Page 70 of The Curse Between Us

“And how do you propose we find it?” Alec asked, his disbelief barely concealed under layers of respect and awe. “Wander through the desert as we did in the mountains, and hope we are fortunate enough to encounter it?”

Hadley gave Alec a sharp, knowing look. He shrank back slightly, a flush rising to his cheeks at her piercing gaze. “Your skepticism does not become you,” she said coolly, before turning her attention to the rest of the group. “No, Alec. What we need is a way of attracting Plenty’s attention.”

Zephyr frowned, his thoughts swirling. Plenty was a force that was everywhere and nowhere, constantly present yet elusive. How could they possibly summon it to them now?

“A sacrifice,” Wilfred said quietly, his voice pale but steady as he spoke the words that felt like a dark omen. “In the old stories, if you wish to make yourself known to the powers of the world, you must make a sacrifice.”

“No,” Edric said immediately, his voice hard with refusal. “No, we will do nothing of the sort.”

Hadley laid a calming hand on Edric’s shoulder, her expression softening slightly. “Easy, my king,” she said with surprising gentleness. She turned her gaze back to Wilfred, then to Clara, who wore a pensive expression, brow furrowed in thought. “It may not require the kind of sacrifice you are imagining.” She met Clara’s eyes, and the two exchanged a silent understanding. “The true meaning of sacrifice is to relinquish what matters most to you.”

Zephyr shook his head, a gut instinct telling him that this was not the way forward. He had heard enough of stories about blood and sacrifice to feel the weight of its potential consequences. “Edric,” he said slowly, his voice filled with a mixture of hesitation and realization. “Do you remember what I—what Abyss—said about Plenty being selfish?”

Edric’s frown deepened, a slow realization dawning in his expression. “Yes, but—” His eyes widened suddenly, understanding beginning to flicker in his gaze. “Not what matters most to us, but to it?”

Clara’s sharp eyes flicked up at them, a sudden glint of comprehension in her gaze. “Plenty loves itself more than anything else,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Creation, abundance, it is self-serving and self-replicating. If we wish to provoke it—”

“We threaten it,” Zephyr finished, his voice grim. He was still staring at the ice sculptures lining the sides of the temple, the long-forgotten tales his father had once told him echoing in his mind.

His gaze locked on one particular sculpture, the last in the row, depicting a crowned figure kneeling before a towering pillar of ice, a blade in its hand. It was a stark image, one that seemed to speak of duty, of sacrifice. Zephyr’s heart clenched as he remembered the words his father had said about Icelight, how it was made by Plenty itself and entrusted to their line. Ithad been a symbol of their power, a symbol of their duty to protect their lands.

A duty now forgotten with Hadden’s death.

Zephyr moved abruptly, crossing the room, and came to a stop in front of the last sculpture. His fingers lightly traced the edge of the ice, feeling its cold weight as the memories hit him like a wave. He turned and made his way to the catacombs, suddenly knowing what had to be done. He had never considered using Icelight this way, not after the war with Rafria had ended, but now... now it was clear.

“One moment, please,” Zephyr called out, not waiting for anyone’s reply. He moved quickly, determined, as he made his way down the stairs.

The sword was exactly where he had left it—polished and cared for by the temple attendants. Zephyr stared at it for a long moment, remembering how it had glittered first in his father’s hand, then in Hadden’s. What would they think of him using it in this way, for this purpose? Would they understand?

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to grasp the hilt of the sword, feeling the cold weight of it as he picked it up. It wasn’t the same sword of battle it once was. It was now a symbol of something greater—an offering to the very forces that shaped their land.

With one last respectful glance at Hadden’s body, he turned and left the catacombs, bearing the sword proudly.

Edric was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the sword. Zephyr winced, remembering too late that this was the weapon that had killed Edric’s father.

“Will this serve?” Zephyr asked Clara as he approached.

Clara reached out and traced a hand over the scabbard, her eyes narrowing as she studied it. “Yes and no.”

Edric made an impatient noise, his voice strained. “My lady, I have the greatest respect for you, but we are short on time, and if you could”—he waved his hand in the air, his words thick with frustration—“answer directly, it would be appreciated.”

Zephyr snorted in amusement, watching Edric as he visibly cringed under Clara’s glare.

“Very well,” Clara said coolly, her expression unreadable. “It is a step in the right direction, but it is not enough.” She looked at Hadley, who nodded in agreement. “We are seeking to restore balance. An artifact of Eskarven alone—”

“Does not represent the goal of unity we are striving for,” Hadley finished. “We require something of Rafria as well.”

Edric’s face went pale, his mind processing the implications quickly. “The dagger,” he murmured, his voice low with realization. “But it’s locked away in the royal treasury at home. By the time we ride back to fetch it—”

“Your mother’s dagger?” Zephyr asked, recalling it vividly. The jewels in its hilt, the elegance of its craftsmanship, the way King Caldwell had raised it to Hadden’s throat with cold satisfaction.

“Yes,” Edric replied, the weight of the truth settling in. “The royal line is through her family, not my father’s.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “If I ride out now—”

“There is no need,” Alec interjected, rising to his feet with a small shrug. He reached down to the belt at his waist, tugging a small sheathed knife free and holding it out to Hadley. “I brought it with me.”

Edric’s mouth fell open in surprise. Zephyr’s gaze flickered to Alec, a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How did you know?”

Alec shook his head slowly, his expression filled with a mix of wonder and wariness. “I had a dream, weeks ago. Mymother’s voice, telling me to take up her dagger. I took it from the treasury the next morning, and have carried it with me since.”

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