The Heirs of Death

12. Choices

CHOICES

Scared. I was scared. Terror gnawed at my bones and made my blood ice-cold as I read restlessly through the pile of books the king had sent to the White Realm previous to the meeting he'd called for.

It had been a little more than an hour since we entered Siltheres's world and took our seat on white, cushioned chairs circling the large, crescent-shaped table made of solid white like it had sprung from the ground itself. It was positioned so the crevice faced Siltheres and Téors-the latter had joined him immediately after leaving my side-allowing them to sit with ease, the bird perched on the apex of one of my dragon's wings.

Father had brought old and crumbling books-most likely to be from the humongous yet secret library the castle hosted deep down under what common eyes could see and magically charmed to show itself to limited persons-while Leon had brought papers after papers of studies and researches and ancient, wicked spells. References and comparaisons and first lead to know what to seek in the Book of Astazan.

Half of those studies, if not more, bore Estelle's scent even after all those years like they had never been touched since then. And since we were all settled, we took on exploring the myriad of information, having said nothing ever since we left Carter.

The silence tortured me even more.
Ramos knew about that cursed prophecy but he did nothing to speak of it or to reproach me for not having told him earlier. But I saw his glances, subtle as they were, flickering to me every now and then. Glances filled with pain; a pain so similar to my father's, to the one still carved in his emerald eyes now tired and weary and not joyful like they had been the night before. The ball felt so far now, like it had been a week away or even a month, and not a mere, single night.

Leon didn't make a sound ever since entering the throne room, and I didn't know if it was because of what he had found in the studies, what had happened in the meeting, or if it was anything related to how he'd found Carter and me, holding hard to each other, faces so close we could feel warm breaths blowing against our skin. A part of me thought it was better to leave it to oblivion, to not ask about that darkness that tinted his eyes. Not now, at least, even when I knew that anger building in him wasn't directed at me. Or the Cardelyon Lord.

Leon had stared at Carter for one long and hard moment before the latter vanished, and there was nothing in that stare that was dark and unholy; the Shadow knew what I felt for Carter and how much I considered him to be the brother I'd never had.

I gingerly flipped the page I just finished, going through a tome that could have been as old as this world was, not daring a stare at the Book of Astazan opened in the middle of the table, waiting to be ordered.

And what I read through that book, what I horror I discovered about Apocalys and the Red War, made me wonder if finishing Ardoria and turning it to nothingness eight millennia ago would have been more merciful than going through another war again. Through one that was undoubtedly more chaotic and disastrous than the first ever was.