Chapter 338. Elara’s Diary I

Chapter 338: 338. Elara’s Diary I

Maisie

I shivered as the heavy air touched my skin. The torches were lit, but the air was cold.

Being back here hadn’t changed much. The creeping sensation winding down my spine. The feel of eyes that weren’t really there watching curiously.

I ignored it, balancing precariously on the top of the shelf’s new ladder. It was no wonder the progress with the books were slow. No one wanted to come in here. Not even Aimee, for all her love for books, wanted to be in here. There was something off about it, and it stuck to your skin uncomfortably like goo.

I squinted at a title. The Mating Dance of Dragons.

Out of curiosity, I plucked it out, sifting through the pages. "Balthazar captured his jewel and left her in a bird cage, and she became as much a part of his hoard. A dragon’s hoard is priceless, curated to lure in the wanting, lacking. Stones, precious artifacts of power beyond thought, gold more than the eye could see. Balthazar put in front of his jewel the one thing he knew she wanted. And he waited. For a year. Two. Ten. Tormented her with it. And one day, he left his jewel’s cage open.

"She stole it from him. And she fled. Balthazar captured her, and following traditions, he melted down all she had stolen with his breath and marked her skin with the liquid ore. When he was done, he marked her soul and made her his creature--"

My skin prickled with goosebumps. Following traditions?

I was suddenly grateful I was born on this side of the rift. I shoved the book inside my bag after a thought. Maybe I’d learn a thing or two from it, before Soren got me clearance to visit Resident Evil down in the Council dungeons. The dragon was a code red, and as such, whatever visits I planned to pay him had to go through the Queen’s approval first.

It seemed counter intuitive, meeting him to seek answers that would eventually find its way back to the Queen through her spies, but Samhain was drawing nearer, and every day, I was finding reasons why I wanted to be alive by the end of it.

It would have to do.

Finding a few more titles on matings and procreation, I decided I was on the wrong shelf and stepped down, shuffling swiftly to the next. It wouldn’t be long before Atlas found me snooping and kicked me out of here. Plus, I had to meet Jenny and Regina soon.

I reached for the dark blue tome on the second row of the more dusty shelf, when something... for the lack of a better word, jumped at me.

I jerked away in fright, alarmed, as the book thudded to the ground by my feet.

My heart was hitting my ribcage and goosebumps prickled down my skin as I inched away from it, eyes narrowed as I waited for it to maybe grow wings and smack me in the face.

But it remained on the ground, unmoving.

I crouched slowly, resting on my hands and knees, and I lifted a hand to pick it up. The back was sturdy, and it felt like... a regular book.

Feeling bolder, I flipped it, squinting at the angry scrawling.

The top of the pages had figures, and it took me a moment to realize it was someone’s journal.

The first few pages were worn and smudged from time, but as I sifted through the pages, I realized it wasn’t just a journal. It was a diary.

"My brothers hate me. They think I have all of father’s affections. But it is simply that I am the only one of his children born with the ability to reach the Goddess. They tell me it is a gift. But I saw what it did to mother. It is a curse. I am cursed."

I settled back, sitting on the ground as I turned the next page.

"I am only ten and five. Too young to be wed. But the suitors have begun filling, gifting me their heirlooms in hopes that I choose them over the competition. I wonder if they know what it means to be bound to the Goddess’s blessed. Perhaps, they do. The rift hasn’t been open in fifty generations. It is highly likely they think they are in no danger of being killed if someone tried to. And in exchange for this precarious dance of death, they get to have the strength of the Thornes in their bloodline. They do not truly see me, with their leering gazes and gaunt cheeks. They see a weapon. They see power. They see a way out. I wish I was a man. I would then, perhaps, have a choice."

I blinked, heart thudding. Thorne? Just whose journal was this?

Fingers shaking as that sense of otherworldliness prickled the back of my neck, I flipped.

"Father whipped me today. He says I am a fool for stabbing a dragon. Everyone thinks I will take Niar as one of my six. He is the Dragon King’s heir. He has better standing than all of the men who have come for me. But he is cruel. He burned the wings off Belle’s spine because she stopped him from trying to force himself on me. She’ll never fly again. Of course, I stabbed him. He didn’t die. I wish he did. I should like to try again soon."

I didn’t realize I when I sat back comfortably, crossing my legs underneath me as I went through the next few pages.

"The low-blood filth have begun tracking their mud across our threshold again. Father, in his infinite, pathetic greed invited the twins, Florian and Cillian. Vile, wretched creatures, both of them. Everyone knows what they are. Scavengers of the worst sort, wearing stolen finery and pretending they belong among us. They make my stomach turn. They disgust me.

"And yet, they had the arrogance to present themselves as suitors, demanding my hand as if I were a prize to be won at a market stall."

Florian?! I gasped. Holy shit. This was Elara’s! I had Elara’s diary in my hands!

"I went to the east parlor to deliver my rejection to them, even if Father had forbidden me from doing that. I should have turned around. I didn’t. They had her bent over the table in the receiving room. Both of them. One at her front, one behind. They didn’t stop when they saw me. They used her like a piece of meat on the divan. Their joint depravity made me sick.

"Cillian laughed at me mockingly while Florian hauled himself up from the wreckage of their filth, his horrid, yet beautiful skin slick with sweat, and sauntered toward me. He was naked. He called me a spoiled, frigid brat of a princess. He said I needed to learn what men did when they weren’t performing for my father’s court. He said I needed real men to put me in my place. I slapped him, the animal.

"He liked it. I thought he would hit me back. Most men did. But he... he liked it. And the rabid, mangled curr kissed me instead. I could taste the other woman on his tongue. It make me want to tear his throat out with my bare teeth. I loathed him. I loathed the taste and smell of him so much, my knees stopped working and I died a small death. It was like consuming poison."