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48 THARAN

Flames flickered around the walls of the chamber. The smell of dampened earth mixed with the distinct smell of myrrh. Tattered tapestries of ancient battles hung on the walls. A narrow stone pathway surrounded by dark water led to another pedestal where another golden book sat. Only this one was empty. Beyond the pillars two barred doors stood ominously. Overhead, a painting of the goddess Eris giving the gift of the breath to Arendir.

Tharan swallowed hard.

“Aelia, are you alright if I set you down? I think this one is for me, as I am the only elf here.”

“Yes, the pain is better now that we’re down here.”

He set her gently on her feet before kissing her forehead.

“Be careful,” she mouthed.

“I always am.” He gave her a wink, then approached the pedestal.

The book sat blank on its stone stand. He turned back at Amolie, Aelia, and Caiden who stared at him with eyes full of hope and dread. “What do you think I should do to trigger it?”

“Press your bloody thumb to the book,” Caiden said. “That triggered the last one.”

Tharan did as Caiden suggested. The paper absorbed his fingerprint like it had before. Moments later, a message appeared: Hello, Lord of Nothing.

Tharan swallowed hard. The book knew his shame. What did it have in store for him?

The book continued, I have been waiting for you.

He tried not to think of the thousands of questions the book could throw at him. It knew he was a half-breed. Would it use that against him? Punish him for being only half an original?

“Perfect,” Tharan said under his breath.

“Did it work?” Aelia called from behind.

“Yes, it knows who I am,” he replied. “…Or at least who I used to be.”

More writing appeared: Answer my three questions and prove you are worthy to hold the power of Moriana in your hands.

A quill and ink appeared next to the book. “It’s going to ask me three questions.”

No one said anything.

Question one: Name the three originals who received the Trinity’s blessings.

Tharan thought for a moment. He knew the elven original, obviously, and his father was the sylph, but who was the original human? He’d never even bothered to ask. A pit grew in his stomach. He tried to think of his elementary lessons from hundreds of years ago.

“Anyone know the name of the original human who received Ammena’s gift?”

Amolie and Aelia exchanged glances before saying in unison, “Alaric Rathmusson.”

“Thank you.” Tharan scrolled the names onto the paper.

Very good, fair king. You are smarter than they say.

Tharan rolled his eyes and tried to calm his nerves.

Question two: Where did the War of Three Faces begin?

Tharan chuckled to himself. Everyone on the continent knew where the War of Three Faces began, it was drilled into them from birth. He went to scribble the Winter Kingdom but stopped himself. It was called something else long ago. What was the name?

He thought back to his history lessons. His teacher, Lady Olinna, stood in front of him and Briar. Her silver hair tied into a knot on the top of her head. She wore a black dress buttoned to the chin, and the creases on the side of her eyes marked her as the oldest person Tharan knew at such a young age. Now if he could just remember what the name of the region was called before it was the Winter Kingdom.

“Think, Tharan. Remember your lessons.” He shut his eyes, envisioning his lessons room. A map with the old boundaries of Moriana hung on the wall. He racked his memory trying to bring the map into focus, but where a name should have been there was only a blank space.

Again, he turned to his friends, ashamed he did not know the answer.

“Does anyone know what the Winter Kingdom used to be called?” he asked sheepishly.

Aelia cocked her head.

“You’re the oldest one here. You should know.”

“It’s been a long time since I was in lessons,” he said, trying to focus.

“Hylinia,” Caiden said, matter-of-factly.

Tharan’s chest tightened.

“Are you sure?”

Caiden nodded.

Tharan scrawled the words across the page, and they disappeared almost instantly.

Very good.

Tharan let out a sigh of relief.

Question Three: What was the name of the last dragon to fall from the sky?

Tharan gave a little chuckle at how easy the question was.

“You can’t be serious.”

I am.

Tharan scribbled the name Borwin the Black.

The words disappeared into the page and Tharan waited.

Correct, fair king, you may pass.

Tharan let out a sigh of relief, twisting one of his earrings nervously. His ears and cheeks felt hot. He’d only gotten one of the questions correct on his own. Some king he was.

The bars on the door sank into the ground. Aelia looped her hand through his.

“Good thing we were here, my Lord.” She gave him a coy wink.

Tharan swallowed his embarrassment.

“Well, I can’t be this devilishly handsome and erudite. It just wouldn’t be fair to the world.”

Aelia squeezed his hand, and they filed through to the next chamber.