Page 52 of The Curse Between Us

The weight of the night still clung to Zephyr as he made his way to the temple early the next morning. He had barely slept, the unrest of the previous evening gnawing at him like a persistent shadow. The knowledge of the growing fissure in theearth and the quiet menace it signified haunted him, and though he had done all he could to prepare for this, the reality was far more unsettling than he had imagined. He needed answers. Clara had always been the one who could provide clarity when everything else seemed clouded, and today, he needed that clarity more than ever.

The temple was quiet, as it always was at this hour. The air inside was cool, scented with incense, and filled with an unnatural stillness. One of the younger attendants was kneeling before the altar, the soft murmur of his prayers filling the space. Zephyr didn’t interrupt him, respecting the sacredness of the moment. Instead, he wandered, his gaze drifting over the ice sculptures lining the walls. They had always been beautiful, these works of frozen art, depicting battles long past, legends of Plenty and Abyss locked in eternal struggle.

The cold beauty of them now felt different to him. His stomach twisted as he examined the familiar scene of war, the depiction of forces fighting for dominance. The battle between Plenty and Abyss had always been an allegory to him, a piece of history. But now, in the midst of the growing strangeness around them, the scene felt ominous. What if this is not just an allegory? What if this is where we’re headed?

“I cannot admire them the same way I always have,” came Clara’s voice, quiet but clear. The suddenness of it startled him, and he turned to find her standing there, her face shadowed with the same concerns that plagued him. “I want to ask them, to demand an answer—why this, and why now? But they do not speak to me.”

Zephyr’s gaze lingered on the sculptures, his lips pressed together in thought. He understood her frustration. They had all been searching for answers, for signs, but the world was growing more unpredictable with each passing day. He gave the frozenfigures one last, lingering look before gesturing toward the stone steps in the far corner of the room.

“They are not what I came here to see,” he said, his voice low and steady. Clara nodded, her expression unreadable, before she motioned for him to follow.

She led him across the room toward the stairs, the young attendant looking up nervously as they passed. Clara didn’t acknowledge him, her focus entirely on Zephyr, and he did the same. As she reached the base of the steps, she plucked a torch from the wall bracket, the flame flickering softly as she tucked her robe in one hand to avoid it catching fire. Zephyr followed her without hesitation, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what awaited them below.

As they descended, the cold that filled the catacombs was thick with silence, as if the stone walls themselves were holding their breath. The usual sense of peace that came with the chill was absent today, replaced with something far more foreboding. Zephyr felt a shiver crawl up his spine, the quiet weight of uncertainty pressing on his chest. The further down they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, and the back of his neck prickled in response.

Clara’s pace slowed as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and she came to a sudden halt, causing Zephyr to almost stumble into her. She held the torch high, casting a stark light across the chamber. “There,” she said softly, sweeping her arm in front of her to illuminate the floor.

Zephyr stepped carefully around her, his gaze dropping to the floor. He was immediately struck by what he saw. The floor of the chamber, which had once been smooth and solid, was now marred by a jagged crack that ran the length of the room, splitting through the path between the tombs. It was not deep, but its breadth was enough to make Zephyr’s stomach tighten with unease. The crack seemed to stretch endlessly,splintering in multiple directions like something had violently pushed its way upward from beneath.

He was reminded of a conversation with Hadden, back in the days before everything had shifted. Hadden had spoken with a fevered gleam in his eye about the possibility of a siege, the joy in his voice as he discussed the might of a battering ram smashing into the gates of the Rafrian palace. Zephyr could hear the words again now, but with a sickening sense of certainty—this was not a siege, but something far more insidious. It was a blow from beneath the earth, the first of many. Whatever was stirring beneath the surface had begun its assault.

Zephyr swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady. “No change since yesterday?” he asked, his words echoing unnervingly in the empty chamber.

Clara’s response was almost too quiet. “None.” Her voice was firm but lacked the reassurance Zephyr desperately sought. “We’ve been monitoring it hourly, my lord. If anything happens, we will alert you immediately.”

Zephyr nodded absently, his gaze still locked on the crack. What are we dealing with here? The unease that had been building for days now seemed to solidify into something undeniable. The change in the land was not just some oddity—it was a warning. A herald of something far more dangerous, and far more real, than any of them had imagined.

