says, looking flummoxed. “You did.”
I think about that for a moment, for the first time, wondering if that’s true. “All right, let’s say that’s what happened. What did we do?”
“Our history says you laid siege upon our kingdom.”
“But…” I shake my head. “We have no record of that. One moment, our kingdoms are living amicably, and then the next, we’re at war. It seems very strange to me.”
“If that were true, princess, that would be strange indeed. But perhaps your ancestors didn’t wish to record the wrongdoings of your king—maybe he himself struck it from your history.”
“I had a thought, something spurred by my younger brother during our lessons.”
Braeton nods for me to continue.
“What if…” It sounds ridiculous, but I press on. “What if the fairies began the war?”
“The fae?” Braeton says with a skeptical laugh.
“To get back at Draegan for…something.”
“Fairies are peaceful,” Braeton argues. “That is their way.”
Frustrated, I gesture toward the dark window. “I’m sure it’s easy for you to believe that, but look at what they did to us. Does that look peaceful to you?”
As if to answer, the childlike call of the saelties begins beyond the glass, making me shiver.
“They’ve found you again,” I whisper, wondering why they’re so drawn to the prince.
Braeton rises and places a lamp on the sill, and the night becomes silent. “They’re easily dealt with.”
“When you’re safe inside,” I agree. Then I raise a brow. “And when you’re not delirious with the sickness.”
He returns to his seat, and his expression becomes thoughtful. “You protected me that night.”
I look at my lap, pinching the fabric of my skirt. “We didn’t need you throwing open the windows, did we?”
“Tell me about them. What are they?”
“Spirits,” I say. “From the Chasm, like everything else that’s wicked in Draegan. They linger outside and call to people within. If you were to open the window, they’d begin to scream for help. The moment you leaned out for a better look, they’d pull you to your death.”
I shiver, the thought making me cold.
“Good to know,” Braeton says lightly, though I can tell he too is shaken. “I won’t