Page 67 of The Great and Terrible

I gawked, marveling as I spun. This was the stuff of dreams and legends. Gemstones lined the bottom of pale pink waters: pools circled by flat, jagged stones. Lush, dewy plants dotted with sweet-smelling lavender flowers flourished through cracks. Palm-like trees heavy with huge green leaves and azure fruit cast shade upon a small beach with golden sand as soft as velvet. Toward the back, forming a half-moon partition, massive boulders of limestone had been hollowed out, turning each into a cabana. Murals decorated the walls between them.

Dazed, I tripped forward. I recognized my mother’s work.

“What is this place?” Patch spun, taking everything in.

Leona did the same. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Jasher caught my arm, stopping me. “I’ve passed through this forest thousands of times, and I’ve never come upon this haven. Nor has anyone mentioned it. This is some kind of trap. It must be.”

“It’s not.” I knew that I knew that I knew. “I’m not sure why it’s remained hidden from you until now, but I docomprehend we’re safe here. My mother painted those.” I motioned to the murals with a tilt of my chin.

He released me, and I crossed to the cabanas to study the images up close, depositing my hat on a stone along the way. Wow! Such incredible detail. Scene by scene, they revealed a story. One of the fairytale stories she’d told me as a child. A kingdom ravaged by terrible storms that rained balls of fire. Monstra utterly destroyed villages, feasting on the charred remains. A handsome, strong king took action, entering the battle while beaming rays of light. He wore a golden crown and purple robe.

The biggest of the monstra closed in on him and spewed flames, but the heat did no harm. Other monstra joined their comrade, surrounding the king, laughing as they stabbed him with their razor-sharp wings. Crimson blood poured from his wounds when he collapsed, wetting the ground.

They’d killed him. The monstra killed King Ahav, the man most likely responsible for half of my DNA.

I sniffled and swiped at my damp eyes. The urge to peer into the eyes of his killer anddo somethingbombarded me.

In the last scene, he disintegrated, his ash floating through the air, snuffing out their flames. The storm ended, and the monstra vanished.

A hot tear trickled down my cheek. Had my mother witnessed the death of her husband before making her escape? I remembered her tinge of sadness as she’d woven the tale, but I’d assumed she was in character. Here, now, I felt the dear woman’s pain in every stroke of the brush.

I reached out with a trembling hand and grazed my fingertips over an image of the king. In the darkest recesses of my mind, I heard my mother whisper,It’s not enough to know your enemy, darling. You must first learn your birthright.

A memory?

Leona set her sights on the painted king. “Do you think this has something to do with the prophecy?”

Maybe. The king’s sacrifice—and that’s what it looked to be—negatively affected the monstra. Clearly. I pressed a hand over my belly. Perhaps his only child was supposed to repeat his act.

“Excuse me.” Not ready to answer any questions, I stalked off. The girls stayed behind, but Jasher followed, his footsteps offering a soft alert.

I didn’t stop until I reached a cabana hidden in the corner beyond a row of bushes and trees. The structure looked upon a private pool with a waterfall and hot spring. Steam curled from the surface, illuminated by a sun descending on the horizon. Varying shades of pink, purple, blue, and gold spilled over the sky, painting the hideaway as vividly as my mother painted those murals.

A lovely spot for a meltdown.

Screams of frustration, confusion, helplessness, and homesickness lodged in the back of my throat, cutting off my airway. I fought for every breath. For control.

Jasher dropped the pack and wrapped his arms around me from behind, a solid presence at my back. A comfort as his scent and heat formed a force field around us.

We stood in silence for a long while. Part of me expected Iris to rise from the water at any moment. Another part of me hoped she did. As desperate as I felt, I might beat answers out of the maiden who absolutely knew more about the situation than she’d let on.

Jasher rested his chin on the top of my head. “Tell me how to comfort you, and I’ll do it.”

Compassion from the Tinman. I didn’t deserve it, or him.

As soon as I was able, I pushed a response from my tongue. “Stop being nice to me.” I spun, facing him. “You don’t know…I haven’t told you…” Squeezing my eyes shut, I rested my forehead against his sternum. “The storm brought me to Hakeldama inside a chapel, and that chapel landed on an executioner, killing him. I didn’t see his face, only his boots. They were the same as yours. What if I killed your brother, Jasher?”

He cupped my jaw and lifted my face, caressing his thumbs over my cheeks, gentle, so gentle. A frown marred his countenance. “This is what you wished to tell me?”

The only thing I could do at the moment? Nod.

Sunset irises glowing, he explained in the softest of tones, “Even if the victim were my brother, which it isn’t, you wouldn’t be at fault. You didn’t steer the chapel.”

“It wasn’t Anders?” A smidgen of hope peek from my upset. For a man who thought he needed help giving comfort, he certainly did an excellent job on his own. “You’re sure?”

He brushed the tip of his nose against mine. “I’m sure.”

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