Page 38 of The Curse Between Us

It started innocently enough—just a dry throat that could easily be brushed off as the result of the cold, the long hours of travel, or the strain of the week’s events. But as the day wore on and the cough persisted, deepening with each passing hour, Zephyr’s heart sank. It was inevitable. The truth was starting to show itself, as it always did. The reprieve they had so eagerly stolen was coming to an end far too soon.

That night, as Edric coughed again in the quiet of their chamber, Zephyr felt his chest tighten with helplessness. “Sleep,” he urged gently, guiding Edric toward the bed though it was not yet late. “You’ll need the energy.”

Edric sighed but did as he was told, sinking into the pillows. “I will feel better in the morning,” he insisted, though they both knew it was a lie. The coughing fit had been harsher than the ones before, and Edric’s voice was rough with the effort.

“Of course you will,” Zephyr said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He resisted the urge to tuck the covers more securely around Edric’s shoulders, unwilling to make the moment more painful than it already was. “Now, ifyou’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to rest while I attend to other matters.”

Edric’s lips parted, likely to protest, but his words were lost in another violent round of coughing. His head slumped back against the pillows, and with a wave of his hand, his eyes fluttered closed. “You will return soon?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zephyr nodded, his heart like a stone in his chest. “As soon as I can.”

The door clicked shut quietly behind him, and as he walked through the palace halls, his steps quickened, frustration boiling in his veins. There was only one place where he knew he might find a moment’s peace.

The temple was at the far edge of the palace grounds, a smaller, humbler structure than its Rafrian counterpart but no less beautiful in its own way. As Zephyr entered the cold, shadowed sanctuary, he exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the day settle in his bones. The flickering candles cast long shadows over the ice sculptures that lined the walls, their sharp, angular forms echoing the raw beauty of Eskarven. The silence was almost suffocating, but it was the kind of silence he needed—a space where he could hear only his own thoughts and his own heartbeat.

Zephyr made a slow circuit of the room, his fingers brushing lightly against the sculptures that told the ancient story of Plenty and Abyss. The figures of the battle were frozen in time—Plenty’s triumph as Abyss was cast down and imprisoned beneath the mountains. At the end of the four walls, a winding staircase descended into the catacombs where the royal ancestors rested, their bodies preserved in the frozen earth.

Hadden now rested among them. Zephyr’s hand lingered on the cold stone wall, a moment of quiet reflection before he stepped toward the staircase. He should pay his respects, but thethought of his ancestors—of the dead—felt so far removed from the turmoil in his chest. His mind was on the living, and more specifically, on Edric.

“You are troubled,” a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

Zephyr jumped, startled by the sudden sound. His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of the dagger at his side, but he relaxed when he saw the figure emerge from the shadows. Clara stood there, her features soft and understanding.

“May I assist you, my king?” she asked, her voice steady, unwavering.

Zephyr let out a long breath, walking over to the low stone bench and sinking down onto it. “Please,” he murmured. “I could use some guidance.”

Clara joined him, settling gracefully on the cold stone beside him, her robes flowing around her as she mirrored his posture. There was no rush, no urgency in her movements, only quiet patience.

“Tell me,” she prompted, her voice warm with encouragement.

Zephyr traced a slow pattern into the cold floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. “Edric is falling ill,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “It started as just a cough—nothing serious. But it will worsen. I know it will.” His chest tightened as he continued, “And it has not even been a full week.”

Clara’s expression softened, and she laced her fingers together in front of her. She didn’t speak immediately but seemed to be considering his words carefully. “If we accept your theory that it is the foreign environment that causes this sickness,” she began, her tone deliberate, “it is possible that King Edric’s strengthened ties to his own land have hastened the effects of the illness.”

Zephyr blinked at her, confused. “Apologies, my lady. I do not understand.”

Clara sighed, her voice taking on the formal, commanding tone she used when presiding over ceremonies. “It is the struggle between our two lands that has kept them apart. As representatives of those lands, we too struggle when we cross into the other’s domain. This manifests physically, through illness. King Edric is deeply tied to his land, both by his royal blood and through his oath of kingship. It is possible that this deeper connection is accelerating the effects of the illness.”

A flicker of understanding passed through Zephyr, but with it came an uncomfortable thought. “Now that I have been crowned—”

“You might expect to see a similarly rapid decline, should you visit Rafria again,” Clara finished for him, her gaze steady and calm.

Zephyr stood abruptly, his frustration building. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “It isn’t fair,” he muttered under his breath.

“No,” Clara agreed quietly, her voice filled with empathy. “It is not.” She tilted her head, as though considering him with newfound understanding. “You have done a good thing, my king. Agreeing to this treaty, to this marriage. But I am sorry that it has come at such a high personal cost to you.”

Zephyr sank back to the ground in front of her, his hands spread wide as he sought some answer, some clarity. “What do I do?” he asked, his voice thick with frustration. “Please, my lady, tell me what to do.”

Clara shook her head gently, her expression softening. “You can only do the best you can with the circumstances you have been given. There is wisdom in you, young as you are, and great strength. I believe you are being tested for a reason, though I cannot yet see what that reason may be.”

Zephyr sighed deeply, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I should hate to think of my suffering as meaningless.”

Clara raised an eyebrow, suddenly stern. “And do not forget that you are not the only one who is suffering,” she said quietly, her voice firm. At his confused frown, she gestured broadly toward the palace. “Go to him. Care for him while you can. We both know you will have to let him go, and soon.”

Zephyr felt a pang in his chest at her words, and he rose to his feet with a deep bow. “Thank you, my lady.”

Clara smiled slightly, her features softening with warmth. “I am always happy to be of service, my king. To you, and to the land.”

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