“It still seems strange that so many of our races’ ancient artifacts have survived,” Liliath mused. “My parents told me our family’s Focuser was one of the few to have endured the ravages of time.”
Moraga scowled and replaced the cup in its protective case. “Oh, others have survived all right—they were just hidden away from their proper owners. Humans stole much of our heritage, and what they did not steal, they were given voluntarily,”—she spat the word—“like when your parents tried to gift away the Focuser that should have been your birthright.”
“They were just trying to help the kingdom,” Liliath replied, knowing she ought to defend her family, even though she felt the exact same way about their choice as Moraga did.
Sensing weakness, the ghastly pressed her point.
“Yet was the kingdom grateful for their aid? Did King Derik thank your parents for their priceless offering? No! He was greedy and undeserving, just like the rest of his depraved line—miserly, murderous brutes who think only of themselves! But you and I will break their cycle of carnage.”
The ghastly’s eyes lit up with manic glee, and she caressed the leather case in her hands as she spoke. Listening to her rant, Liliath was once more certain that Moraga’s hatred of the Natharian royalty stemmed from a far deeper source than the ghastly had cared to confide. Not that Liliath had much interest in what her reasons were—all that mattered was that the ghastly kept her word to release Ari from his curse.
Her tirade finished, Moraga walked over to an alcove and placed the case alongside the other artifacts they had accumulated over the last few years. She stared at them and murmured, “So much of our heritage has been forgotten, so much of the ancient lore has been lost. The enchantment we are composing is greater than any attempted in modern memory . . . but only because no one believes what we seek to do is possible. They have forgotten, you see. There are no more children for ghastlies to pass down their knowledge to, and the fairies have long since abandoned the old practices—more obsessed with honor and minor moralities than in doing what is right for their kind. Their narrow-minded principles have nearly destroyed us! But I—I remember the greater morality at play, and I have resurrected the old methods. For you and me, convoluting the laws of life is not impossible—merely difficult. All it takes is patience, the right ingredients, and a little Luck.”
The fervor in Moraga’s voice made Liliath look away. Her parents would be horrified by the decision she had made to ally with the ghastly, but they had left her no other option. She had to save Ari. If Moraga’s plan worked, kingdoms would fall and a new one would rise, but Liliath cared nothing for any of it—breaking Ari’s spell was all that mattered to her.
“How many more do we have to gather?” she asked.
Moraga smiled, causing one lip to crack. “Just a few. I will send you to collect them soon, but right now, we must turn our attention to other things.”
Tearing her eyes away from the artifacts, the ghastly retrieved the book she had been poring over when Liliath had arrived and carried it over to the stone slab for the girl to see. Laying it open, she pointed a long, knobby finger at one page.
Liliath peered at the passage she had indicated. The ink was faded and the parchment torn, but she could still make out the words:
When Ithikor (soon to be called The Conqueror) and the Fairy Matriarch Erse shook hands upon concluding their treaty, Erse—a great Seer—prophesized the following:
With fairy magic and human lives
You win peace
You keep peace
Both land and kingdoms thrive
But when the line of Ithikor fails
War takes you
War breaks you
Only chaos prevails
Not even hope survives.
“The princess is the last of Ithikor’s line,” Moraga chortled. “Her father, the King of Nathar, knows this and fears the realization of the prophecy—but he does not fear it enough yet to ally with us in our plan. We must help him to accept our will over war.” Black ichor oozed from Moraga’s cracked lip as she grinned. “It is time to sow a little discord.”
The tale concludes in
Book 3: Riven
Twenty-one years are nearly over, and the ghastly's curse is about to be fulfilled . . . but there may not be anyone left alive to care. Armies from the north are marching on Nathar, whose king lies dying from an assassin's poison. An ancient prophesy is about to come to pass, and it will leave the world in ruins when it does.
Rose, meanwhile, is ignorant of all of this in her forested seclusion with the Beast. Though she refuses to admit it, the Beast is very close to winning her heart . . . but how can she forgive the one who has kept her prisoner for so long?
On the other side of the world, the ghastly is making her final preparations for revenge. As one curse ends and another begins, her plan for Rose will finally be revealed—a plan so cunning and horrific, it will change the fate of the land forever.
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Bound: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 2) Page 12