He glanced at Clara, his eyes narrowing with a new determination. “Good,” he said, his voice low. “Keep me informed. I’ll need to know immediately if anything changes.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the silence hung heavy between them. Zephyr turned his gaze to the closest tomb, his feet taking him toward it with a measured step. The torchlight flickered and danced as he approached the stone wall, his eyes drawn to the burnished silver plaque embedded there. It bore Hadden’s name, the dates of his birth, coronation,and death—details Zephyr had read countless times before, but never with this sense of loss.

Zephyr's fingers hovered over the cold stone as his thoughts drifted to his brother. Hadden had been the one who stood beside him through the darkest days, the one who had shared his ambitions, his dreams, his frustrations. Yet, when the time had come to face the future, they had been at odds. Hadden had warned him, his words still fresh in Zephyr’s mind: You have betrayed us, Zephyr. This alliance will destroy us all.

Zephyr clenched his jaw, the words lingering like an echo in the back of his mind. Perhaps Hadden had been right. Perhaps he had been too quick to make choices without understanding the true cost. But Hadden was gone now, buried behind this cold wall, and there was no turning back. Zephyr would have to carry the weight of these decisions alone, just as he had carried the weight of the crown for all these years.

“I miss you,” Zephyr murmured to the tomb, his voice barely a whisper. Even in death, his brother’s shadow loomed over him, a reminder of all they had shared and all they had lost. The words felt hollow, though, and as Zephyr turned to leave, he knew that nothing could change the past.

Clara was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, her figure outlined by the torchlight. She had not left her post, and her gaze was steady as ever. When Zephyr emerged, she asked, “What will you do now?”

He met her eyes, his expression hardening with resolve. “The only thing I can do,” he replied, his voice steady. “I will call an assembly of the castle’s residents. Word must be spread of the growing danger. Not just here, but in Rafria as well. After that…” He shrugged, the weight of it all pressing heavily on him. “I will do whatever I must to ensure the safety and security of my people.”

Clara nodded, her eyes searching his face, but there was no argument. She understood as well as he did. They were entering a time of darkness, and the path ahead would require more than just leadership—it would require everything they had.

???

The next two days passed in tense anticipation, as if the entire kingdom was waiting for something—waiting for the storm that never seemed to come. Zephyr, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm was not just inevitable, but already starting to form in the very air around them. Every morning, he awoke to a restless sleep, haunted by the strange events unfolding around him. The nights had become lonelier; his bed felt too vast, too empty. He could still remember the nights with Edric—how they had shared the space, even when they couldn’t touch, the silent understanding between them a comfort in itself.

Bianca, his faithful fox, slept curled at his feet, a comforting presence even though her dreams were anything but peaceful. Zephyr had noticed the tremors and soft whimpers in her sleep, as though she too was sensing something out of place. It wasn’t like her. He often found himself waking in the middle of the night, his hand instinctively reaching out to stroke the soft fur along her back, trying to soothe her as she shivered in her sleep. But even as he calmed her, a quiet unease settled into him. What was it that she saw behind her closed eyelids? It was more than the shifting winds or the frost creeping through the walls—it was something deeper, something darker.

On the fourth morning, as the weight of the uncertainty seemed to press down on him even more heavily, Zephyr was woken by a rapid, insistent knocking at his chamber door. His mind was foggy from another night of interrupted sleep, but heforced himself to shake it off as he hastily wrapped himself in his robe and slipped his feet into his fur-lined slippers. "Enter!" he called out, his voice more tired than he intended. He made his way to the door, barely managing to keep his balance as he skidded toward it.

Pierce entered first, his face usually bright with mirth now grave and serious, followed by Wilfred and Hannah. The sight of them immediately set Zephyr’s pulse racing. Something had happened. He could see it in their eyes.

“A rider has come in from the mountains,” Pierce said, his voice tight with urgency. “You’ll want to hear this, Zephyr.”

Zephyr wasted no time, already slipping into his boots and motioning for them to lead the way. His mind was already racing with a dozen possible explanations, none of them good. Together, they moved quickly to the audience hall, where a group of courtiers was already waiting, their faces pale with concern. As Zephyr made his way through the room, he nodded politely to the onlookers, but his focus was entirely on the young woman kneeling in the center, her head bowed and her body tense with apprehension.

“Please, rise,” Zephyr commanded gently, his voice firm but reassuring. “Tell us your name and what you have seen.”

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