Page 52 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

“I have consumed nothing except you since last night. And all the better I am for it.”

“Very well, then. You should come with me to the library.”

The book of folktales still lay on the floor where it fell when Davron accosted her. His expression darkened at the sight of it. She quickly snatched up the book and settled herself on the lounge, noting that the scrap of fabric he’d torn from her dress was gone. Either the castle had spirited it away, or he had.

She stretched out her legs as she leafed through the book. Davron sat down and stroked the tops of her bare feet.

“All these books,” he said, gesturing to the cavernous library. “And you want to read that old thing again?”

She looked up from the page, having found the story about the little girl who lived in a dark cave. The same girl whose friends took a flame in a jar underground to save her.

Amelie hesitated. She had brought Davron to the library on semi-false pretenses. She was looking for clues after invading his privacy. The least she could do was be honest about it now.

“Early this morning, I looked at the parchment in your bathroom dresser. I read it. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Which parchment? I’m not following.”

She recited the contents to him and he nodded in comprehension.

“Oh, right. That. It’s a scrap I found in the apothecary. Random notes my mother made, I suppose. Why?”

Amelie tipped the book forward, showing him the story’s title page.

“This story has a flame in a jar.”

He shrugged again, narrowing his eyes. “I do not understand.”

“Do you not think it means something to do with the curse?”

He exhaled, puffing his cheeks. “What could it possibly mean, though? It is a child’s fable. Is there a curse in the story? I can not even recall.”

“Well, no. There is not.”

Amelie’s shoulders sagged. Now that she’d said it out loud, the link did seem tenuous, at best.

“Perhaps my desire to break the curse caused me to see connections where they don’t exist,” she said. “My imagination always gets carried away.”

His brow furrowed and he leaned toward her. “Amelie, I do not want you to worry about that. Can we not just enjoy the present? Enjoy each other?”

“Of course.”

She closed the book, leaving it on her lap. Whatever he believed about the parchment’s importance, she was going to take the book with her, to study the story more closely. It was the only lead she had.

“Can you tell me about Klatos?” she asked. “A good memory,” she clarified, not wanting him to dwell on the tragedy of his family’s demise.

“Ahh, let me see.” He rubbed his hands together. “One day, during a festival, I had the responsibility of entertaining a royal guest from Hatara, named Orath. This man was eccentric and no one wanted to do it, including me.” He smiled faintly. “He was a scholar, which I thought was the dullest thing in the world at first, but he specialized in lost artifacts. At the banquet, I listened to him for hours. Less than a year later, he passed. His attendant delivered a package to me, a bequest from Orath.”

“What was it?”

“A tiny silver box, hollow. Yet, when you look through a pinhole in the side, you can see all the great red dunes of the Hataran desert.”

Amelie’s mouth fell open. “How incredible!”

“I have it somewhere, in a study I believe. Would you like to see it?”

She nodded, sitting up straighter. “Oh, yes, please.”

“I’ll be right back.” He stood. “And I’ll fetch us some water, too.” He kissed the top of her head as he passed. “I am parched.”

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