Page 34 of The Curse Between Us

Edric’s smile softened, his eyes reflecting both understanding and a touch of sympathy. Before he could respond, however, he shivered visibly, his cloak fluttering around him as the cold air bit at his skin. He chuckled, though there was a wry edge to his voice. “I can’t say the climate agrees with me as much as it does with you, but I am prepared to take my turn with the discomfort.”

Zephyr couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of Edric huddling more deeply into his cloak, the stark contrast to his own comfort in the mountain chill not lost on him. He had tried to warn Edric—tried to explain how the cold of Eskarven would be just as harsh as the heat of Rafria. But Edric had been insistent, as always.

"I told you this would happen," Zephyr had said earlier, his voice tinged with amusement as he prepared for the journey. But Edric had been undeterred, his resolve clear. "I’m going with you," he’d insisted. "I’ll remain as long as I can and return when I can no longer travel."

Even Edric’s advisors—Alec and Herbert, especially—had tried to convince him otherwise. They had argued with him late into the night, pleading for him to reconsider, to stay in Rafria where he would be safe. But Edric had listened to their concerns with patience, then simply folded his arms and said, “I am going,” and that was that. No more was said on the matter.

Now, here they were, descending the mountain pass into Eskarven, Edric at Zephyr’s side, clearly feeling the effects of the cold but still steadfast in his decision. He was not here for politics, not for the official visits or the formalities. He was herefor Zephyr. All for him. And that, Zephyr thought, was a gift that could never be repaid.

Edric, despite his discomfort, looked around with interest, his eyes scanning the terrain as they moved forward. “It must have been difficult, getting your forces through this pass,” he commented thoughtfully, before glancing at Zephyr with a slight grimace. “Or should I not—”

Zephyr raised a hand, cutting him off with a gesture that was both dismissive and understanding. “There’s no sense pretending the last centuries of war never happened, Edric. If we cannot speak of them, how can we ever hope to move past them?” His tone was firm but not harsh, an open invitation for honesty in the face of their shared history.

"A wise answer, my prince," Clara interjected from behind, her voice calm and assured. She had ridden up to join them, her horse moving steadily alongside. “King Edric is right to ask. There is no shame in acknowledging the past, especially when it informs the present." She gave Edric a respectful nod. "We were often hampered by the narrowness of the pass, but it is the only access point to Eskarven. There was no other choice.”

“We?” Zephyr’s eyebrow arched in surprise. Clara spoke as though she had been personally involved in those conflicts, though he had known her only in her current role as High Priestess. He had never suspected she might have a military background.

Clara caught his look and met his gaze with a knowing glint in her eyes. “I was not always a priestess,” she said, her voice carrying a note of pride. “I have been a soldier as well.”

Edric let out a low whistle at the revelation, his respect for Clara evident in the way he looked at her. Zephyr, on the other hand, was momentarily stunned into silence. He had heard of the former High Priestess’s storied career in battle, but he had never imagined Clara, of all people, had once held asoldier’s sword. It was a piece of her history that had never quite matched the image he had of her.

“Perhaps we may discuss the possibility of widening the pass, to increase the efficiency of trade,” Edric suggested, turning the conversation back to practical matters. As he and Clara began discussing the logistics of the proposal, Zephyr drifted into a quiet contemplation. It was hard to focus on anything other than the relief that surged through him. Being back in Eskarven, with Edric at his side, filled him with a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he had missed so much.

They neared the base of the mountains, and Zephyr’s thoughts shifted again. The air was growing colder still, and he reached into his saddlebags for a thicker cloak, tossing it over his shoulders. With a glance at Edric, he gestured for him to do the same. “It’s going to get colder,” he warned.

Edric nodded, adjusting the cloak around his shoulders with a grateful murmur. “How much farther?” he asked, his voice still tinged with the discomfort of the cold.

“Two hours, at this pace,” Zephyr replied, pointing to the left where the mountains curved. “The palace lies just beyond the base of the great waterfall. Once we reach the foot, we turn west.”

Edric squinted toward the mountains, but the distance obscured his view. “I can see nothing from here.”

“Soon,” Zephyr promised. “Soon.”

From behind them, Eileen’s muffled voice broke the moment. “I certainly hope so! How do you bear this cold?”

Zephyr glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “This? This is nothing.”

Eileen grimaced but hunched down further into her saddle, her cloak pulled tightly around her. Alicia, seeing her discomfort, passed her a flask of hot spiced wine, which Eileen accepted with a grateful smile.

Zephyr watched the exchange with a sense of quiet contentment. It was heartening to see how well the Rafrians and Eskarvens had worked together on this journey, overcoming the natural barriers between their lands and their histories. As his eyes met Edric’s once more, their shared smiles spoke volumes. This—this alliance—was the future.

An hour passed before Zephyr saw the first shimmer on the horizon, a faint glimmer of light that grew steadily brighter as they rode forward. His heart quickened, and an overwhelming sense of peace washed over him. He hadn’t realized how much he had longed for this moment until it was right in front of him. The familiar sight—the beacon that had marked his childhood and his return—was nearly within reach. His hand instinctively reached out, settling lightly on Edric’s shoulder. The cold, biting air had forced them both to layer themselves in thick, protective fabrics, which, in this moment, served as a blessing. The closeness between them, though intimate, was softened by the layers that shielded them from the sharp edges of touch.

“Look,” Zephyr said softly, his voice carrying a sense of awe that he rarely allowed himself to express.

Edric, his attention fixed on the growing glow on the horizon, leaned forward in his saddle, squinting against the light. “There?” he asked, his voice tinged with wonder. He pointed ahead, his finger tracing the path towards the distant palace, which now gleamed like a mirage in the fading light. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Zephyr answered, his tone gentle, but brimming with pride. “That is Eskarven.”

Clara, who had been riding nearby, spoke up with a note of unmistakable pride in her voice. “The sunlight reflects off the walls of crystal and ice,” she said, her words carrying the reverence that the Eskarven people held for their home. Her gaze was fixed on the distant fortress, and as she spoke, theEskarvens surrounding them straightened, their postures proud as though standing before something sacred. “You’ll see it more clearly as we draw nearer.”

The snow beneath their horses' hooves crunched with every step, but the skies above remained clear, offering them an uninterrupted view of their destination. The land, though cold and harsh, seemed to offer them a view of perfection, as if it too understood the significance of their journey. Zephyr kept his eyes on Edric, watching his face shift as the palace slowly came into full view—a majestic sight of towering marble, crystal, and ice, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. It was white and silver, a towering testament to the strength and resilience of the Eskarven people, glistening like a jewel against the backdrop of the mountains.

His home. Where his throne awaited him.

Edric let out a soft breath, his eyes wide, and his lips parted in silent awe. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the sincerity in it was clear. “The word is inadequate, but I can’t find any other.”

Zephyr felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of the moment almost too much to bear. It was rare for him to let such emotions show, but in that moment, it was impossible to deny the swell of pride, love, and history that surged through him. “It is,” he agreed quietly. “It is everything.”

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